Archive of Our Own

Scott stumbles into the nearest available room, trips over something hard and falls face first onto a mattress, so all’s well that ends well.

He’s awoken a few minutes later- or maybe an hour, he can’t tell- by someone flicking on the light.

“Mprggrfh,” he snaps into the bed sheet, closing his eyes again. “If you’re an’thr one of those Alph’s, e’thr murd’r me or turn off the light, god.”

“Sorry,” and that’s Isaac’s voice, “’m tired too, and this is my room.”

“Oh,” Scott says. He rolls over. “There’s space here.”

Isaac hesitates, Scott can feel it, but he switches off the light, and a moment later the scent that suffuses the bed surrounds Scott. It’s nice, it’s like fresh laundry, like golden retrievers.

“’night,” says Scott. He reaches out to pat Isaac goodnight, and his hand lands on his chest. He’s asleep before he can remember to move it away.

Sunlight filters through and Stiles sings ABBA off-key, hitting the high notes all wrong and effectively waking Scott up.

Isaac’s scent is gone, although the bed still smells of him. Scott breathes it in, groggy and comfortable.

“Up,” Stiles greets him. “Come on, man.”

“I’ve been up,” Scott moans. “I’ve been up for three days, thanks to those idiot Alpha weirdos.”

“We’re celebrating their gone-ness. And the way to do that is not stay in bed all day,” Stiles says reproachfully.

“You are disgustingly happy,” Scott says. “Why are you so happy?”

“Can’t I be happy?” Stiles asks. “I refuse to mope around ala Bella Swan, although my life is remarkably like hers, minus the undead people. Soul sister of hers I refuse to be. Although, hey, since you’re real, I suppose they are too.”

“What?” Scott says. “Also, I can hear your heartbeat, you’re avoiding the question, that’s strange.”

“Never mind that,” Stiles says hastily. “I made breakfast!”

“This house does breakfast?”

“I was as shocked as you are,” Stiles says seriously. “And here I was thinking all they did was emo dinners by candlelight.”

Isaac, Erica and Boyd are back at school, since the Alpha pack is gone and when he’s not defending his own status as King Alpha of Beacon Hills, Derek seems to care about their education. Which is nice. Isaac comes by Scott’s Econ class, where, at the back, Scott is trying valiantly not to drop off. He slides into the empty seat next to Scott.

“Oh, good,” Scott proclaims, and promptly falls asleep on his shoulder. He can hear Isaac letting out a startled huff, but he doesn’t push him off, not even when Scott is awoken by Miss Emilia telling him to stop drooling on Mr Lahey’s shoulder, please.

Scott can’t be bothered to get up, because three days, so he and Isaac get detention.

“Sorry,” he apologises to Isaac, sitting in the Chem lab, eyelids still finding it hard not to drift shut.

“’s okay,” Isaac says. He shrugs. “If I’m not here I’m at training, anyway, ‘cause Derek doesn’t let up, so.”

“How’s training?” asks Scott curiously.

“Okay,” Isaac says. “Derek’s ridiculous, it’s like he’s making Cybermen of us, but it’s still better than- before, and Erica and Boyd are cool.”

“Cybermen,” Scott says.

Isaac flashes a grin, all white teeth. “Doctor Who? I wouldn’t have you pegged as the type.”

“Stiles made me watch it,” Scott says. “I liked it.”

“I used to watch it with my mom,” Isaac says, then looks surprised that he’s said it.

“Oh,” Scott says. “Well. You can watch it with me, now! And Stiles. Except no, don’t watch it with Stiles, he’ll pause the thing and yell at you if you don’t get a reference from an original season, he’s crazy like that.”

“Okay,” Isaac says, and he smiles, again. “You should come by for training.”

“Yeah?” asks Scott.

“Yeah,” Isaac says. “It won’t mean Derek’s your Alpha, or anything, except- all of us need training, too, that Alpha pack thing was Stiles’ strategizing and pure dumb luck.”

The teacher in charge hushes them.

Scott sighs.

“Do you want to- sleep?” Isaac says, grinning. “If we’re going to be here for another hour, we might as well make use of it.”

Scott scoots his stool over to Isaac and falls asleep in his space again, ignoring the teacher glaring daggers at them.

They get another detention, but the nap was totally worth it.

The thing is. His bed, that night, is a bit too big, a bit too empty and alone.

The next day is Saturday, and after his lunch Scott tells his mom he’s going over to see a friend. He jogs to the Hale house, and almost collides into Stiles.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles demands.

“What are you doing here?” Scott parries cleverly.

They glare at each other suspiciously.

“I was in the neighbourhood,” Stiles informs him.

“This is a forest,” Scott says.

“I was walking, for, like, exercise,” Stiles says shiftily. “Shut up, you’re here too.”

Scott shrugs, conceding the point. “I don’t think Derek’s in. Can’t scent him.”

“Oh my god, shut up, I wasn’t looking for him,” Stiles snaps, stalking away through the undergrowth.

“I just think it’s something we should be able to talk about!” Scott calls.

The front door is unlocked, and Isaac is curled up on Derek’s excuse of a couch, reading a book- Scott thinks it’s Chemistry. He grins up at Scott, maybe shy but genuinely pleased, and his hair is a golden halo, lit by the patch of sunlight he’s sitting in, and Scott hasn’t realised he’s staring, hasn’t realised that he’s realised until he opens his mouth and words he doesn’t remember forming come spilling out.

“How much d’you think Derek would kill me if I give him the ‘break-his-heart-and-I’ll-break-your-face’?”

“A bit,” Isaac supposes, “just a bit, just a little bit. Not a big bit, though, don’t worry, that I think he’s reserving for Peter when he gets him riled up enough one day. Hi.”

“Hi,” Scott says, and settles down beside Isaac, where the sunlight’s just on the right side of comfortable. “But you heard Stiles, this is Proof. Now I can finally go to Derek and pull out the Talk, I’ve never had to before.”

“That would be interesting to see,” Isaac admits. “Of course, it might end rather badly for one of you.”

“Derek, of course.”

“Derek, of course,” Isaac agrees.

“That’s why you’re my favourite,” Scott says, and it’s nice and warm and he could use a nap, now. He buries his face in Isaac’s shoulder.

“I’m flattered,” Isaac says. He closes his book, reaches an arm cautiously around Scott, keeping him steady.

“Wake me up when training starts, I guess,” Scott mumbles, or thinks he does. Sleep settles over him before Isaac replies.

“Up!” Derek barks.

“’M’up, shut up,” Isaac growls sleepily, a vibration along Scott’s skull.

“This does not mean I am in your pack,” Scott tells Derek when they’ve stumbled to their feet, “for I don’t trust you not at all and I really hope you are using the right materials, I don’t know what they are but oh my god, frowny fangy babies, could that even happen, Isaac, could it?”

Derek stares at him like he’s insane, but Isaac cracks up and drags him outside. “We’ll try that again later, alright?” he tells Scott, still laughing.

“Okay,” Scott says, yawning. Outside, it’s golden evening sun, that hour before sunset starts, and Derek decides they’ll tussle in pairs.

Isaac’s with Boyd, and Scott’s assigned Erica, who deals him a blow Scott fails to anticipate, but he’s fast in his recovery, moves when she’s not expecting and flips her on her back, pinning her arms over her head.

“Alright,” she scowls, spitting hair from her mouth.

Boyd’s sheer brute strength and Isaac’s gasping, winded, but no-one seems to be winning, or losing, they just keep going at each other until Derek looks over from where he’s arguing with Peter- from what Scott can hear Peter’s sassing his leadership skills and his fashion sense and Derek won’t stand for that, nope: same old, same old- and motions, with a sort of scissory gesture, that they switch partners.

Isaac’s fast- Scott’s faster, but he’s more- more unexpected than Erica, all long limbs that tangle and dart out when Scott’s not looking and eyes which track Scott’s every move, and his hair is mussed up and his cheeks are flushed and Scott-

is not distracted, he refuses to be, he uses the same quick motion that got Erica off her feet but Isaac- sidesteps it, or something, and then Scott’s on his back, grass prickling at him uncomfortably but breaking the fall, and Isaac’s on Scott’s stomach, long fingers wrapped securely around Scott’s wrists, breathing quick and triumphant.

Scott blinks.

“Get off, I hate you,” he orders Isaac untruthfully.

“I thought I was your favourite,” Isaac says sadly.

“You might be re-promoted- remoted? again, if you let me up,” Scott suggests. “There’s still a chance.”

Isaac considers this. “No deal,” he decides.

“Hate you,” Scott decides. “No, Peter is my favourite now. I mean, if he doesn’t have any eminent evil plans brewing.”

Isaac’s laughing, free and unburdened and looming large over Scott, and he sounds happy, throat exposed and eyes flashing gold, just a bit, and Scott wants to keep him like this, forever.

He settles for wriggling under him, trying to buck him off, except Isaac just sits there with a raised eyebrow, a strong solid presence on Scott’s stomach, straddling him steadily, just- riding him out, and okay, Scott needs to stop thinking, Scott needs to try different words, now would be nice please brain, before Isaac can scent-

“Laps!” Derek yells, and Scott almost sighs in relief.

Almost. Because his traitorous brain is traitorous, and very good friends with his dick.

Isaac gets off, holds out a hand. Scott can feel his own skittering heartbeat, hopes that Isaac will conclude that it’s from tussling, and not- not.

Well.

“I’m still faster,” Scott informs him, and takes off into the woods, running away, running it out, hopefully, but Isaac’s right at his heels.

He doesn’t. Run it out, that is.

It’s just- it’s Isaac, and Scott likes falling asleep next to him. And waking up curled over and around him, and feeding sick animals with him, and watching him as he takes away their pain. He likes tussling with him, and racing him to the edge of the forest, and tuning in to the latest episode of the soap opera that is Keeping Up With The Hales with him. He likes the way Isaac smiles, crinkly-eyed and sweet, the way he saves the pizza crust till last, the way he messes up his curls when he reads, unconsciously. He doesn’t so much like the way Isaac goes quiet, sometimes, stares off into space like he’s hurting, inside, and no-one can help. Scott wants to fix it, but doesn’t know how, so he is quiet, too: they both are, for a bit, until it’s okay again. He hopes it helps.

It’s just- different. It isn’t Allison, it isn’t that strong sharp attraction that had them sneaking into each other’s rooms at night and her family in an uproar and the unloading of a dozen angry arrows. It’s less intense, less dramatic, but it’s not- less, at all, it’s-

Scott doesn’t know. He’s crap at this. All he knows is that he can’t sleep very well without Isaac, like his body’s gotten used to Isaac’s and is loath to give warmthcomfortsafety up.

He asks Stiles about it. Tries to.

“I don’t know what you’re saying, man,” Stiles says finally, after listening to Scott ramble for fifteen minutes. “I’m pretty sure she knows about it, she has after all risked the wrath of a clan of murderous Hunters for you.”

“No, it’s.” Scott says. “Not, um. Allison.”

“Well, that’s news,” says Stiles interestedly. “Have you changed your password yet? Means it’s srz bznz.”

“Stiles.”

“Tell me who it is,” Stiles orders. “Is it Erica? Cause I hate to be the one to tell you this, man, but Boyd would beat you into a bloody pulp first.”

“’zak,” Scott mumbles, looking away, but Stiles has the ears of a freaking wolf when he feels like it.

“…Oh. Oh, my god,” Stiles says. “Isaac? I totally knew it, dude, except I didn’t, I didn’t know you swung that way, but that’s not my fault, you never told me. But oh, oh okay, I see it now, that’s- that’s cool, man, except for the whole tried-to-kill-Lydia thing, but then I don’t think they would have, Derek tried that shit too and- well, cool, I get it, with the hair and the eyes and the cheekbones, god.”

“Yeah,” says Scott. “Heh.” He scuffs his sneaker on the bottom step of Stiles’ porch, where he’s sitting. “Well.”

Stiles grins down at him. “This is adorable.”

Scott glares. “We haven’t had the Derek talk yet.”

“Aw, hell nah,” Stiles says, “you aren’t going to deflect this so easily, buddy. So, so what I got was that you don’t know how you feel, and he doesn’t know how you feel, and basically you just want to snuggle against him forever.”

“Yes,” Scott supposes, even though he’s pretty sure he hadn’t phrased it like that.

“Adorable,” Stiles coos.

“Shut up,” Scott says. “I don’t know. I mean, I do. Kind of? But. But there’s Allison. There’s Allison, and I thought I was waiting for Allison.”

“Hmm,” Stiles says. He looks thoughtful. “Do you want to keep waiting for Allison?”

Scott says, honest: “I love Allison.” He thinks about it. “’I’ll probably always love Allison. But, like, Stiles.” He thinks about it, leans back on his elbows and looks at the sky, as calm as Isaac’s eyes, as steady as Isaac’s hands, feeding a baby kitten through a tube. “The other day, Isaac was reading, like, in the cafeteria, and he wasn’t eating, even though he was hungry, and I could hear it, coming out from Econ, I could hear his tummy, it was rumbling. And he was absorbed, and he wasn’t going to eat, and I brought him mashed potatoes, even though the lunch lady glared, you know, the one who’s hated us ever since you insulted her roast beef that loud. And he looked up when I came, and he ate. And Stiles, I wanted to bring him food, every single day, from then on.”

There’s a pause. Scott looks up at Stiles. Stiles appears to be studying the sky intently as well.

“Stiles?” Scott asks, because this is unusual.

“I’m, yeah,” Stiles says, looking down at Scott. His mouth is crooked upwards, expression like the time Scott had made them friendship bracelets, except less what-the-fuck, Scott. “God, you can’t just say things like that and expect people not to have, like, feelings.”

“What should I do?” Scott asks.

“I think you’re doing pretty well on your own, buddy.”

Scott stares, because it’s something Stiles never says, not when it comes to Scott’s feelings. “I am?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “You’re growing up, little cub, and it’s beautiful.”

Scott considers this. “Can we talk about you and Derek now?”

“Speaking of which,” Stiles says. “Never thought I’d say this, but thanks, Scott, that was some good relationship advice.”

He claps Scott on the back and gets into his Jeep.

Isaac’s at Dr Deaton’s when Scott comes by for his shift; he’s mixing a snake’s solution with milk, ‘cause the snake hates medicine, but loves dairy. Chocolate dairy, in particular, and Isaac makes it a point to go and buy some every few days. The snake loves Isaac best, even though Scott’s the one who found it and saved it. Scott’s okay with that, he’s in perfect understanding with the snake.

“You’re here,” Scott says, because stating the obvious is fun like that.

“I am,” Isaac agrees, turning and giving Scott a lopsided smile. “Stiles and Derek were having a Talk, even Peter cleared out.”

“That might be my fault,” Scott says.

“I thought so,” Isaac informs him, mock-shaking his head, and Scott doesn’t quite know how to do this, but he wants to try anyway.

He says: “Isaac,” and then, because he’s never been that good with words, he walks over to where Isaac is and kisses him before he can change his mind.

He can feel his own pulse skittering, but he can also feel Isaac’s stutter in surprise, once, twice, and then jump when Scott tries to lick into his mouth. It opens, hot and wet, for Scott, and then Isaac shifts restlessly against him, and starts kissing back.

And oh- okay. Okay.

Isaac kisses like he laughs, abandoned and a bit wild, and it’s sloppy and wet and biting and it feels amazing, and Scott can feel his eyes glow golden, feel the shift he’s got to reign in. He focuses instead on tasting Isaac’s lower lip, sucking at his jaw, his neck: scenting, marking, anchoring himself to Isaac.

Isaac makes a sound, a muted, wanting sound, one Scott can feel vibrate in his throat, and then it’s – it’s not enough, not anymore, so Scott backs him into the counter and tries to- friction, tries to grind against Isaac’s leg; Isaac gasps, and pushes against him, and-

“Ahem,” Dr Deaton says, and Scott startles back, looking embarrassedly at the vet in the doorway. He glances at Isaac, who is a vivid shade of scarlet- it suits him, he thinks abstractedly. He wants to lick. His wolf isn’t calm yet, it’s still angry and whining from the lack of skin, heat, Isaac.

“Has the snake been fed yet?” Dr Deaton enquires.

“No,” Isaac says, and turns and begins hurriedly re-mixing the medicine. Scott can hear his pulse, fast and uneven.

The shift ends, finally, and Dr Deaton waves them out. Scott would say he was rolling his eyes if Dr Deaton weren’t above all that. Isaac turns to him, outside the clinic.

“I want this,” Scott tells him, because he’s found words now, and they taste right on his tongue.

Isaac blushes, ducks his head. “Why?” he asks.

“You… heard my heartbeat,” Scott says, slow, trying to explain. “While I was sleeping. I can’t sleep without you, I’ve forgotten how.”

Isaac looks up then, and there’s that smile on his face, like cautious happiness he thinks he doesn’t deserve.

“You take up all the space in the bed, and sleep on top of me,” he tells Scott. “You’re too-warm in the middle of the night, and you rub your face against me when you’re on the verge of getting up. It tickles.”

“You don’t mind,” Scott informs him. “’cause I’m your favourite. But it’s okay, you’re mine, too.”

“I thought Peter was,” Isaac says, on the verge of a laugh.

“Nope,” Scott says, reaching out and running his fingers through his hair. He kisses him, this time softly.

Isaac breathes into him when they break apart. “Let’s go home.”

“To sleep?” Scott asks.

“There’ll be a bed involved, that’s for sure,” Isaac informs him, and Scott? Is totally okay with that.