Teen Wolf drabble under the cut, kissing, Scott's POV, Scott/Stiles, Scott/Lydia
When you kiss Stiles he tastes like blue, tastes like the summer sky on lazy days when you do nothing but lie on the grass and laugh and laugh and laugh, tastes like the way his fingernails turns blue when he lends you his gloves in the winter, tastes like the panic attacks he gets in the middle of the night when he screams his mother's name and you don’t have the heart to wake him up.
When you kiss Lydia she tastes like red, tastes like the strawberries that colored her hair, tastes like the rage fired by a thousand suns and stars, tastes like domination and the blood spilled from self-harm wounds, tastes like those books bound in red leather that smell of class and old money that your mother got from a dead relative that neither of you have ever even attempted to read.
That’s when you know they will never go well together. Purple is after all too queer a color to fit either of them.
