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Scott likes kissing. Likes, he really likes kissing. Lots of people consider it to be foreplay, but Scott’s never really gotten that. He doesn’t understand why kissing has to always be something that leads to anything else when just kissing by itself feels so nice.
Allison’s kisses had been gentle and sweet, her raspberry chapstick making her lips warm and soft against Scott’s. Scott had loved Allison’s kisses – the way she moved against him, the warm heat of her body pressed against his, the way she responded when he sucked a little on her bottom lip. The way her fingers would dance against his arm as they quested for purchase on his biceps, tapping out a beat to a song that neither of them knew. She liked to twine her fingers into Scott’s hair and use the purchase to kiss him deeper. She liked Eskimo kisses when they were cuddling, and she liked to rest their foreheads together in that quiet moment when their lips were just barely broken apart, their breathing heavy but smiles stretching their faces. The way she smiled when he kissed her forehead was like the sun emerging from behind a set of clouds. It made him want to do something ridiculous – climb a mountain, slay a dragon - whatever it took to prove how much he loved this girl.
Scott doesn’t remember much about kissing Lydia other than that bone-deep sense of ragelustfireangerruthlessgreed, but he does remember this: Lydia’s kiss was pure seduction. Everything, from her light jasmine perfume to the thick gloss on her lips to the way she surged up into him, hips careening forward – it was all calculated; specific. It was still hot, and Scott remembers liking it at the time – like, really liking it - but he doesn’t know if he would when he wasn’t being pulled in by the call to war of the full moon. He knows that he didn’t like the way it felt for months afterward, when every time he looked at Stiles all he could see was hurt and betrayal.
The first time Isaac kisses Scott, after their voices are hoarse from yelled confessions and the air is still ringing in the shocked silence, he's all gentle and inquisitive – like he’s desperate to learn everything there is about Scott but also kind of can’t believe that he’s getting to have this; like this is the greatest gift he’s ever gotten. When Scott pulls back, Isaac’s eyes are unguarded and achingly hopeful and full of trust and maybe even love and then they’re falling back into each other, lips and tongues, soft but insistent hands with long fingers cupping crooked jaw lines and the back of a neck; another set of fingers tugging at golden hair and mussing up the curls far past their already haphazard state and wrapping firmly around a slim waist. This time, when they both pull back, Scott’s breathing heavy and he knows he’s grinning like a total idiot but he just can’t help it. Isaac’s eyes are shining with total and complete happiness and he smiles that perfect blinding-white smile he reserves for when he’s at his most elated – the one that makes Scott’s heart flutter ridiculously and his breath catch in his throat and he just couldn’t resist the urge to lean back into Isaac’s space and up into him and to kiss him again (and again and again and again).
Later that night, when the initial head rush of it all died down, when they’re just lying in Scott’s bed basking in the heat of their bodies pressed together and the simple incredible fact that they could touch each other now, no holds barred, their kisses are slower, sweeter – gentle presses of affection that aren’t looking to go anywhere, no end goal in mind. Scott smoothes his hands down the expanse of Isaac's back, from the soft cotton of his well-loved t-shirt down to the hot, perfect skin that's revealed itself where the shirt has ridden up. It's perfect, and it's the happiest Scott has been in a long, long time. When their lips finally do meet for longer than just a momentary brush, Scott pours everything he has into it. He wants – he needs Isaac to feel as happy as he is. He wants Isaac to feel at home with him, to know that he’s safe here; that Scott will do everything in his power to protect him. That Scott needs Isaac as much as Isaac needs him.
Scott kisses with all the emotion he has, and although at first Isaac tries strokes a soothing hand along Scott’s arm he eventually just goes utterly pliant to Scott’s ministrations, tilting his head back in silent permission when Scott breaks his lips away and moves instead to his neck. Isaac makes a soft, small noise as Scott lips work at the soft skin there, and he caresses the top of Scott’s hair before allowing his long fingers to sink in. Scott sucks and nibbles and doesn’t care about the vivid dark purple that spot will be there the next day (even though he knows from experience that in high school, a hickey is like a neon sign to anyone looking that reads “Yes, I did do some serious making out yesterday, ask me how!”) – Isaac’s been dying for an excuse to wear one of those ridiculous dorky scarves he loves so much, and if he wants to cover it up, Scott couldn't care less. All that matters to him is that it’s there. When his lips finally leave that hollow space between long neck and collarbone and he moves back up along the taller boy’s body, he sees that Isaac’s eyes pupils are blown wide (and Scott makes a mental note about how okay, yeah, that’s something he’s going to want to return to later and examine. like, in depth. and who knew that other people’s erogenous zones could be such a turn-on?), but his blue (so fucking blue, jesus) eyes are lit bright with this kind of fond amusement as he reaches up to stroke through Scott’s hair, like Scott is the most adorable idiot Isaac’s ever seen.
And Scott thinks that maybe Isaac already knows.