Note: I promised another part of this series ages ago, here it finally is. It takes place on the same day as we’ll begin with a spin and you took me by surprise but you can probably read it as a stand alone.
Summary: Stiles doesn’t expect to see Boyd again so soon, but then, it’s not like he’s going to complain about a late-night visit from his boyfriend. (And oh God, Boyd is his boyfriend now!)
Stiles hadn’t known that getting a boyfriend would be so exhausting.
(He was, in fact, so exhausted that he didn’t even notice the innuendo underpinning that thought.)
He had felt like he was vibrating out of his skin ever since that kiss, and so many emotions were just constantly crashing over him in waves, and the adrenaline, and Boyd Boyd Boyd, and telling his dad, and talking about his mom—
This heady cocktail of emotions had been bound to wane eventually, and when it did it left him thoroughly dead on his feet.
There was no way he would be doing any of his homework tonight, no sir, so he just flopped face first onto his bed and simply focused on breathing.
He just couldn’t believe it. Boyd was his boyfriend. After all these years spent daydreaming and planning their perfect future in his head, Boyd was actually, in real life, his boyfriend.
Giddy happiness sent a strong shiver across his body. He twitched in reaction and pressed his flushed face deeper into the comforter.
As he was lying there, drifting on cloud nine and feeling utterly ridiculous, a thought suddenly occurred to him.
Getting a boyfriend was definitely something your bro needed to hear about. He’d been so caught up in Boyd that he’d forgotten to tell him. It had been half a day already, and he still hadn’t told him. But Scotty would understand, right? Especially given the lovesick haze he was always in when Allison was involved.
Without moving more body parts than necessary, Stiles wormed his hand into the front pocket of his jeans, wishing he had thrown himself onto his back rather than his front. Once his phone was free, he allowed himself a moment to think this through.
He would have to lift his head at the very least—maybe even prop himself up on his forearms—if he wanted to send that text message.
That sounded like a lot of effort.
Did he really need to inform his best friend of his changed relationship status right this very second? He was suddenly sure that it could wait until the next morning. Or until his laziness had descended to more manageable levels (as if that was ever going to happen).
And just when he had reached the point of abandoning his phone altogether, it chirped with an incoming text.
He seriously thought about ignoring the text when his brain suddenly decided to be a traitor.
What if the message was from Boyd?
A jolt of energy sizzled through his veins and he bolted into an upright position, fumbling with his phone until he almost dropped it in his haste to unlock the screen.
Thank God that there was nobody around to watch this latest episode of flailiness. He already embarrassed himself enough on a daily basis with just the words coming out of his mouth, no need to remind anybody what a klutz he was on top of that.
He swiped at the screen and realized with a start that the message was indeed from Boyd.
It took him an embarrassingly long moment to understand the implied meaning of that question.
Holy—Boyd was here? Right now??
He jumped off his bed and nearly tripped over his own two feet, quickly scanning his room for anything incriminating, or, well, embarrassing, and was suddenly glad that he had tidied his room the other day. Werewolf senses would have suffered surrounded by the amount of dirty laundry that had been littered across every flat surface mere 24 hours ago.
When he could be sure that his room wouldn’t do any further damage to his reputation, he rushed over to the window. Pulling it open, he instantly stuck his head outside to check—indeed, there was Boyd, shrouded in darkness and smirking up at him from the lawn.
“I think you’re the first person to actually ask before breaking and entering my room,” Stiles stage-whispered and couldn’t help but grin stupidly at his boyfriend.
“Are you going to move back or do I have to tackle you?”
Tackling involved a lot of bodily contact, didn’t it?
Boyd seemed to know exactly what he was going through his head, because his smirk suddenly showed a little more teeth.
Was this flirting? Was he flirting?
That thought made him feel a little self-conscious and he retreated from the window, mostly so that Boyd wouldn’t see the stupid look on his face. A second later, he was mourning the missed opportunity of watching his boyfriend’s athletic skills in action, but he could really use these few seconds to get a grip on himself.
A couple of hollow thuds attested to some serious wall-climbing business going on outside, and then Boyd was already straddling the window sill. Stiles didn’t feel any more in control of his emotions or facial expressions than before.
Just looking at Boyd made Stiles feel hot all over. He still couldn’t believe that somebody like Boyd—so cool, aloof, quiet—would ever want to be with him.
Stiles took a couple of steps forward just as Boyd pulls his other leg into the room. Nervously, he wrapped his fingers around Boyd’s biceps and assisted his entry, tugging lightly until the boy was firmly inside. In his bedroom. With his dad downstairs. Oh boy.
“Hi,” he mumbled, feeling a silly smile curve his lips.
He felt embarrassed by his stupid feelings, and the way he was never able to hide them, but his boyfriend simply offered a grin in return, happy and amused at the same time.
The moment turned a little awkward with them just standing there and looking at each other, neither of them really sure what to do with themselves.
But Stiles had always been good at blundering ahead, which now helped him conquer his nervousness a little bit.
With a blush, he crowded into Boyd’s person space, still holding on to him, and carefully watching for any sign of rejection.
Boyd nodded and Stiles took the last step forward, bridging the distance between them.
Their lips met—soft and pliant—and Stiles melted into Boyd with a sigh. Just being close to him like this was more than Stiles had thought would ever happen to him. It was almost too much to bear.
Broad hands settled on his hips, grounding him, and he couldn’t help himself any longer. He pressed forward, now that there weren’t any tiny Boyds around to interrupt them. He dragged his tongue across Boyd’s lower lip, shivering when a low groan rumbled through the werewolf. It was heady, being the reason for such a sound. As it was, reluctance crumbled on all sides.
If Boyd could have pounced him, he probably would have. Instead his grip tightened and he surged forward into the kiss, boldly sucking Stiles’ tongue into his mouth.
He moaned and wrapped his arms around Boyd’s neck, doing his best to keep up with him.
It was good, and messy, and Stiles felt overwhelmed every time their tongues met, when Boyd’s teeth nipped on his bottom lip, when their bodies pressed together suggestively.
Eventually, they had to break apart and Stiles’ face was in flames. Feeling embarrassed, he hid behind his hands and wondered if there was a magical way that could make him cool down.
Boyd laughed a little—a precious, gentle sound that Stiles would cherish forever and ever—and then tugged his hands away from his face.
“It’s okay,” the werewolf murmured and leaned forward to press a brief kiss on both of his heated cheeks.
Boyd took his hand and lead him to the bed, already a little rumbled from his earlier freak-out. They climbed on, and rearranged themselves until they found a comfortable position, Stiles tucked neatly into his boyfriend’s side.
“Is this okay?” asked Boyd and stroked his arm a little, making him blush again.
“Yeah,” he agreed, a little hoarse.
Then they just stayed like that for a long time, not speaking, and dozed off after a while, never quite falling asleep. Sometimes one of them would rouse themselves and tug the other into a lazy kiss before settling back down. It was peaceful and exiting at the same time.
When dawn broke, Boyd gently untangled himself, smiling at the protesting sound Stiles made at the back of his throat, and leaned down to drop a lingering kiss on his forehead.
Then he turned away and climbed back out the way he had come.
Stiles’ mind was foggy from staying up all night, but he was still warm from Boyd’s embrace, lips tingling from his kisses, that he just let himself drift off, already thinking about the next time they would see each other again.
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