Roses (or Canna Butter Kisses)

Scott wants to devour the moment, keep it locked in his mind in a safe space for him and him alone. They’re both lying on the couch, thin fabric of the sheet clinging to their lower halves of their bodies and he can feel the faintest breeze grace his skin lightly.
- You can also find this story on AO3 (my username is iamsherlockedwithjohn)

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1. Roses (or Canna Butter Kisses)

Scott wants to devour the moment, keep it locked in his mind in a safe space for him and him alone. They’re both lying on the couch, thin fabric of the sheet clinging to their lower halves of their bodies and he can feel the faintest breeze grace his skin lightly. A joint is hanging from Stiles’ lips, emerging his body in a dazed smoke and Scott’s breath is caught in his throat. There’s something so beautiful and sinister about his pose and he can’t help but admire the art of his dark purple bruised neck and collarbones.

He’d lie if he said his skin didn’t tingle, whenever an obscene moan would erupt from Stiles and he smirks, earning himself a curious glance from the brunette. His heartbeat is steady, content, and in that moment, it’s all he could ever want. Without further warning, he easily snatches the joint from him, fingertips caressing his bottom lip and Stiles hums softly in return. It’s weird, whatever this /thing/ is they got going on between them, but honestly, it’s been there for as long as he can remember.

Memories of him and Stiles melts together, only reaching the blurred surface for a mere second and then they’re replaced. Under the bleachers, with Stiles’ mouth desperately attached to his neck, as if his life depended on it, their clothes sticking to their sweaty backs and Scott not giving a fuck about his moans, exchanging a heated kiss in the jeep and Stiles smelling like heavy rain and filthy sex, Scott with his mouth around Stiles’ leaking cock and him gripping his hair tightly, begging for more. They don’t have a label for it and truthfully, Scott’s not sure if they ever will label it, in the first place.

“Friends with benefits,” Stiles murmurs softly against his bare shoulder, as if he on cue can read his mind.

There’s an openness to him and with a simple nod, he scoots closer, none of them minding the bodyheat radiating off of one another. For about a second or two, Scott hesitantly opens his mouth, only to realize he has nothing to say about the current situation. He inhales, letting the fragrant smoke fill his lungs and cloud his judgment. Whatever. Friends with benefits doesn’t sound so bad, after all, he thinks, and laces their fingers together. Stiles appreciates the gesture with a faint blush creeping to his cheeks and he offers him the joint, Stiles nodding gratefully.

Scott’s been with both Allison and Kira, hell, even Isaac, too. Stiles was dating Malia and is aware that yeah, he definitely screwed around with the others. And he cherised every single moment he was given with them, except they’re not Stiles, and they never will be. He craves Stiles, as much he hates to admit it, yet at the same time he loves that he craves him. Watching him intently, shoulders slumped, body relaxed against the couch and eyelids half closed, he can’t help it but shiver.

At one point, he’s going to die. It surprises him how easily a life can fade out and be forgotten - Stiles is like a flame, bright and vibrant, but still so fragile and weak all the same. He can be blown out so quickly, that he won’t see it coming, and the sudden fear of losing him is beyond overwhelming. He wants to keep him close, protect him no matter what the consequences might be, and he sucks in a deep breath. Stiles leaves him mesmerized, always does the unexpected and deserves all the time that the world has to offer.

“Yeah, friends with benefits is good,” he finally admits, not trusting his own voice at the moment.

He has his own reasons as to why he wants it that way and he’s going to respect it, knowing friends with benefits can develop into something else with time - the thing Stiles lacks off. Trailing featherlight kisses down his exposed neck, Stiles holds back a groan, Scott grinning lazily at the sheer impact he has on him. In the distance he can hear a song playing on his iPod, but is too occupied by Stiles’ heartbeat rising in his chest.

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