Stiles startles awake at the feeling of his mattress dipping off to his left. In the nanosecond it takes to open his eyes, his mind spins through the possibilities of who it could be. Scott? No, Scott would text or call. Derek didn’t exactly have a good track record of being less than creepy, but he would have just yelled at him or flipped the mattress to get Stiles awake. There had been that one really confusing but not even remotely unpleasant dream about Isaac climbing into his bed in the middle of the night, but Isaac is in France and that had been a dream. The body next to his is decidedly real and—oh—Malia.
“Malia? What are you-“ is all he gets out before her lips are on his. The kiss shocks him into the reality of the situation.
He’s mostly naked in bed with a couple of disgusting Kleenexes balled up on the floor from just before he’d gone to bed hours earlier. The only thing he’s wearing are some ancient, practically threadbare boxers with South Park characters all over them and a hole in a seam that basically just lets his junk hang out. Hey, they’re comfortable.
But this is definitely not how he wanted to be in bed with Malia for the first time. Or any time. Basically, no one should ever see him like this ever, but here she is, under his covers and kissing him with her eyes closed so tight, which his eyes definitely should be as well because who in the hell kisses with their eyes open?
It’s a good kiss, but he can’t really get into it because he’s just so damned confused. Reluctantly, he urges her back. The complaining whine she lets out almost makes his stupid brain shut up so he can just go with it and enjoy the fact that a girl who he likes and likes him back is in his bed. Almost.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, leaning back as she tries to kiss him again.
“I missed you,” she says as if it’s the dumbest question she’s ever heard. It very well might be.
“Did you climb in through the window?”
“Yes. I couldn’t sleep, and I kept thinking about you, so I came over,” she tells him, eyebrows knitting together. “Should I not have?”
“No, no, it’s fine. Definitely fine,” Stiles rushes to say, desperate to erase the borderline embarrassed look from her face. “I just… wasn’t expecting you. That’s all. You could… text me next time to let me know.”
“Would you have told me not to come if I had texted first?” she asked, hand sneaking across Stiles’ stomach. As if he wasn’t distracted enough already.
“No, I would have told you to come.”
“Then why would I waste time asking? And why are we talking when we could still be kissing?” she asks with a smile.
“I honestly have no idea.” Stiles shakes his head and threads his fingers through her hair, pulling her close. She’s not wearing much at all, he realizes as her body presses to his. There’s just so much skin touching, legs and arms and a bit of stomach just above the elastic of his boxers.
“Stiles,” she whispers between kisses. “I want to try something else.”
“Anything you want,” he says quickly before realizing that could be a really bad response to that question. Pulling back and sitting up, she pulls the snug tank top over her head revealing… nothing. Absolutely nothing. “Yeah, definitely anything you want.”
She pulls back the covers, fully exposing Stiles from the waist up and bends to press a kiss just above his belly button. Nuzzling the skin, she works her way up, leaving little kisses against his suddenly very sensitive skin and, well, sniffing him quite a bit.
“You smell different,” she says into his neck before kissing him there, a gasp spilling from his lips as his back arches, pressing their chests together. God boobs are great. He touches one tentatively, his hand cupping just the side, his thumb rubbing just beneath her nipple.
“Bad different?” he asks.
“No. You smell like you want to mate,” she says, climbing to sit right on top of his dick, which was definitely not soft anymore and grabbing his hand to position it fully on her breast.
“You can smell that?” he asks, voice embarrassingly high as his gaze is fixed on his hand because thanks to the kindness of whatever deity takes care of such things, he’s finally actually touching a naked boob. She just hums and rolls her hips and he forgets his last name and what day it is and that there’s any part of his body that isn’t his dick, because at the moment, nothing else matters.
Stiles squeezes gently, his thumb trailing lightly around her hardened nipple before shoving himself into a sitting position to get his mouth on it. That is so much better. So is her reaction, her hands in his hair, claws present all of a sudden and lightly scraping at his scalp. His name sounds like something sacred as it spills from her lips as he sucks and licks and nips at the hardened bud against his tongue until he decides to switch to the other.
He would stay there for hours, face buried happily in her chest as she rubs herself against his cock in maddeningly tiny circles, but suddenly she’s moving faster, pressing down harder, and then she isn’t moving at all. The onslaught of tension melts away almost as fast as it came on, and he pulls himself off her chest to look up at her. Her cheeks are ruddy and her eyes closed tight as she clings to his hair, shivering and panting and looking gorgeous.
“Wow,” she breathes out, eyes still not open.
“Did you just…?” Stiles asks, the question trailing off as she takes his hand and puts it between her legs, pressing it against the dampness there. “Holy shit.”
“Your heart is beating really fast,” Malia says, finally opening her eyes and looking down at him.
“Well yeah.” He presses his fingers up, desperate to know what it feels like beneath those layers of fabric, how soaked his fingers would be if he could just slip them inside. She shivers and gently pushes him away.
“Another time,” she says, kissing him softly before climbing off of the bed.
“Are you leaving?” he asks, flinging off the covers to follow her and forgetting all about his stupid holey boxers and the fact that his dick is completely standing loud and proud out of said hole.
“No, of course not.” She shakes her head at him like he’s an idiot—he is, he totally is—and shoves at his chest until he falls to sit on the edge of the bed. “I told you I wanted to try something.”
“I’m pretty sure we just did.”
“Something else, dumbass.” She drops to her knees in front of him. He seriously issuch a dumbass. He really has to learn to stop talking.
The way she looks at his dick makes his mouth go dry. It looks like she wants to devour it whole and god, he really hopes that she does. His dick is rock hard and leaking. Malia touches a fingertip to the bead of wetness, smearing it down his length with deep concentration. He doesn’t know what to do other than watch because he’s never exactly been in this situation before, so he does.
He watches her pretty much inspect his dick, holding it lightly, stroking it gently, letting her fingers trace over every ridge and vein until he’s pretty sure he’s going to blow his load at any given second. But then she’s trying to get his boxers off and can’t manage to finagle them around his stupidly hard cock, so he stares on dumbly as she literally rips them in two. It’s probably for the best.
Malia’s mouth is on the head of his cock before the pieces of fabric hit the ground, warm and wet and sucking. His hands flail, mouth dropped open in shock, because he’s been thinking about this moment for years and it is just miles better than he had ever imagined. She’s just going for it, and honestly, he shouldn’t have expected anything else from the girl who’s first instinct is to run without a second thought right at everything they face. Her lips are soft and warm where they’re wrapped around his dick, sinking lower and lower with each downward movement and it is taking every single ounce of his stupidly pathetic human strength not to shove his hips up and bury his cock deeper in her perfect mouth.
“Malia… I… I’m not going to last. If you want to-“ But she just starts sucking harder. Balls drawing up, heat pooling at the base of his spine, every single coherent thought vanishing from his brain, Stiles feels his orgasm coming fast. One more downward movement of her mouth and he’s gone, coming hard on her tongue. Barely, distantly, he feels the scrape of her claws against his lower back as she swallows it down, pulling herself closer to him as he softens in her mouth.
Sometime later—could have been seconds or hours, he has no idea—she pulls back and sits on her heels, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand.
“I’m sorry. I tried to warn you. You didn’t have to-“
“Why wouldn’t I have? You taste good,” Malia says, rising up and leaning in close to kiss him, hands on his still-shaking thighs. He laughs, a little loud and wild and full of post-orgasm giddiness before kissing her back, his hands cupping her face. “Can we cuddle?”
“We can do whatever you want,” he tells her again. As she pulls him back against her chest, bare breasts pressed into his skin, he reminds himself to always, always let Malia do whatever she wants.