#500sleepover

By the time you realised you were daydreaming with a fresh coat of rosy cheeks and a smile of adoration, Stiles was reaching up to push stray hairs away from your face - the warm brown swirls of his eyes, the ones that were burnt in the back of your mind and seen as a regular occurrence in the happiest of dreams, were gazing into your own. He was smiling lazily and unable to keep his hands off of you. You were like porcelain to him, a delicate cut ceramic that needed to be treated with the most tender of touches, a beautiful artwork that deserved to be admired for as long as you stood, and more. It was an obsession that he couldn't shake, and one that you knew you most certainly couldn't lose even if you tried.

"Ya know, can't be too sure these days," He crooned after your brief silence, his mouth finally caught up with his mind, "Gotta make sure the job is done right and to perfection... every single damn time." By now, Stiles was hovering completely over your naked frame, eyes shameless as they scoured your body and brought immense arousal through the coursing of his veins. You could feel his length pulsate and harden against your thigh, the libido of the Stilinski boy already desperate to make love to you once more. The thought alone made you rub your thighs together, a familiar slickness moistening your sex. You placed your hands on Stiles' chest as you trailed them down his pecs, the muscles in his stomach tensing we you passed over his stomach before nails scraped through the darkening happy trail. Stiles shuddered immediately.

"Can we try something a little different?" Your voice was barely audible, a nervous squeak pushing through your lips like drops of anxiety joining the butterflies in your stomach. You looked up in time to see Stiles gulp, his head nodding in robotic action as his gaze widened. You bit your lip again as your hands now slid under his arms to grasp his shoulders from behind, Stiles' large hands clasping over your waist. "I want to be on top this time."

His groan was loud - a deep and strangled growl that voiced from his chest and echoed off the walls around you. His head dropped to your shoulder and you sensed that this was something he'd been thinking about for a long time, fantasized, even. Your thoughts were affirmed when his dick twitched against you, absentminded jerks against your skin as he neared full erection for the second time tonight. You were immensely flattered, but sexual desire took the front seat and you were suddenly rolling across your bedsheets with the boy until his flop of soft and scruffy brunette locks flounced upon your pillow. You were straddling his waist, and you'd have to admit, the angle of this new position brought a power you didn't know you craved until now.

Stiles let go of your waist and brought one hand up, thumb rubbing small serene circles over your cheek the moment he cupped it within his protective hold. The other trailed south before his pointed finger mimicked the circles of your cheek, however harsher and large against your throbbing clit. You moaned with fluttering eyes, the nub still sensitive but surprisingly prepared to be harassed again. You were melting into Stiles and he relished in knowing that he could bring this sultry side out of you.

"You have no fucking clue how hot you look right now... but in case you were wondering, it's very hot. Extremely hot. Smokin' hot-" He began to ramble and his eyes raked down your upright body, focusing on each breast with the desire to attack them with his mouth and tongue, followed by the small grinding movement you were making now that his finger has slid into the clasp of your core. You were a goddess and Stiles was desperate to worship you, over and over again.

"-You need to shut up and stop teasing me, Stiles." You snapped, voice unable to grasp the concept of frustration as you instead began to whine, head lulling back and nails digging into the skin of your boyfriend's wrists. He nodded erratically, stammering sounds of fractured syllables and lost words dancing from his tongue as he quickly reached beside him. The packet of condoms he was incredibly anxious to buy the week before sat idly on your nightstand, his fingers scrounging for the foil chain of squares as his other hand stayed preoccupied with prodding your moistening sex.

Stiles swore under his breath as he managed to get hold of what he was searching for, a small burst of excitement in his success tugging into a smile. With the crinkling sound of foil nearby, you instinctively slid backward and over Stiles' swollen red girth of desperation, the boy sounding loudly at the feeling. He drew a deep breath, "Fuck... okay, fuck, we're doing this... we're really doing this again..." His voice rose in octave, the ball of energy of which was Stiles Stilinski making you grin out of second nature. You could hear the excitement that cradled his words close, his chest already rising and falling with labored breaths. You had barely done anything in your opinion, and he was practically cumming right on the spot.

He slowed down enough to guide the condom over his upright erection before jerking it briefly, his eyes glued to your still glistening skin and the remainder of your prior afterglow. It wasn't, though, until he looked up and caught your gaze that he began to stop breathing altogether. Set deep within your eyes was complete love - an indescribable feeling that left you with a nauseous sensation in your stomach that actually made you feel good - and Stiles thought that it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in this harsh and wonderful world.

It was last second when he lifted himself from the mattress, never breaking eye contact with you until he was seated upright with you positioned snugly on his lap. He gulped, amber hues flickering between your swollen lips and softened eyes. His lips quirked up into a smirk before he lent into you, pressing a kiss so tenderly over your own pair. Your shoulders sagged in contentedness before you caught his bottom lip, sucking on it gently. Stiles pulled back only the slightest, your lips still brushing as he tilted his head to the side and pushed his tongue over yours. It was a dance between muscles, one that caused moans to elicit and drown in the mouths of the other, a desire to breathe life into the one that made you feel so incredibly weightless at this moment.

Stiles drew out each second until it was literally impossible to go any further, his loud breaths fanning heavily against your shoulder after he pulled away. He had his arms secured around your back now, palms flat as his fingers splayed over the small curve of your spine. Yours were too tangled around him as you played with the longer strands of hair above the nape of his neck, the sentiment prompting a grin to press into your shoulder as Stiles nuzzled his nose into you. As your heart ricocheted in your chest, you settled yourself above the boy, holding his tip over your entrance. He hummed, another small kiss pressed between your breasts from your brief change in height, "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too." You replied, biting down as you slowly sunk down on him, your walls still not used to being stretched as you hissed through the pain. Stiles made sure to lay a hand over your hip to help steady you as the other linked with one of yours, this thumb rubbing over your hold as you offered him a tight squeeze from the aching. When you reached the bottom, you groaned out in the bittersweet mixture of pleasure and hurt, Stiles releasing a similar sound as your tightened walls clenched around his still sensitive girth. It wasn't until you started rolling your hips, that both sets of your eyes rolled back in ecstasy.

"Look, it doesn't matter who blabbed, alright? What matters is that he asked you out again and you said maybe!" Stiles' voice rose, arms in their typical position as they're held out dramatically by his side, gestures soon to become easily trademarked by Stiles Stilinski. You peered up through your eyelashes, the page of which your textbook was open now bookmarked by your index finger. Your facial features contorted skeptically, eyes squinted, not understanding what point your friend was desperate to make.

Your shoulders shrugged as if it weren't a big deal, and Stiles groaned in irritation, "This is Isaac Freakin' Lahey, Y/N. The guy screams 'bad vibes'!"

"I don't know, he seemed incredibly genuine to me." You exacted, unbothered as you returned focus to your studying. Confidence began to settle your rattled mind when Stiles' voice shrunk into small speechless squeaks. He expected you to agree with him but instead came up dumbfounded as you opposed his delusions of being in the right.

It shocked you significantly when his voice was raised by another two octaves, his tone breaking and strangled as they ran quickly from his lips, "G-Genuine? Genuine, Y/N?! The dude was evil not even three months ago!"

"I think evil is a bit of an overstatement." You quirked a brow, stoic when eye contact with Stiles' widened and amber hues was regained.

"He tried to kill us!"

You began to wonder how many times you could roll back your eyes in a thirty-minute timeframe, sure that by now you'd be close to breaking a world record. The motion was paired with a clicking tongue, "Now, I know that's a definite overstatement."

What you admired about Stiles was also what made him formidable at times. He was continually overrun by his persistence - a trait that derailed him from giving up on people and tough situations, however, also further fuelled his over-energetic notions to the point where the boy became utterly irritant. Paired with his headstrong protectiveness, Stiles was immensely possessive over the ones he cared for most and that made him a constant force to be reckoned with.

Stiles glowered, exasperation clinging to the downward tug of his lips and the furrowing of his brow before his head shook slightly. Large hands dragged down his face at a slow pace as he gritted his teeth, evident that he was trying to not let his inner frustration get the better of him to the point where he'd likely explode with unfiltered wording. You were trying to ignore your friend's 'over dramatics' as eyes skimmed back over your current chapter, the small window of focus now interrupted once again by a heavy sigh; the type that sounded oddly like defeat.

"You're being very difficult right now, you know that? I'm just..." He trailed, hands curling into fists. He appeared ambivalent as his jaw rolled, lips pursing with every attempt to convey his thoughts and feelings in a way that best suited him. Your book sounded gently as you closed it, unable to stop the tilting of your head when you gazed over Stiles' inner conflict with himself. Your shoulders jumped as his fists suddenly banged against the tabletop, Stiles quick to release another heavy sigh, "I'm trying to help you. I don't trust the guy and you deserve better than him! You... you just deserve better."

"Who then, Stiles? Who is better?" By now you were leaning forward on your crossed arms, your voice close to breaking with the frustration you harnessed from your friend's behavior. A small part of you wished that he would finally end the charade and nominate himself. It wasn't a secret that you saw the sun and moon when you thought of the hyperactive boy sitting across from you, hell, you were seventy-eight percent sure he felt the same. Stiles wasn't one to act so readily upon his emotions; he cowered away, pushed them aside, hardly recognized anything remotely reciprocal. But it was simple, you didn't want to act on a stupid crush if you weren't completely sure that he didn't feel the same way.

You looked to him with a questioning eyebrow raise, and he returned it with wide eyes and an agape mouth. Stiles was taken aback by your retort and slowly, his cheeks filled with a heavy dusting of deep rose that pinched at the tip of his upturned nose. He gulped hard, stuttered sounds uncontrollably pushing past his lips until he displayed another unexpected burst of his loud voice, "A-a-anyone! Anyone is literally better."

You didn't think it was possible, but you found another opportunity to roll your eyes once more, tiredly huffing out your words as you awaited on some type of hopefulness, "Give me an example, Stiles."

"Fine... Scott! Scott is better. Scott is like, literally, a hundred-fucking-times better."

His answer was beyond unanticipated. You slowly lent back as you retracted your arms from the table, your own pair of widened eyes expressing how shocked you were to receive a riposte that definitely wasn't thought through long enough. You clicked your tongue as your eyes lowered into a squint of dubiety, brows following as you didn't dare look away from the boy, who himself, was surprised by what he blurted out in the heat of the moment. "So, let me get this straight. You want me to date... Scott? He's the one you think I should be with?"

"I mean, yeah, it's a huge... no, enormous upgrade from scarfy boy." Stiles was simply playing along now, managing a facade that showed his calmness as he leaned back with arms crossed nonchalantly over his chest. His heart, alas, thumped roughly in his chest as he felt it rattle his cage. Nausea seeped into the base of his throat and it took everything to swallow it back down without pulling a face of complete disgust. He was teetering on the ledge of admitting his jealousy and confessing his feelings for you, only to fall down the rabbit hole of concealing away the emotions that quite literally took control of both his mind and heart on a daily basis. He was hurting and he brought it upon himself.

You felt your shoulders slump as his persona was altered so swiftly, doubt about misreading social cues and body language now invading your memories. You bit your bottom lip, harshly, "And there's no one else? At all?" Your voice broke as you squeaked toward him, suddenly feeling so small.

"Why would there be anyone else?"

Lashes danced across your skin as your eyelids closed, a gulp of subdued sadness struggling to pass through your throat. You were familiar with the pain that situated itself with heartbreak, but this felt different - it was raw, and you couldn't understand why. It was as if he had reached through your chest and pumped at your heart himself until the pressure was too much, and the thumping muscle gave out. It was as if the guilt of one simple date with the resident sweetheart Isaac Lahey was beginning to eat at your soul, begging the question of if one small date was too much when you saw hope with the boy next door instead. It was as if those small flirty exchanges with Stiles were one-sided, those fiery touches that left burns against your skin were misappropriated, and that the history you shared together was simply just that... history. You wondered if he was just toying you along for the fun of it all.

"You know what-" You finally said, unaware that Stiles could see how you were so affected by his inability to express himself to his full potential. He, himself, was saddened by the turn that took your usual playful banter to the uncomfortable anguish that was held so tensely in the air between you. When your eyes opened, you took a deep breath, unable to look at the amber eyes that usually made you swoon. Your textbook was gathered in your arms and your bag slung over your shoulder, "This is unbelievable. I don't have time right now for games, Stiles."

He didn't expect you to leave as his eyes followed every movement you made, his body beginning to jitter from surges of anxiety. He threw his hands out towards you as his lengthy arms nearly crossed the entire width of your table, striving to keep the miniscule shaking of his fingers at bay as he called out to you, "Games? What, no, there's no games. What games? No no no... stay, okay, just stay..."

You couldn't find the need to reply, instead, shaking your head and collecting the last of your belongings before moving speedily across the courtyard. Stiles, in turn, was frozen with a clenched jaw and allowed every nervous cell in his body to go unmanaged as he practically fell from the bench and stumbled his way over with quickened feet to block your path. He was at a fastened jog by the time he caught up to your hasty speed, his chest heaving timidly, body hunched as he bent down briefly with hands splayed over his knees. He was short of breath, sure that he would collapse from a heart attack if you decided to move any further.

"Okay, look, I was just trying to look after you." He commenced, finally straightening out his frame until he was at full Stilinski height, towering over you. He sighed, "Don't go on that date with Isaac. I don't trust him, and I'm always right about these types of suspicious assholes. Like Matt, remember? Major fucking creep, wary from day one. You're too good for him, just... please don't say yes. That's all I'm asking. You can't date him."

By now, you were over the crazy amount of mixed signals and unwelcomed orders that Stiles provided. You desired to scream; a way to alleviate the growing sting of your newly profound headache, the piercing stab that invaded the space behind your eyes becoming too much to handle. You needed space and you needed to release all of your emotions away from prying eyes, and well away from Stiles Stilinski.

He took a step back the moment he heard you chuckle under your breath, the tone sadistic and exhausted. It wasn't until you finally locked gazes with him that he noticed the watery glaze of your now dulled eyes, a tragic complement to your quivering lips. You didn't think that Stiles could ever break you, better yet, you didn't think he could do it so goddamn quickly.

You expired the breath that was held for too long, "You, Stiles Stililsnki, don't have the right to dictate my love life. You can't just play around with me like I'm a stupid toy." A finger was shoved roughly against his chest, the taller boy losing balance for a brief moment as he stumbled back a step. He was taken aback. "I can do whatever the fucking hell I please, with whoever the fucking hell I want. You can't go around acting like you have the permission to tell me what to do, we're not dating!"

Stiles sucked in a sharp breath, eyes only just managing to dart quickly between the students who had stopped to view the dramatic scene before them. He swallowed hard at the lump in his throat, but it only left a painful scratch in its place.

He looked back to you as he heard a defeated sniffle, feeling as if he was growing smaller by the second when he saw the wet trails appearing on your cheeks. You screeched, hands now pushing him back by his shoulders when Stiles tried to step toward you, "Maybe, if you just grew some goddamn balls in the first place, then we wouldn't be in this fucking mess!"

The crowds that surrounded you were the least of your concern as you felt a sob bubble up from your chest, your hands immediately covering your mouth to muffle the weakened sound. The last thing you wanted was to break down completely in front of him. You immediately pushed past, the doors leading into the school hallways already propped open by onlookers. You could hear small noises of protest from Stiles, and against your will, looked over your shoulder at him. He was sporting wide red eyes, their expression sad, at a loss. They begged for you to stay.

You shook your head, "I'm not waiting around anymore."

******************************************************************

It had been two days, and the wound that swallowed your heart hole was far from repair. You didn't need to worry about dodging Stiles at school as he stayed away from you, the image of your broken expression burned in the back of his mind and haunted him whenever he closed his eyes. He had been feeling nauseous ever since you left him in the courtyard, the sensation of bile gathering in the base of his throat was one that was constant, but he knew that it was just the guilt that was eating him alive.

Your pack was quick to notice the change in dynamic between you and Stiles; well aware of the reason why and definitely aware that something would have to come from the harbored feelings sooner or later. They just didn't think that it would be the separation of two good friends.

His feet were dragged heavily through the halls of Beacon Hills High, hands barely holding the strap of his bag to his shoulder as he remained stoic and expressionless. Stiles' usual hyperactive persona was diminished - a usual present light that had been put out for the time being. He didn't feel the need to bounce off the walls, as he usually would have done, all excitement drained as he wallowed in the harshness of the constricted feeling in his chest. He stood back when the pack was talking, hands buried in the depths of his pockets, eyes trained on the tips of his sneakers until somebody had to nudge him awake from his deep thoughts.

You were equally as worse off; tears becoming a painful reminder as you cried yourself to sleep the first night. You couldn't understand why it hurt so much, why you were so upset over a stupid crush. You had known Stiles for years and the pain of unrequited love had was never brought up, until now - until you thought that he didn't feel the same back, that you were dragged along for his entertainment. Initially, you didn't even think much of your date with Isaac, but he was being so sweet. He complimented you and made you smile. He gave you the remnants of butterflies that you only dreamed that Stiles would be the boy to prompt. You had an amazing date, but you were thinking of the wrong boy the whole time. He would have heard by now of your fight with Stiles, and you wondered if Isaac would be feeling the same heartache as you did at this very moment.

You refused to show emotion as whispers about your outburst trickled through the hallways, your teeth grating against each other instead as you swapped out your books from your locker. It wasn't fun being the topic of recent gossip, but you found that you also lacked empathy on the matter, a deep breath inhaled to settle your racing heart before the locker door was closed. It never did settle, though, as a body was revealed standing beside you. Familiar curly hair bounced slightly as the boy chuckled at your sudden small squeal, shock finally bringing emotion to your features as you looked over Isaac.

"I didn't mean to scare you." He said, cheeks flushing softly as he leaned against the metal with crossed arms.

You lightly laughed back, a sound that hadn't left your lips in days, "Way to give someone a heart attack." You replied, a hand flying to your chest as your splayed fingers pressed over your heart. He was a face that you didn't expect but found yourself warming up to as you offered him a smile. With books clutched to your body, you glanced up to the blue of his eyes, noticing their slight hesitation. You hummed, "Everything alright?"

******************************************************************

Scott stood down the opposite end of the hallway, his body shielded behind a column as he used his abilities to listen in on your conversation. He had been watching over you, making sure you were alright as you refused to speak to anybody besides your teachers. You were his friend and he was worried for your broken heart. He was also minding his own business in the adjacent hallway when Stiles begged him for a favor. Scott felt guilty listening to your private words with Isaac, but Stiles refused to back down until he knew what made you finally smile.

"What is he saying?" Stiles hissed, his own lanky frame hiding behind your werewolf friend, eyes only just able to see you both as you remained by your locker.

Scott rolled his eyes, hand pushing his intrusive friend back as he attempted to concentrate past the numerous voices that stood between you all. Scott winced, his lopsided jaw frowning at the string of words that Stiles would rather not hear. He looked down to the boy, shaking his head, "You won't like it."

Stiles raised his arms animatedly, the first real shot of typical Stiles that he had displayed in days. Scott only sighed, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, "He said that he doesn't care what anyone else says, he still would like that second date."

A growl managed to escape Stiles, his eyebrows digging down into a deep furrow as his jaw clenched tight. He was sure that werewolf senses could pick up the scent of jealousy and anger, but when it came to you, he couldn't help that he was incredibly protective. His fists were balled by his sides, chest heaving, voice raspy, "That son of a bitch... what did she say back?"

"That she isn't opposed to it." Scott's words dripped with pity, his hearing automatically focusing on the thumping in Stiles' chest as it grew louder, faster. It was similar to the beats that were drawn from you - uncertainty and anxiety grabbing you in a chokehold and taking you hostage until you could no longer feel anything else. You both were feeling lost and restricted by broken hearts, and no matter what, you couldn't escape. Maybe, the two of you didn't want to, just yet.

Scott sighed as he looked at the fallen expression that contorted Stiles' facial features, "She has a tell, you know. When she tucks hair behind her ears with both hands. When she likes someone, that's what she does. Without fail. Look, Stiles... we can all see it, and she's only ever done it around one person..." He let his voice trail off purposely, hoping that his friend would catch on. Stiles glanced up, his widened puppy eyes still harnessing sorrow. Scott shone a sympathetic smile, "You, dude. It's you."

"What are you talking about-" Stiles began standing up from his crouched position. He couldn't help the magnetized force that would take control of his body when you were near, his eyes drawn to you instantly before he was able to continue. Focusing on your frame and the small smile you wore, it began to make sense.

He never thought of it as your 'tell' per se, seeing it rather as a cute habit that you adopted not too long ago. He remembered it well because he admired it incredibly. He would say something dumb, an attempt to make you laugh with a lame joke he heard from somewhere unknown, and when you did your hands would casually push back the hair that fell around your face. The smile you wore exclusively for him would follow and he would feel like he was on top of the world. His chest would flutter, wings of its own taking flight when you wore his hoodie for the first time. You said that it swam on you, he said that it was perfect, and as if on cue your hands would tuck away loose strands before you bit down on your bottom lips. Stiles remembered that well because for a brief moment, he wished that it was his lip you were biting into.

Stiles would be able to list off every moment, every memory, off by heart of the cute habit that made him feel weightless - he would be able to, because he loved it. Because he loved you.

He didn't notice that he was smiling with that old lovestruck glint in his eyes and high curled lips until Scott nudged his side with a knowing look. The werewolf laughed under his breath, "You had her the entire time and you didn't even realise it, you idiot."

Stiles' smile grew, "D'ya think I could fix this?" He wondered aloud with a hopeful tone, looking at Scott before he was directed back to you, his famous Stilinski grin slowly, but surely, falling until his face was wiped clean.

Stiles sucked in a sharp breath. It scratched his throat like a knife pressed to flesh.

Isaac left your side for class, and you turned away with both hands settled behind your ears. Your smile wider than before.

"Dyl..." You moaned softly, and if he wasn't focusing so hard on enhancing the purple bruise near your clavicle, he would have missed your near-silent plea. By now, your arm had been thrown behind you to allow your fingers to thread through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp as your other hand entangled with the one guarding your waist. You could feel the upturn of his nose nuzzle into the curve of your neck as Dylan reveled in the soothing attention you were feeding him. He hummed lightly against your skin, his lips unable to stop the small litter of pecks that now trailed across your shoulder as he gently pulled down the material shielding your body. You were immediately covered in goosebumps; the cool air meeting your hot and flushed skin spiking the small bumps and provoking a display of shivers down your spine.

"Does the thought of my fingers make you feel good?" He wondered aloud, voice raspy as it was whispered against the shell of your ear. You could only manage another nod as your teeth sunk deeply into your bottom lip, tugging at the reminiscence your body felt as you remembered how good his hands treated you. It was now more obvious that your thighs had been rubbing together from the arousal he easily prompted - ankles crossed over and a small patch of red skin that was caused by evident friction near your heated core. Just the thought alone of the man behind you harassing your moistened sex was driving you absolutely insane.

Dylan untangled your hands before setting his lightly over yours, his movements slow as he dragged your touch down the front of your body. You opened your eyes, lashes fluttering against your cheek before you focused on your boyfriend in the reflection before you. He was mesmerised - eyes detailing the way you were reacting to his touch and intimate maneuvers - until his gaze finally fell on yours, causing a smirk encased in mischief to curl at his lips, complementing the heavy wink that fell from his right eye. He maintained eye contact as his pointer finger directed yours to your clit, the nub incredibly sensitive as he controlled your caress in a circular motion. He was guiding you to pleasure yourself as your chest instantly swelled with a deep intake of air, mouth falling ajar and eyes slowly becoming hooded.

You eventually sighed out in contentment; leaning back against Dylan when your legs began to grow unstable, his spare arm reaching across your chest. He grasped one of your fleshy mounds as he began to squeeze, his thumb and forefinger pinching an exposed peak to draw out your building moan. Dylan smiled as he watched your face contort with pleasure before murmuring in your ear, "Whatever you do, don't stop." His voice fractured with his own arousal, despite wanting to push it aside to focus primarily on you. He let you continue rubbing an array of shapes against your clit, his second and third finger now sliding into his mouth as he coated them with oral lubricant. You watched him intently, and you knew what was coming.

His lips brushed against your neck, "Keep your eyes on me, baby. I want to see how I make you feel when you cum on my fingers."

It was a growl that entered your ear, the beautiful caramel tone of Dylan's eyes now clouded with a dark chocolate hue, fervor for your pleasure now etching across his features quickly. He managed to suction his lips back to your neck, eyes still boring into the mirror. You couldn't look away from him, you didn't want to, which is why it took you by surprise when he pushed both fingers deep inside of you. An involuntary gasp squeaked past your open mouth, soon followed by a throaty moan that echoed loudly off the tiled walls. His pace was relentless as his fingers thrust quickly, the curl of their tips brushing over your rigid roofing and eliciting a whine of desperation. You didn't dare slow down your harassment on your clit, even pressing down harder when Dylan's nails scraped over a sensitive part of your core.

It was a quick set decision as he reached up to grasp your chin, turning it toward his awaiting lips before he pressed them harshly against yours. He didn't start to take your bottom lip between his own pair until he felt you relax slightly into him, an indication that you were content with the kiss. He sucked, teeth dragging your lip away as he pulled back, only to immediately dive back in and soothe his tongue along the graze. You were receiving amounts of pleasure all through your body, head now spinning with all sorts of romantic sentiments and lustful sensations. You took the opportunity to drag your tongue over his, pulling your boyfriend into you even more by the union shared between your mouths.

It was his turn to groan, only to be swallowed by you as you took leadership in the kiss. Dylan, though, still had reign over your upcoming orgasm as he thrust faster, angle changing until he found the special spot that made you scream between his lips. The room echoed with your joint sounds of satisfaction, complementary to the slick wet noises of his fingers drenched in your arousal as you neared your orgasmic high. You explored his mouth with the desperate muscle, recognising every nook and crevice as if it were the back of your hand. You provoked grunts from Dylan as he sucked the air from your lungs, needing to survive on your taste and feeling, nose dragging across your face as he fought the metaphorical battle of tongues.

It didn't take long for you to pull back, your voice crying toward him with furrowed brows and an incredibly heaving chest, "I'm gonna cum..." You breathed, whinging tangled with your tone as you found his spare hand. It was second nature as you grasped him, fingers sliding between his own, wanting to hold your boyfriend for support from what you anticipated as a body shaking high. He sped up even further, the contraction of your walls around him making his groin twitch and harden. You could feel it as he spontaneously pushed against your backside, the throbbing of his member settling into your lower back. Knowing that this was turning him on threw you over the edge, completely.

Eyes rolled back as you convulsed; the heated ache in your pelvis spreading through your veins as your body erupted in euphoric fire. A loud cry escaped you, "Fuck... fuck, Dyl-Dylan... baby... shit..." Your words were incoherent, unable to form proper sentences as you spoke absentmindedly in time with the stars exploding over your eyes. You could, however, see the familiar orbs of your partner as you maintained eye contact, Dylan's brows furrowing as he bit his lip with enough force to draw blood. His pace began to slow, only stopping when your frame collapsed against his chest. He pulled the tired digits to his mouth, sucking away the remnants of your juices and moaning at the taste he often dreamed about.

"That was so hot." He breathed out, your hearts thumping in unison as the only sounds now surrounding you both were the jagged breaths you shared.

You agreed as you reached up to him, your arm still shaky as you cupped Dylan's face and rubbed your thumb gently over his flushed cheeks. "You, are, incredible." You huffed, smiling sincerely despite the tiredness that now blanketed your face. He could tell by the lidded eyes you flashed him that the pleasure you felt took a lot out of you, prompting your boyfriend to lean in and tenderly kiss your swollen lips. His soft actions made your shoulders slump in serenity as you remained settled against him, only to be held flush further against his chest as his arm protectively sat at the base of your ribs. You managed a chuckle, "Guess I'll have to have another shower to clean this mess up." You gestured to the dripping juices falling down your inner thighs.

His answer prompted a pout to playfully sit on your lips, causing the man in front of you to roll his eyes. You knew how to get him going. "Don't look at me like that, not with those dumb puppy dog-eyes..." The man sighed, a brief head shake and disbelieving smirk gracing his facial features. He chuckled, knees already breaching the edge of your bed, "Look what you're making me do, baby, now I have to come over there and kiss that frown away, and you're the one that's getting blamed when Irene loses her fucking head."

Mitch moved quickly; his large hands already capturing your waist as he held you through the sheet, lips immediately encasing your own. You fell backward with a gentle thump as Mitch's body completely covered your smaller frame, your arms snaking around his neck to pull him closer to you. His tongue swept along your bottom lip, a dance of its own, until you eventually opened for him. It was as if he was trying to breathe in all that you were - an attempt to graciously accept the love that you so willingly provided him. The intoxication he felt when he was drawn in by your tender touch and sweet taste would always drive him to utter oblivion, a drunken daze that required no alcohol. He knew that the moment he crossed that bed to join your lips again, that it'd take him a hell of a lot to pull him back out.

It was you who pulled back first, needing a moment to catch your breath as your fingers tangled in the slightly long locks of your boyfriend. Mitch, however, didn't stop. He didn't want to. His mouth dragging along your jawline and down your neck, suctioning around particular pressure points that he knew made your legs shake. A throaty groan escaped you and the man couldn't help the smirk that pressed predominately against your skin. Your voice was strangled, a soft choke escaping with your words, "Is this your way of getting pay back? By making us hickey twins?" You sounded dubious, but the nod and muffled sound of agreement he breathed against your neck solidified your beliefs. "You're enjoying this way too much."

The euphoric feeling that vibed through your bedroom was halted when Mitch's phone began to buzz, the vibrations creating a loud and intrusive pattern against the nightstand. He groaned, shoulders slumping before throwing his arm out to the side to bring the device to his ear.

"I'm busy."

He grunted before tossing it to the side, screen now laying flat on the mattress. His hand returned to your body in order to pull the sheet down, his tongue not shy as it followed the material, trailing between your breasts... until the phone rang, again.

"Occupied."

He spoke sternly into the receiver once he picked it up again, the phone thrown across the bed for the second time this morning. You were finding amusement in the situation, wanting to file a small laugh but the second his teeth pulled at one of your exposed nipples, your body returned to its state of anticipation and lust. Your head lulled back as a hand threaded through his hair, softly tugging along with the moans gathering in your throat. The sensations you felt were mesmerizing, until you suddenly jumped, the generic ring tone calling through once more.

Mitch growled, reaching for the device now somehow behind him, "Wrong fucking number."

You stifled a chuckle, "Go. Stan's just gonna keep calling. He'll probably come kick the damn door down and drag you out by your ear if you hang up on him again."

The man deflated, not wanting to admit the accuracy of your statement, especially knowing how Stan likes to deal with things in the unconventional kind of way. He looked into your eyes, their brightness making him smile, "If I have to."

---------

"What the fuck is that?" The older man grumbled, eyes trained on Mitch as he slid into the passenger side of Stan's beaten-up truck. He started mostly at the litter of bruises rising above the neckline of Mitch's black t-shirt, before focusing back on a pair of mischievous amber eyes.

"They're hickeys, Stan. You actually need somebody interested in fucking you to be able to get some of your own." Mitch retorted, his usual level of attitude still managing to push at Stan's buttons, regardless of how used he is to it by now. Mitch smirked, "Y/N's a biter." He declared, voice smug and proud before showing off a wink.

The attempt at a serious tone slightly wavered before you watched his smile grow, one possessing great love and devotion as he settled back into the softness of the pillow. "You're going to wake up with a killer hangover, and I won't have you fucking whinging to me again about how bad the room is spinning-" Quickly, your voice began to die in your throat. Words dissipated at the feeling of breathlessness as if you'd momentarily forgotten how to exhale. Not that it was difficult to determine why, with simplicity in its finest form acting as the reason for your broken focus; his bottom lip tugged between teeth as Dylan felt his heart swell with adoration at your nurturing nature.

"Mmm, don' need that when I 'ave you with me, baby.." His voice was raspy, a deepened tone that encouraged a rosy blush to devour the complexion of your cheeks. The man could play you like a fiddle.

Dylan chuckled, his chest jumping before he dropped his hands flat against the mattress. It was slow as he pushed himself back to an upright position, your thoughts swarming with hopefulness that his mind had changed about taking the pain killers and calling it a night - alas, as you turned back from the pill bottle on the nightstand, you could feel the upturn of Dylan's nose graze against your cheekbone. Warm breath fanned down your neck as you were met with the scent of cheap beer and whisky, an odd combination that you were finding captivating the more he pressed into you. Dylan's fingers splayed over your waist as the other caressed down your cheek, loose strands of hair soon taking up vacancy behind your ear. His touch was soft as it trailed over patches of exposed skin; a story told through the tenderness he possessed so proudly, his growing smirk ghosting over your lips when he felt the spike of goosebumps he provoked.

You were breathing him in as if he were your lifeline, the feeling of your noses as they nuzzled so incredibly soft and close to one another enhancing the bittersweet incapability to find dependency away from his presence. He was a drug and you were intoxicated by the desperation he pulled from you; the neediness you developed for his protective hold around your frame and how his kisses encapsulated complete bliss and ecstasy. You were constantly drawn to the kindness that always reached his eyes and how he would, without a second thought, give up the world if it meant having you happy and safe by his side.

He wasn't going to kiss you - not like this, not when he could barely hold his head up without it falling against your forehead, or to the crook of your neck where he often took solitude. The man gulped harshly, his adam's apple bobbing when his nose traced an invisible line across your cheek. The desire to ravish you right there and then grew stronger, despite the inner conflict he faced about taking advantage when he was in such a drunken demeanor. He needed you close and he needed you more, but he couldn't.

Your hands had somehow found a home grasping at his shoulders before you slowly pulled them down to Dylan's chest, the erratic thumping of his heart dancing against your palm. You gingerly licked your lips, finally drawing in a deep breath as your mind lowered to an unalcoholic sobriety of its own. "Dyl, just drink your water and take the damn medicine, please. Don't make me mom you."

His chest jumbled with another small laugh, "Mom me, huh? All bossy-like? Mmm, that's hot, babe.. not a threat.."

Swiftly, your head fell back, eyes closing as they face the ceiling. You released a groan from the base of your throat, frustration taking ownership of the tone. He was impossible. "Why are you like this?" You said in exasperation, hands rubbing over his t-shirt before journeying to the man's wrists. Your fingers curled around them, a slight squeeze shown as a subconscious act of affection. Your head shook from a developing idea, the utilization of bribery being the last tactic you wanted to exercise but the childish man sitting across your bed didn't leave you much choice, regardless of just how much you loved him.

"Take the fucking medicine and I'll give you a blowjob."

Brown eyes immediately grew wide as if he was embedded with an alarm clock, an indicator of some sort that caught the man's attention when the uncharacteristic sentence fell from your lips. He had to blink twice, three times, to process whether he heard you correctly. He could determine your sincerity by the expecting quirk of your eyebrow and how your arms were now crossed over your chest, waves of solemnity pulling at every inch of your face and body. He was in disbelief that you were fucking serious.

"...Quick, babe, you have five seconds to make your choice." You continued after his verbal lack of communication. Your fingers were already beginning to dip past the waistband of his jeans, the muscles of his abdomen flexing against the delicate swirl of your gentle touch. "Five... four... three..."

"Tom?" You questioned lightly, watching as his eyes were darting in every direction but toward your worried expression. Sadness was toying with your frowned lips, your own eyes widening with complete empathy as Thomas was unraveling before you. A gentle coo left your lips, a whispered tone, enough to grasp his attention and maintain it with the hand that now cupped his cheek. You allowed your thumb to delicately caress the dark circles under his amber hues as you offered him a reciprocated subdued smile. "Tommy, please don't blame yourself. I know you've been hearing it a lot lately, but you truly are a hero, you're my hero. You've done so much for us all, okay? This isn't your fault."

His head shook, arms squeezing around your smaller frame as if he were afraid you'd slip through his fingers. He did blame himself, he would always blame himself. "Minho was taken because I couldn't protect him. They were all fucking taken, right in front of us, and I couldn't do anything to stop it-"

"You did everything you could, don't you for a second think that WCKD's doings and mistakes are because of you. That's bullshit, Tommy." Your tone was firm as you caught his eyes, hoping that the sincerity that had sheathed your words was enough to prompt even the littlest bit of understanding. It was an ongoing struggle that he endured every day, and seeing the pain that he carried so heavily upon his shoulders was painful enough for you too.

Thomas sighed deeply, leaning down to place a tender peck on your forehead. He let his lips sit against your skin as a form of comfort, your thumb still rubbing at the signs of stress that adorned his skin. He swallowed the lump that had gathered in his throat, an attempt to push down the distress that craved to near the surface. He didn't want to show weakness - the boy felt as if he couldn't afford to, not when the lives of so many people literally sat within his palms. He had to be the strong leader, however, even that felt farfetched within this moment.

His voice was raspy, scratching at the hoarseness now within his throat. When projected, he couldn't surpass a mere whisper as the lump of anxiety gathering within him grew to the point of near breathlessness, "I'm just scared. What if I can't save them? So many people are relying on me, and I-I-I can't even come up with a fucking decent plan..." Thomas was strangled - caught in a chokehold from his profound ascendancy. You could see more evidently now the distress and apprehension clouding his amber-filled eyes, and it provoked every possible ounce of empathy to course its way through your veins. You continued to frown, a reciprocation of the pained expression playing upon Thomas' own features. He whispered once more, "I know I'm here with you, with the others, but Y/N... I-I've never felt so alone."

"Thomas, you're not alone. You'll never be alone." You replied immediately, pushing your body into a slightly more upright position. You hovered over his frame, the hammock rocking again from your movements, but you never took your eyes off his. You were sure that he could see the small development of glassiness overtaking your gaze now, the saddened sentiments that fell so easily from his lips only making you want to cry out with the wrenching of your heart. He was too good for this world, but he couldn't see it, and it broke a small part of you.

You released your bottom lip after realizing you'd taken it capture, hands careful as they cupped Thomas' cheeks and pulled his focus completely toward you. A deepened breath was released, "Tommy, my sweetheart, you're doing everything that you can and the colony knows it. It shouldn't all be on you. We're a team, a family, and we'll rescue Minho and the others together... even if it means we have to pick them all up one by one and carry them home ourselves-"

"-Wait!" He was sharp, quick, a change in demeanor that you couldn't see coming as he interjected your speech of encouragement.

You were taken aback but didn't dare interrupt his chain of thought - after all, you knew that tone, you knew that look of lightbulb moments and heroism - he had an idea. The hold his arm had over your back tightened as he squeezed your waist, feet kicking forward slightly so that he could push himself further into an upright position. You were in awe as you watched his eyes dart back and forth, the corner of his lips quirking into a small smile of hopefullness.

"Not... not one by one, but, together...?" He spoke quietly, moreso to himself, but you still glanced at him with widened eyes and a glowing smile of your own. A moment of silence passed before he released a sudden chuckle of disbelief, the way his arms encircled around you prompting the material you sat within to rock with utter excitement. Your chest shook with joyousness, a giggle sounding against his ear as Thomas peppered your cheek with inconsistent patterns of kisses, your arms sliding over his shoulders to anchor yourself.

"Are you going to tell me your grand idea or just leave me waiting here, Tom?" You sounded, one of your hands stroking through the grown-out locks at the nape of his neck. He eventually pulled away from the deep rose blush of your cheek, still adorned with moistened marks from his lips. His smile had grown, substantially, and he finally looked like the Thomas that you fell so deeply in love with.

"You... you came up with it, kinda, I mean... Y/N, why can't we carry them home? But not one by one-"

"-Together." Your voices tied in unison, the proposition that he crafted so expeditiously now becoming so obvious, so possible. It was as if you could feel your pupils dilate, eyebrows reaching toward your hairline when the puzzle pieces finally fell into place.

You continued to question the boy as your hands fell from his shoulders, settling with splayed fingers over the thumping of his chest, "The train carriages?" Thomas' head nodded, pulling your frame closer to his until you near merged into one. It felt like fire as his fingers brushed against your cheek, delicate moments made to tuck stray hairs behind your ear. It wasn't until he cupped your face, though, that you finally leaned into his welcoming touch and embraced the warmth that he always provided you.

"Exactly..." He started, deep swirls of whisky pouring into your eyes as he stared intently at you, "Carry them together, in the train carriages. It's idiotic and dangerous, but it's possible. Y/N... we could actually make this work."

It was hasty as you pushed into the boy, placing a firm kiss against his lips, a sigh pushed against your own as he kissed back. You were surrounded by pride for Thomas, and by a love that only grew more with every step you took together. You gently pulled back, your forehead dropping against his as you smiled brightly, "You did it, Tommy."