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Stiles wanted to go to the library. The library would’ve been more than fine! Theo isn’t stupid. All he needed was someone helping him catch up after he missed a lot of school due to the consequences of his evil schemes biting him in the ass. But no, Theo insisted that they would have to study at his place. Because he needs silence to study — apparently, the library is too loud for someone with supernatural hearing. Stiles calls bullshit on that. So, the café wasn’t a viable option either. And Theo has puppy eyes, very effective puppy eyes. Go figure. As if Stiles didn’t already struggle enough when it comes to Theo fucking Raeken and his godforsaken everything.
All of that wouldn’t even be an issue, if not today the world decided that Beacon Hills is in dire need of a fucking snowstorm. Or maybe, one of the weather gods is doing this just to spite Stiles. Because it’s not just a snowstorm. That would be too easy. Roscoe refused to start, and Theo refused to drive in that weather. An hour into the storm, the whole street lost its power. To Stiles’ luck — and probably some god’s fucking amusement — he’s stuck in a house with a fireplace and a supernatural radiator. Theo took it upon himself to make sure that Stiles couldn’t possibly be cold because he decided to bring his mattress down into the living room and then, then, he wrapped them both in a blanket and himself around Stiles. Because clearly a thick blanket and a fireplace are not enough to keep a mere human warm.
Stiles hates how much he loves Theo pressed against his back or the feeling of his arm heavy around him. He hates it so much that he’s terrified to move because there’s absolutely no distance between them, and he intends to survive this night without any happy accidents.
“You’re stressing me out,” Theo mutters against his neck. His voice sounds deep and raw as if he has been asleep until a few seconds ago. Good for him.
Stiles licks his lips, staring at the low fire in front of him. “Do you think we have school tomorrow?”
Theo huffs out a laugh. “The school stayed open during and after multiple supernatural threats,” he mumbles, shifting around behind him — Stiles squeezes his eyes shut because fuck, fuck, fuck — and yawns. “Doubt they’re going to close it because of a snowstorm. Not as long as Coach Finstock is around.”
Stiles chuckles. “Can’t argue with that logic.”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” Theo asks, chuckling quietly — and the sound, god, that sound is killing him. “That we’ll have to go to school tomorrow?” The raised brow is audible in his fucking voice. It should be illegal. Everything about Theo should be fucking illegal.
Stiles licks his lips. “I’m not worried.”
“You smell worried,” Theo informs him. Pointing out the inconsistencies and little lies is something this asshole loves to do. It’s one of his hobbies, and Stiles has absolutely no clue why. Maybe he’s enjoying coaxing a reaction out of him way too much for his own good.
Clearing his throat, Stiles tugs on the blanket. “What you smell is anxiety,” he mutters because if he cannot beat this fucker, he might as well join him. “It’s just… too quiet. I don’t like the quiet.” Especially not at night when he’s trying to fall asleep.
Theo hums and brushes his thumb along the front of Stiles’ shirt. “You wanna watch another movie?”
Stiles shudders, but not because he’s cold. Not at all. He takes a deep breath. Yes, yes, he would like to watch another movie. However, “what about you?” Not that Stiles is going to survive a movie — or this night, really — if Theo keeps brushing his fingers over his stomach. That’s gonna keep him up even longer.
“I’ll fall asleep,” Theo mutters, yawning again, “just start the laptop. The pin is Tara’s birthday.”
Stiles swallows. “I don’t know your sister’s birthday.”
“0806.” Theo’s arm tightens around Stiles’ middle, and he pulls him even closer, pressing his face against the nape of his neck. “And relax, I’m not gonna bite you.” Yeah, right, as if Stiles would’ve come over had he thought Theo wanted to murder him. He’s not worried about dying. He’s worried about his body being a fucking traitor the second he allows himself to calm down.
This is going to be a long night.
—
“There was so much snow,” Stiles mutters, slipping out of Theo’s truck and shouldering his backpack. “How is all of it just gone?”
“Because this is California.” Theo pushes his keys into the pocket of his pants and sighs. “You look adorable, by the way.”
Stiles glares at him. He looks ridiculous. Theo’s sweater is way too big on him. So are his jeans. Which is equally ridiculous. Stiles is more than aware Theo is fit, but this? Fucking hell. As if looking like he’s wearing his big brother’s clothes isn’t bad enough already, now he’s got to run around smelling like Theo as well. Stiles scrubbed himself clean in the shower, only to come back out to find out his clothes have magically disappeared. Well, magically. Theo threw them in the washing machine. For reasons.
“Stiles?” Malia approaches them, lips curled in disgust. Their relationship ended a little over two months ago, right when Stiles noticed that he has the worst crush on Theo. She’s not over it. Not at all. Never date a pack member. Never date a fucking pack member. “What’s going on?” She curls her fingers around the straps of her backpack.
“He spent the night with me,” Theo says with a smirk.
Stiles shoots him a look. “I stayed over. We were snowed in.”
“We cuddled.” What is his fucking problem? Why does he keep saying shit like that?
“Theo,” Stiles whispers, narrowing his eyes.
Theo rolls his eyes instead. “How long are you planning on protecting her precious feelings?” he asks, gesturing in Malia’s general direction — almost as if she wasn’t standing two feet away from them. “Seriously. You want me. I want you.” With an impatient tsks, Theo shakes his head. “Let’s just get on with it.”
What?
Stiles blinks. “You… what?”
“You think I’ll cook for and cuddle with every person I invite over?” Theo quirks a brow, pushing both hands in the pockets of his jeans as a slow smirk starts to curl around his lips. “Or force into wearing my clothes?”
That’s a lot of information within a very short span of time. “You…” Stiles licks his lips, flushing when Theo’s gaze drops to his mouth. “You want… me?” It took everything he had not to add another ‘me?’ because it’s just impossible. Did Theo look at himself? Did he? Did he?
Theo rolls his eyes once again, but instead of adding anything, he yanks Stiles closer by the collar of his shirt. A moment later, his lips are on his and the world just stops, vanishes, goes completely fucking silent until all Stiles can hear is his own heartbeat in his ears. Theo grabs his hip, and Stiles cups his neck, melting against the other boy. If he had known, fuck— Stiles could die right now, but at least he’d die the happiest he’s ever been in his life.
Theo pulls away just enough to talk. “We could skip school.”
Stiles licks his lips. His dad is going to kill him. “Yes,” he breathes against Theo’s lip. “Let’s go.”