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"Are you sure you're alright? I can still take you to the doctor, if you want."
"Derek, I'm fine," Isaac groans, pulling his blanket further up his chest and burying a cough into his pillow. "Seriously. It's just a cold, it'll probably be gone by tomorrow."
"I hope so," Derek replies, leaning over and fucking ruffling Isaac's hair, despite Isaac's attempts to twist away. Between the lopsided grin on his face and the actual giggle that falls from his mouth as Isaac curses, it's obvious that he's already well on his way to being drunk. But, drunk or not, Derek's responsible adult tendencies never completely vanish so when he pulls back, Isaac isn't surprised to see his frat brother reach into the pocket of his shorts and pull out a bottle of cough syrup.
"Seriously, I'm-"
"Hey, at the very least, it'll help you sleep," Derek says, plunking the bottle onto Isaac's nightstand. "We'll try to be quiet though."
"Yeah, right," Isaac says, rolling his eyes at Derek's already retreating back. Derek pulls the door completely shut and seconds after his heavy footsteps fade away, the house fills with music so loud that it seems to be pouring from the very walls. As soon as he kicks his blankets away and settles his feet on the floor, Isaac feels the bass rumble straight up his legs and through his entire body.
He pads over to the window, not bothering to try and muffle his footsteps. Derek had opened it as soon as he'd walked in, claiming something about fresh air being good for the soul, but for Isaac's purposes, the screen has to go as well. It pops out easily and after shoving it under the bed, he collapses back on top of the blankets, shuddering slightly as a breeze stirs his curtains and runs straight up his back.
Now, he just has to wait.
He's actually starting to get bored by the time he hears something scrabbling outside his window. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as fingers curl around the edge of his window sill. Stiles doesn't so much climb into the room as he does fall; as soon as his first foot hits the ground, he manages to trip and slam right into Isaac's nightstand, making the bottle of cough syrup wobble ominously.
"Really?" Isaac mutters, rolling his eyes as he sits up. "If you break that bottle, you're paying to have the floor cleaned."
"Yeah? With what money?" Stiles snaps, pushing the bottle of syrup away from the edge of the nightstand. He's wearing a snapback hat and a hoodie that's bright even in the dark but they both hit the floor almost as soon as he regains his balance. Normally, Isaac isn't much one for putting up with a messy floor, but he's willing to deal if it means having Stiles collapse into his lap in a soft t-shirt and worn jeans. The fact that there's nothing keeping Isaac from shoving his fingers into Stiles' dark hair is just the icing on top of the cake.
"Where's Scott?" he asks, wincing slightly as Stiles elbows him in the ribs.
"He had to call his mom back. He'll be up in a few minutes," Stiles says, leaning in and just barely catching Isaac's lip between his teeth. "Wanna wait?" There’s no way that the way Stiles rolls his hips down is an accident and Isaac has to hold back from bringing his palm down hard against Stiles’ ass.
There’ll be plenty of time for that later.
“No,” he says instead, sliding his hands underneath the back of Stiles’ shirt. The skin underneath is warm, like Stiles has been lying in the sun all day. “I’m sure Scott won’t mind if we get started a bit early.”
"He won't," Stiles says with certainty, rolling his hips down again. Isaac catches a brief glimpse of a sharp smirk before Stiles leans down for another kiss, fingers twisted tight in Isaac’s hair.
(He’d been thinking of getting it cut short again, snipping off the curls so they were easier to manage, but the feeling of Stiles’ fingers tugging through them reminds him why he decided to let it grow a little longer.)
By the time Scott comes sliding through the window, both of their shirts have been thrown to the floor. Isaac’s belt is hanging open against the front of his jeans and he’s certain that Stiles has managed to leave a trail of hickies along the line of his hips. His fingers are curled around Stiles' broad shoulders, partially to hold him in place, partially so that he can try to memorize the feeling of Stiles' muscles moving underneath his hands.
“Having fun?” Scott asks, barely audible over the music still pumping from downstairs. As he kicks his shoes off and shrugs his hoodie to the floor, Isaac shifts closer to the edge of the bed, tugging Stiles along.
“Yeah, actually,” Stiles says, pulling away from Isaac’s hips for the first time in five minutes. “I was trying to make Isaac moan loud enough to be heard downstairs.”
“Any luck?” Scott laughs, dropping onto the bed and pressing his lips against Isaac’s jaw. Isaac has felt Scott’s mouth on him enough times to know that he’s smiling as he presses more kisses along Isaac's neck and collarbone.
“Not yet.” Stiles shrugs and leans back down, warm breath ghosting over the skin right above the button of Isaac’s jeans. “We can keep trying though, yeah?”
“Yeah," Scott murmurs, fingers trailing along Isaac's ribs, mouth warm on his shoulder. "If you want us to." Isaac nods without a second of hesitation.
“You’ve got a few hours until the music stops,” he says, wrapping his fingers into the hem of Scott's shirt. “But you might have to try a few times.”
“Not a problem,” Scott says, leaning away to completely pull his shirt over his head.
“Not a problem at all,” Stiles echoes, mercifully popping the button on Isaac’s jeans and sliding his hand inside.
&.
They fall asleep after attempt number three, fucked out and tangled together in a pile of sore limbs, barely even noticing the music still pounding below.
In the morning, when Isaac wriggles his way out from underneath them, desperately in need of some mouthwash, he finds another bottle of cough syrup sitting on the floor in front of his door. There's a small note taped to it and the handwriting on it is vaguely similar to Derek's, but sloppy in a way that screams 'absolutely wasted.'
we could hear you coughing downstairs! drink more of this! The last four words are underlined no less than six times by what looks like three different pens.
Isaac laughs so hard that he actually starts coughing for real.