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There’s a werewolf in Isaac’s Comparative Literature course.
He knows this because the second whoever it is walks into the room, every hair on the back of Isaac’s neck stands on end and his instincts scream run. He ducks his head and hunches his shoulders, gets a whiff of their scent and catalogs two things:
One, this werewolf is an alpha and two - two, Derek told him alphas don’t like when betas and omegas from other packs try and encroach on their territory. Boyd said if there’s an alpha meaner than Derek, he’d probably wanna rip Isaac’s throat out with his teeth.
Isaac’s pack is not exactly partial to sugarcoating.
Isaac doesn’t want his throat ripped out. He just wants to go to class and get a degree and live a semi-normal university life while also, fine, living in a two-flat with his pack who, okay, happen to be werewolves but, like. He’s not expecting much here.
He wasn’t really expecting anything at all when he applied to school; technically, the pack’s home is only an hour away, courtesy of Derek’s second-in-command and suspiciously altruistic uncle, and Boyd and Erica go here, too, so it’s not like he’s far from them. Not like he wants to be, anyway. But still.
Of course there’s a freaking alpha taking the same gen ed requirement as him.
The scent gets stronger and someone drops down heavily into the seat next to him; Isaac's canines extend and he closes his eyes and tells himself, very clearly, no, Isaac. You’re not going to turn in a room full of university students, you are going to be normal dammit -
“Hey!”
Isaac cracks open an eye; his throat’s still mercifully intact.
The alpha is a boy and he is smiling and cute and Isaac is so confused. “Hi?”
“Scott,” he says, and holds out a hand. When Isaac doesn’t react, he teases, “Do I have to say ‘shake’ or something?”
Isaac reaches out hesitantly, marvels at how not broken his hand is when he gets it back. He lowers his eyes - he’s not going to instigate a fight with an alpha, even one that looks like the most hardcore thing he’s ever done is stay out past curfew once.
“Isaac.”
“Stop that, dude,” Scott tells him, and nudges at his shoulder. “Are you like - whatever.” He sniffs and tilts his head, murmurs, “Beta?”
Isaac nods and Scott’s grin gets wider. “Awesome. You know, I said to Stiles there had to be at least one other - uh.” He casts a cursory glance around the room. “Dog person, here. Had to be. Statistically impossible for me to never meet another one.”
"What’s a Stiles?”
“A best friend,” Scott answers easily. “Sorta lanky, freckled, really sarcastic. One of kind, so you can’t have him.”
“Oh.” Isaac fidgets in his seat. Says, too loud, “Why haven’t you ripped my throat out yet?”
The girl behind them chokes on her bottle of Coke. Isaac resolves to work on his indoor voice.
Scott’s bemused now, and he scoots closer, lays a hand on Isaac’s forearm. “Why would I do that?” he asks, concerned, and Isaac shrugs.
“Derek - my, um. Well, my,” he lowers his voice, “my pack in general said an alpha can get territorial? That’d you’d try and hurt me -”
“That’s stupid.” Scott’s frowning, like he has half a mind to march up to this Derek person and demand what lies he’s been feeding Isaac; it’s kind of amusing. “Or, well. I mean, I guess it’s not stupid - I’m sure there’s some alpha out there who is that big of a dick but, uh. I don’t. Do that.”
“Do what?”
There’s a wrinkle gathering on his forehead, and he’s deathly serious when he says, “Hurt. Frighten.”
Isaac opens his mouth to respond, but their professor waltzes into class and demands the attention of the room, and that’s the last thing Scott says to him for the rest of the lecture.
Once they’re dismissed, the class erupts into conversation and Isaac stuffs his textbooks and laptop into his messenger bag. When he straightens, Scott’s gone. Sitting on Isaac’s desk is a scrap piece of paper with a number and note scrawled on it:
You smell nice by the way - text me sometime dude
Isaac clutches the ripped paper in his fist and frowns.
(He frowns, but he puts the number into his contacts anyway, saves it under SCOTT WOLFBOY.
This is how it starts.)
*
“You didn’t text.”
Isaac nearly chokes on the muffin he bought at the student café before class and looks up at Scott. He’s pouting. Isaac has crumbs on his face and shirt and life isn’t fair at all. “Um,” he chews as much as he can without giving Scott a tour of the inside of his mouth and swallows thickly. “Sorry?”
“You should be,” Scott says, but he’s all smiles again, and takes a seat next to Isaac. They’re in the back row this time, away from the sensitive ears of the human students in front of them. “I was really hoping you’d text.”
“I’ve been busy all week,” Isaac shrugs.
“Busy not texting,” Scott agrees. “Are you here alone?”
Isaac can guess what he means - are you the only one of your pack who goes here - and he shakes his head. “Nah, two of the others graduated high school with me, we picked the same school so it’d be easier. It’s weird, when you’re away from them too long, y’know?”
“Yeah, I know how that goes,” Scott’s resting his chin on his hand, elbow planted on the notebook underneath him. “Half my pack goes here, too. How about your alpha?”
Isaac snorts. “Derek doesn’t go here.”
“What does Derek do?”
Isaac thinks about this. “Broods, mostly. Erica said she saw him smile once, but I still think it was a trick of the light.”
Scott coughs out a laugh behind his hand, and the professor goes into her latest spiel, same as the week before. Only this time when they’re dismissed an hour later, Scott curls a warm hand on Isaac’s shoulder instead of disappearing.
His face is too close when Isaac turns to look at him - there’s a smile pulling at his mouth, and his eyes are bright and Jesus, this is so bad.
“Text me,” he says more than asks, really, and he ducks his head enough so he can catch Isaac’s eye better; he bites down on his bottom lip briefly and grins wider. “Please?”
Isaac clears his throat, rams his books into his bag and then says nonchalantly, “Yeah, whatever. If I can find the time.”
Scott slides out of his seat and laughs. “Alright, dude. I’ll see you next week.” He’s walking away, taking backwards steps towards the far exit and lifts his hands up invitingly. “Or sooner, if you text.”
The hall is almost-empty now, and Isaac asks, “Are you hitting on me?”
Scott gives him a lopsided smile. “Why, is it working?”
Isaac rises, swings his messenger bag on; he heads out the opposite way. “I’ll let you know,” he calls over his shoulder as he pushes open the door, casual as you like, and Scott’s laugh is far off now - but still clear as if he’s standing right behind Isaac.
Sometimes - okay, a lot of the time - the heightened werewolf senses thing is pretty cool.
*
Isaac texts him the next day - It might be working. - and Scott must still remember the conversation from the afternoon before because when Isaac gets a response, it’s just a series of emoticons:
:D :D :DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
(And Isaac’s not sure how he managed to find the least-threatening alpha in the history of lycanthropy, but. He’s not complaining.)
*
It’s not a thing, except it sort of is, and Scott texts him a lot. When they're out of class, they have actual conversations - Scott's even called a few times.
(Scott's last name, Isaac learns, is McCall. He also has a pack mostly his age, his favorite color is green, he's studying to be a social worker, and his mom is his favorite person.
And fine, so Isaac found most of this out by Facebook stalking him for a few weeks before he mustered up the courage to send Scott a friend request, one that was accepted within minutes, but Isaac's paying for it, really - Scott posted a heart on his wall, after, and Boyd still thinks this is the funniest thing in the entire world.)
When they're in their shared lecture, Scott's messages are completely random most of the time, like he has a constant running commentary in his head and the best way to deal with it is to subject Isaac to as many useless texts as possible:
From: Scott
I’m pretty sure our professor is a robot does she even take a breath when she talks
From: Scott
Lol the girl who came in late totally just crop dusted someone should have avoided that second helping of chorizo for breakfast
From: Scott
Dude you look so cute when you concentrate :O)
A few weeks in, Isaac’s resolve crumbles like a house of cards in the middle of a tornado and when Scott texts him at the tail end of yet another lecture, asks if he’s free tonight and would he want to go to a party Scott's pack is throwing? Isaac texts back Cool if I bring two of my friends?
From: Scott
!!! Does that mean you’re gonna come??? Yeah of COURSE I love new friends :D
From: Scott
Sooo... does this mean I’m not gonna be able to get you alone ? :(
From: Isaac
You might, if they like you. If they like you they’ll probably offer to barricade your room so no one can unknowingly stumble into it
From: Scott
Everyone likes me! And awesome, I really want you to see my room. I have things in it like walls and a bed and a me (sometimes naked)
From: Isaac
You’re trying to seduce me into joining your pack. Adorable.
From: Scott
Uh is ‘join your pack’ code for ‘blowing you’ cuz if so yeah dude. Yes. Definitely I am really doing that
Isaac lets his phone drop to his desk, loudly, and folds his fingers over his mouth when the professor pauses - for once - and gives him the stink eye for distracting her. He can hear Scott’s muffled laughter from here, and he plucks his pen up from his notebook and taps the end against his teeth.
Then, he carefully leans back in his seat so Scott has an easy view of him; he can feel Scott staring like Isaac’s sitting right next to him instead of a whole hall away - and really, he doesn’t know why they sit so far apart, maybe it’s half the fun to use the distance to their advantage, help them use their heightened senses to focus on one another.
It’s pratice. That’s what Isaac tells himself.
(Practice that is probably going to get him a B minus in this class, but whatever.)
Isaac discreetly takes the pen and deliberately hollows his cheeks as he guides it in and out slowly. He hears a stifled, choking sound from the opposite end of the lecture hall that’s distinctly Scott and smiles, pen halfway in his mouth. He glances at Scott - he’s slumped on his desk, hand pushing his hair up, shaking his head at Isaac as he bites down on a smile.
Isaac pokes the pen against the inside of his cheek so it extends out and Scott’s smile gets decidedly more turned on which, okay, Isaac totally has this in the bag -
Until he notices the girl next to him blankly staring. It is, if he recalls correctly, the same girl who choked on her drink the first time he and Scott talked. He hurriedly takes the pen out, gets spit from it on his notebook in the process and wipes his mouth.
“I had - something. Food. Stuck in my teeth,” he whispers. “Pen toothpick?”
He makes a face at her when she doesn’t respond - whatever, it’s college, this is supposed to be a time in his life when he’s allowed to suck on phallic shaped objects in the middle of a lecture to make a boy half-hard from across the room.
(Isaac doesn’t know that for sure, but the level of arousal in this lecture hall has gone up like, ten thousand notches and it all seems to pinpoint from Scott’s dick, so.)
He picks up his phone again once the girl turns away.
From: Isaac
Pen Is Envy
From: Scott
Did you just fail reference The Handmaid’s Tale that doesn’t even make sense in this context bro
From: Isaac
Idk what’s hotter the fact that you got the reference or the fact that you called me bro right after texting me to suck your dick
From: Scott
I believe the term is make love.
Isaac snorts before he can stop himself, and he’s still bent over in his seat, quietly laughing, when the lecture is dismissed. He stays huddled like that until he’s sure their professor’s left the room - Isaac won’t be able to look her in the eye for the rest of this semester, probably - and when the hall’s emptied out, Scott drops into the seat next to him.
(Happiness exudes from every inch of him, and Isaac tries not to smile too widely in response.)
“We’ve never actually chilled outside of this class before,” Scott notes, and kicks the toe of his shoe against Isaac’s calf. “What if we’re like, not real life compatible.”
“This lecture is real life,” Isaac might still be laughing. “What are you even talking about, McCall?”
“You know what I mean,” Scott says. “There’s kids you get along with in lectures because you’ve only got - what? A couple hours with ‘em, tops? You stick to a basic list of topics, adhere to a strict schedule. That doesn’t always translate into a friendship outside of a school-sanctioned building.”
“Oh, you use those big words so well,” Isaac murmurs, and he snorts again. “And you realized how shit my Handmaid’s Tale reference was? You're so knowledgeable. Talk dirty to me, Encyclopedia Brown.”
“That kid was a kid and also a detective and you suck at literary references oh my God,” Scott says this all in one go and Isaac’s squeezing his eyes shut because he can’t breathe and it’s one of those moments where everything is so fucking hilarious for absolutely no reason at all and that’s when Scott kisses him.
Well, Scott kisses his teeth. Because he was laughing.
“I was laughing,” Isaac says, but his hand tugs at the collar of Scott’s plaid lumberjack-y shirt anyway, in case Scott gets the awful idea to kiss him and bolt. “You have bad timing.”
“Did I mention that you look really cute when you’re concentrating?” Scott asks, and his hand is cupping Isaac’s chin to hold him in place. “Because you do. You look even better when you’re happy. I have class in a half hour.”
Isaac furrows his brow at the non sequitur before Scott explains:
“So, we can’t, like. Make out in this lecture hall for too long.”
“I think another class is starting in here soon, anyway,” Isaac tells Scott’s mouth. Scott nods. He’s leaning in again when his back stiffens and he sits up properly, head cocked like a dog that hears a particular sound. (Isaac hears it too - a high-pitched ringing that makes his hackles raise.)
Scott sighs. “Lydia needs something before I head to my next class, I have to go.”
“That sounded foreboding.”
“Nah,” Scott stands and stretches and his shirt rides up; he grins down at Isaac when Isaac foregoes their conversation to stare directly at his happy trail. “Probably just wants to discuss pack stuff before class. I’ll see you tonight?”
Isaac still hasn’t put any of his things away, but he stands, too, and nods. “Yeah, definitely.”
“Okay,” Scott says, and, “I’m gonna kiss you now.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I wanted to warn you first. Your teeth are pointy.”
“Werewolf,” Isaac reminds him. “Sorta comes with the territory.”
“Stop talking,” Scott says sweetly, and tilts his chin up - and he has to tilt his chin up to catch Isaac’s bottom lip and Isaac refuses to find it cute except for how it really fucking is.
This time, Isaac’s ready with a hand on Scott’s jaw and an arm slung low across his hips. Footsteps fall just outside the door - a student arriving for next class way too early - and they wolf-whistle.
Isaac laughs again - but this time, Scott does, too.
*
"You're going on a date with an alpha? Who isn't Derek?"
Isaac shudders. "Don't even joke about that, Erica."
"I'm not," Erica says, but she's smiling because she's a liar. "But that's great news, since Derek's track record when he's dating someone is inherently awful."
"That's..." Isaac looks up at his ceiling, and Erica pokes his chin from where she's lying next to him. "That's not entirely true."
"Is too. There was that lady who tried to murder all of us because it was her job. And the one who thought she was an oak tree, or whatever."
"Yeah, but," his phone buzzes; it's probably Scott and Isaac really should text him and then get in the shower but he still hasn't talked to Derek and he's sort of dreading it. "The cute cop chick? She was completely normal."
Erica shakes her head against the arm he has under her. "They never officially dated."
"Whatever, it counts," Isaac says. "So he's one-for-three."
"If he were a baseball player, he'd have great stats."
Isaac picks his head up; Boyd's leaning against the doorframe, an amused tilt to his mouth. Erica beckons him and he goes, smushes himself between them like he's not massive. He reaches out and awkwardly curls his hand backward to prevent Isaac from falling off the edge of his bed though, so y'know. At least he's thoughtful.
"Is this the guy you're texting constantly?"
"Scott. Yeah. And it's not a date, it's a party. That you're both going to."
"Duh," Erica says the same time Boyd says, "What's in it for me?"
"My eternal friendship and pack devotion," Isaac answers, and Boyd pointedly yawns in his face. Isaac vindictively takes the comment about him being thoughtful back.
"I'll do the chores on your chore chart all weekend."
(Isaac's not sure what people think of when they hear werewolf, anymore. American dudes in London? The guy from the Twilight franchise? Michael J Fox's furry basketball games? Whichever - he's pretty sure chore charts don't factor into it. Chore charts with stickers.)
Boyd grins.
"Sure," he says. "I'd love to go."
"Go where?"
"Um," Isaac picks his head against. Derek's scowling from the doorway. "Hey, Derek, I gotta talk to you."
Derek scowls harder.
Isaac sits up properly; Boyd's arm shifts behind him and presses against his hip so Isaac doesn't tip over and Isaac sighs and says, "There's a party tonight."
Derek shrugs. "Okay. I'm not your parent, Isaac. You don't have to ask my permission."
"It's another pack's party," Erica supplies helpfully.
"Absolutely not," says Derek.
"Derek," Isaac balances his elbows on his knees. "I am way too old to sneak out of my house because I'm not allowed to go somewhere, but I'm not exactly above it, either."
"Isaac's got a crush on an alpha," Boyd says with a laugh.
Isaac hisses, "Boyd the Betrayer," and Derek immediately looks miserable. Though, to be fair - Derek always looks miserable. His default expression is Constipated With A Touch Of Rage; Erica says she's surprised Derek hasn't secretly written a series of slam poetry pieces entitled Odes to Man Pain: My Journey To Self-Discovery Through Inept Leadership.
Erica has to work on her constructive criticism.
"An alpha?"
"It's just - I like him," Isaac admits, and then gnaws on his bottom lip. "Like in a person way and not a werewolf way."
"What constitutes a werewolf way?" Erica asks, and Boyd snorts and says, "Isaac baring his belly and wagging his tail."
He needs a pack that doesn't tease him as much. (He doesn't - he loves them to a truly insane degree but like. They don't even have tails, Jesus.)
"The world is against me," Isaac laments as he flops back down.
Derek rolls his eyes and leans sarcastically against the doorway. Isaac didn't even know people could lean sarcastically. "You can go," he says gruffly. "But you should do some reconnaissance while you're at it -"
"I'm not spying on another pack at a college party for you, Derek!” Isaac lifts his arms. “What can I even find out? They use red Solo cups and really like Kendrick Lamar remixes. What a wealth of information.”
“Do it,” Derek says with a smile, but it’s his asshole smile. Because he’s an asshole. “Or I’ll do it for you.”
Isaac digs his fingers against his eyelids until bright spots of light burst behind them. “Derek. Please don't show up and stand in the corner and creepily stare at everyone, I'm begging you."
“Boyd and I will keep watch,” Erica says. Isaac leans over Boyd to kiss her cheek. And then kisses Boyd’s, just because. She’s lying, of course. Chances are she and Boyd will try and find a free room within ten minutes to fuck in, but Derek doesn’t have to know that. “Okay?”
Derek juts his jaw out, and then sighs and pushes off the frame. “Whatever. Be careful.”
Isaac nods; he wins this round, even if it means doing extra chores for a few days. He'd do extra chores for a few weeks if it meant getting to hang out with Scott.
He's so gone.
*
“You’re wearing a scarf in southern California,” a boy says when he opens the door to Scott’s apartment and takes Isaac in. “Are you okay?”
Isaac tightens it defensively around his neck.
“I’m Stiles,” he adds then, loud over the music thumping loudly from someone’s iPod dock. “I’m guessing you’re Isaac? I see what Scott meant about the cheekbones!”
Isaac ducks so his face is partially covered by his scarf. “Um. Hi. Is he here?”
“Stiles, shut up,” and there’s Scott, appearing at Stiles’ side and grinning wide. He’s speaking low, knows Isaac will hear him no matter how loud the music gets. “Hey, dude. Are these your friends?”
“Shut up - what, you were totally talking about his cheekbones earlier,” Stiles tells Scott. “‘Bro, I think diamond cutters are duller than those things.’ That’s what you said, Scott.”
Scott just shrugs cheerily, like he can’t be fucked to be embarrassed. He’s still studying Erica and Boyd. “You guys want something to drink? Lydia figured out this wolfsbane mixture that can get you tipsy without screwing you over.”
He waves them inside, and they follow to the kitchen, where a girl - Lydia, Isaac guesses - purses her lips into a semblance of a smile and hands over a pitcher of Kool-Aid from the back of the fridge to Scott. He sets it down in front of them with a shake of his head. “First time she tried it, we all tripped balls and hallucinated, but it’s perfect now.” He pours out a shot’s worth and downs it, then holds out the pitcher to Erica and Boyd in question.
Derek, Isaac thinks, would probably immediately assume Scott was trying to poison them. He’d dump the punch out on the floor. Actually, he’d try and shove the pitcher down Scott’s throat, because he lacks a certain subtlety 99.999% of the time. But Derek isn’t here, and Erica and Boyd look to Isaac instead; Isaac shrugs, says, “Yeah, I’ll take a shot,” and that’s good enough for them.
“Cool,” Scott says, and lines up three. His eyes flick up to catch Isaac’s. “But probably don’t drink too much? I want -” He stops pouring, sets the pitcher down and pushes the shots forward. “That’s been my only one. I wanted to be alright when you got here.”
Isaac tosses back his drink. It doesn’t burn going down, really - it’s definitely strong, but there’s the faintest floral scent underneath that masks any sort of unpleasant aftertaste. It settles down his throat, warm and smooth as honey, and he blinks and smiles. “Why?”
Scott chews on the corner of his mouth. “Come to my room and I’ll show you?”
Isaac grins.
*
Scott’s room looks exactly how Isaac thought it would. Not that he’s pictured it extensively or anything, but he casts a glance around and it’s like equal parts jock and nerd; there’s a plastic IKEA bookshelf set up along one wall, a lacrosse stick in the corner, and a framed plaque of Scott’s old high school team.
Isaac whistles. “State champs?”
“Both years I was captain,” Scott says. He’s standing in the middle of the room, watching Isaac take everything in.
Isaac nods. “Good with a stick. And balls.”
Scott cocks an eyebrow (oh really, it says) and Isaac hides a smile and turns towards the shelving unit in the corner. “Lotta books.”
“Stick and balls. Books,” Scott sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. “I’m a multi-faceted guy.”
Isaac’s fingers brush along the spines of the novels, across the titles and authors and genres. “Which one’s your favorite?”
“All of ‘em.” He’s a lot closer now, and his hand sits at Isaac’s waist. He hooks his chin over Isaac’s shoulder - stands on his tiptoes to do it, and Isaac doesn’t smile at that, he doesn’t - to study the shelf with him. He points to to a handful in turn. “I like the dystopias best. I like seeing the things people will do to survive once their options run out.”
“Fascinating,” Isaac closes his eyes and Scot noses along the line of his neck, curls his fingers so the hem of Isaac’s shirt lifts and Jesus, Isaac is just. He’s so glad he signed up for Comparative Literature. “So, um. Your - your pack?”
Scott turns him by his hips and plants his hands on the edge of the bookshelf on either side of Isaac's head. "What about 'em?"
"There's a scent coming off that red-headed girl - Lydia? But,” Scott’s hand drops to his buttonfly and pulls idly at the denim there and Isaac brain short circuits for approximately four seconds. “It’s - it's not a wolf. I know my pack's scent and I know your scent, but that's all I'm getting."
"You know my scent," Scott says happily, and lets Isaac push him towards the bed. "And Lydia’s a banshee. The others are human. What do I smell like?"
"Banshees are a thing? Seriously?”
“Werewolves are a thing,” Scott shrugs, and pokes him in the chest, demands, “What do I smell like?”
“I don't know. Good. But not - not like, pleasant good. Like. Not evil."
"I don't smell like a Disney villain," Scott grins against Isaac’s neck. "Sweet."
"You kind of remind me of sunshine," Isaac tells him, and shoves at his stomach once the backs of Scott’s legs hit his mattress; he falls and scoots towards the pillows on his elbows with Isaac crawling over him. "Sunshine and sex."
"Good things," Scott yanks on his scarf to pull him closer, twists the fabric in his hands and stares at it sort of contemplatively, like it’s giving him ideas. "But it's nighttime now, so let's focus on the second one."
Isaac smiles and dips his head down but when Scott arches into the kiss, he jerks back and sits up, knees bracketing Scott’s thigh. “I didn't know you could have humans in packs."
"A pack's not about who has the bite and who doesn't." Scott unzips Isaac's jeans, and tugs him down again. "Night time,” he repeats. “Sex scent - it's about who you have standing next to you. Family, y'know?"
He sounds fond, affectionate, and Isaac loses his breath when Scott crooks one arm around Isaac’s neck and sticks his hand down Isaac’s pants with the other. "Hey, we sorta met each other's pack tonight, dude.” He shoves Isaac’s jeans around his thighs. “Does that mean we're like, dating?"
Isaac holds himself up with his forearms, and grins at Scott. It probably looks dopey, but Isaac can’t really bring himself to care. "Are you asking me out?"
“Would you say yes, if I was?"
Isaac starts a trek down Scott’s chest, and glances up at him from Scott’s hip. "Are you asking me out so I'll blow you?"
Scott laughs and curls his fingers into Isaac’s hair. He repeats teasingly, "Would you say yes, if I was?"
“I was gonna blow you anyway,” Isaac confides with a wrinkled nose, his thumb flicking over the zip on Scott’s jeans, and Scott lets his head thump back onto his pillow. “The rest of it kind of seems like a bonus.”
“Bonus,” Scott has both hands in his hair now, and Isaac hopes vaguely that he’s a puller. “Yes, bonuses are so fucking good. You sucking my dick is like, a-plus, but you sucking my dick and then agreeing to be my boyfriend after? Oh, God. This is college, I’m not supposed to meet people I want to actually date in college, right? I was led to believe this would just be all about hook-ups and walks of not-shame because there’s nothing shameful about sex or whatever, I don’t know, but like walks home where I maybe am still wearing my clothes from last night - I mean, I’ve done that. I did that already. I do that normally, actually, mostly because I’m lazy. Christ, I sound like Stiles -”
“Do you like your hair being pulled?” Isaac asks, and Scott lifts his hips so Isaac can tug his jeans down.
He licks his lips. “What?”
“Because I definitely - God, why are you wearing boots, there are knots in these, Scott -”
“Rip the laces, I don’t care,” Scott suggests, and Isaac does and flings his boots away and continues:
“- I definitely like having my hair pulled.”
There’s a pause, and then Scott feigns weeping and says, “Dude, I love college so much, wow.”
“Yeah,” Isaac murmurs, and strips off his sweater and scarf in one go, shoves all their divested clothes off the bed. “Me, too.”
He snaps the waistband of Scott’s boxer briefs, sitting up between the vee of Scott’s legs once more. “Boyfriend bonus?”
“I have a motorbike,” Scott says, propped up on his elbows. “You make me wanna buy you a helmet for it.”
“That’s sweet,” Isaac mouth twists into a smile. “I think.”
“Brain can’t get smushed,” he lies back down again and grins up at the ceiling. “Can’t be my boyfriend if your brain goes splat on a highway.”
“So it’s sweet in a morbid sort of way,” Isaac finishes with a nod, and Scott laughs, then. “I can deal with that.”
“Yeah?” Scott picks his head up again and he’s smiling and there’s a heat in Isaac’s veins that has nothing to do with the shot of wolfsbane-laced Kool-Aid they’d taken earlier. “Good.”
*
Scott plops down on the bed, jostles Isaac in his seat, and Isaac glares at his textbook and adjusts the leg he has folded under him. "Scott, I really have to study."
"Okay." Scott's fingers tickle the hair curled at Isaac's neck. His mouth follows after. "So study. I'm not stopping you."
Isaac scribbles down a term in his notebook with his pen and shivers at the feather-light brush of lips against his neck. "I swear once this is finished I’m done for the year and I’m all yours, but I have three final papers due next week."
"Shouldn’t have procrastinated," Scott says idly, shifting closer; the kiss he leaves this time parts with a wet sound.
"McCall," his voice sounds faint, weak even to his own ears. He sighs, tilts his head to give Scott more room and he's read the same paragraph on welfare reform three times.
"Lahey," Scott says, and then breathes out beautiful and Isaac grimaces.
"Shut up," he says softly, and Scott smiles - a baring of teeth against the pulse point of Isaac's throat.
"You know, that always makes your pulse jump.” His hand curves over Isaac's thigh, holds tight and he adds enticingly, “And you have all weekend to write. C’mon, I’ll do whatever you want.”
“I wanna study,” Isaac says, but he says it like he means I want Derek to leave the apartment in a huff by making him hear and smell things he doesn’t want to hear or smell, and Scott lets out a soft sound of laughter. “Anything?”
Scott nips at his jaw. “Anything,” he says, and then, quick as a flash, he’s hiking his leg up and over Isaac’s lap and shoving him down onto the mattress; Isaac's notebook falls to the floor. "What if I fucked you on your textbooks? Would you still rather study?"
Isaac snaps his pen in half and gets ink all over his bed in the process. He lets go of it, wipes his hand and shifts, nonchalantly says, “Been there, done that.”
(And he has - he's got a crumpled and torn and mysteriously stained first draft of his last Comparative Literature paper stuffed into the bottom of the drawer at his desk to prove it.)
"What if," Scott's mouth twitches, and Isaac catches the scent of - anxiousness? as his palms flatten on Isaac's chest. "What if you fucked me?"
Which. They haven't done yet. Isaac drops the casual façade. "Are you serious?"
Scott lifts a brow. "Is that incredulous response a no?"
Isaac reaches for him, tugs him down by the nape of his neck and mumbles against his lips, "It's a, 'I'm cool doing whatever you're comfortable with.'"
"I'm comfortable with it," Scott tells him, grinning. "I've thought about it."
"Yeah, but - the, uh. Werewolf. Thing."
"What werewolf thing?"
"Um." This is probably embarrassing right? He should just not even answer, wouldn't, if Scott didn't look so genuinely confused. "Like, alpha, beta, whatever, y'know? You technically outrank me."
"Technically," Scott intones, and Isaac lets out a breath.
"You're not pack but you're still an alpha, you - you're still into like, control and all that. Or whatever. Right? Isn't that just -"
"If you say 'the nature of the beast' I'll climb off you right now and laugh until I puke, dude," Scott interrupts and Isaac nudges him sharply in the side with a bony knee.
"- Isn’t it just instinct?"
"Maybe. But, uh," his fingers close around Isaac's wrists and pins Isaac’s arms down above his head; Isaac tests the give of Scott's grip and finds himself trapped in this like, really, really, really great way.
He licks his lips and breaks into a grin, and Scott's smile gets wider in response. "Don't have to fuck you to have the upperhand."
"Is it still considered an upperhand if the shared goal is for both of us to come?"
Scott shrugs, unconcerned. "Semantics."
"Oh, I love when you talk dirty, is that your word of the day," Isaac says, closing his eyes, and Scott snorts, this time.
"No, actually."
"What is it, then?"
"Lackluster. Lacking in sheen, brilliance, or vitality." He switches both of Isaac’s wrists to a single hand, uses the other to push Isaac’s shirt up. "Dull, mediocre -"
“Yeah, none," Isaac hands twitch and Scott lets go; he sits up to tug off his shirt, kisses Scott once he's flung it onto his desk before lying back down, "none of that. What was yesterday's?"
"I," Scott laughs, again. "Satiate."
He glances up - Isaac's propped on one elbow, smirking, and he lifts an eyebrow.
"To satisfy as a need or desire fully or to excess," Scott says, and undoes Isaac's buttonfly. He gives his dick an inquisitive squeeze through his jeans, and a noise gets caught in Isaac's throat. Scott staring at him with that same, minuscule sort of unsure note to his features. "So?" he says. "Do you want to?"
“You made me break my pen,” Isaac says, and sits up with Scott in his lap again. “You owe me new bedsheets.”
“Will you fuck me?” Scott asks, and Isaac takes a breath because, Christ, there is never going to be enough air in his lungs for this.
He smiles, small and careful but ridiculously happy, too, and he tilts his chin up and kisses Scott and hopes that’s answer enough. Scott cheers woo against his mouth, and his palms are warm from where they’re cupping Isaac's cheeks when Isaac perks up and says, "Oh." He bunches Scott’s shirt in his fists. “You said anything, right?”
“Yep.”
“What if we roleplay where you don't call me dude while I’m blowing you -”
“One time,” Scott laughs, and -
“Four, actually,” Isaac corrects. He juts his chin out thoughtfully. “Five, if you count that time you called me bro while you were fucking me -”
“They’re my terms of endearment, shut up,” Scott says, and it doesn’t come out the least bit defensive; the opposite, actually - he’s still laughing, face lit up like the goddamn Fourth of July.
“It’s cute,” Isaac admits, and he can feel a flush crawl up his neck. “Dude.”
"Buuuddy," Scott replies, and Isaac hunches his shoulders and laughs and he thinks he might love Scott, might tell him soon, actually.
(It's been a busy year. And there wasn’t an alpha in any of his classes this semester, but there is one in his bed now, so.
Isaac figures it's a decent trade off, in the end.)