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lozenger8 · 3 years

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School’s out for Summer over here, so even though it’s totally seasonally inappropriate for the US, I am writing a mini-Summer-Sciles ficlet.

It’s tank top and shorts weather, and even still, Scott feels like he’s wearing too much. He wishes it were socially appropriate to walk around Beacon Hills naked, but he doesn’t want to get arrested. Again. Is there anything more humiliating than getting arrested by your best friend’s dad when your dick’s out? Probably. And he’s probably been through whichever situation it is, but he doesn’t want to invite the imagined memory all the same. He lazes on his couch, an electric fan whirring next to him and a mist spray bottle in hand’s reach.

There’s a perfunctory knock at the door and then a blast of hot air. It could be any pack member, they all have keys and permission to cross through his wards, but it’s Stiles. He can tell by footfall, heartbeat, breathing patterns, and the heady mixture of chemo-signals that follow him wherever he goes.

“Scotty?” Stiles calls.

“Polo,” Scott answers back, lackadaisically flinging one hand into the air so it’s over top of the couch.

“I brought you ice cream,” Stiles. “Honeycomb and french vanilla.” Stiles stops in front of Scott. Stares. He has the same look of concentration on his face he gets when he’s trying to solve a riddle, and he smacks his lips together with a pop.

Scott pulls himself up, sits on one side of the couch so Stiles can sit next to him. Stiles hands him the cup of ice cream. Their fingers brush and Stiles smears condensation against Scott’s knuckles.

“Did I ever tell you you’re my best friend and I’d do anything for you?” Scott says quietly, casually, but with feeling.

Stiles grins, his whole face lighting up like the burning hot sun outside. “Not for small acts of kindness,” he says. “Life and death situations. That one time I captured that spider for you. But not confectionery.”

“Well I want you to know it’s always true,” Scott says, emphatic.

One of Stiles’ eyes blinks and the hollows of his cheeks take on a new, brighter shade of red.

Stiles has peanut butter ice cream with reeses mini-cup mix-ins. It smells delectable.

“Hey, can I have a taste?” Scott asks, nodding at his cup, too hot and bothered to ignore his wants.

“Sure.”

Scott leans in, but instead of digging his spoon into Stiles’ cup, kisses his lips and presses entry. Stiles melts into him, one hand coming to clutch at the strap of his tank top. The kiss is sweet literally and figuratively. Stiles kisses with purpose, and Scott kisses to explore.

When they pull apart, Scott smiles. “Delicious,” he murmurs. “Just like I imagined.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles says. “If I’d’ve known this is all it would take to seduce you, I would have tried years ago.”

“You should’ve,” Scott intones, kissing Stiles again with heat.

Scott doesn’t wear any other clothes for the rest of the day. But he doesn’t cool down either.

#my words #text post #foreversciles #sciles #skittles

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saphyrenights · 4 years

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*whispers sensually* scilescoe transformers >:3

Nonnie...nani?

“I-I-I don’t know how to explain it, Scott. It’s just...humanoid now.” Stiles grit his teeth and put the phone closer to his face. “And I’m kinda into it.”

There was a long moment of silence on the other end of the phone. “What?” Scott finally said. It was close to 2AM, and Stiles almost certainly woke Scott from a sound sleep. He expected the grogginess, but he needed to make sure Scott took him seriously.

“Look, I’ll send a pic. Hold on.” Stiles backed up to get as much of the baby blue behemoth in frame as he could in the deserted Dairy Queen parking lot. Luckily, he’d parked under a light, so the Jeep was suitably bathed in amber light. Enough for a photo. He snapped the pic and sent it to Scott.

There was another long moment of silence. Finally, Scott said, “Dude. What happened to your Jeep? It’s, like, really buff.”

“I know! Scott, you have to get down here and help me with this!”

“What do you want me to do, exactly? I’m not a mechanic.” He chuckled a little at his own joke. Stiles groaned.

Suddenly, the sound of metal scraping against metal cut thorough the relative peace of the parking lot. “Let me speak to him,” a voice rumbled in the darkness.

Stiles looked around to see who was speaking, but when he turned back to the now-human-shaped Jeep, the Jeep was looking right at him. It even flashed its headlights in Stiles’ face.

“Um,” Stiles gulped, his hand trembling around the phone. “I’m gonna put us on speaker. Okay?”

Roscoe nodded. Stiles tapped the speaker icon and held the phone out to the Jeep.

“Hello, Scott. This is Roscoe.” The voice rumbled around Stiles like thunder, sending deep vibrations into every corner of his body. Words failed to describe the experience, but a part of Stiles wanted to hear Roscoe speak forever.

“You know how Stiles lets you drive me, on occasion? Do you want me to tell him what you sometimes do with your foot on my clutch when we’re stopped at red lights?”

“Wha-” there was a scuffling sound and a loud thunk on Scott’s line. A few seconds later, “How do...I mean...Stiles are you joking, right now? Did it just talk?!”

“Yes. And this is beyond awesome.” Stiles got a little closer to the Jeep and gingerly placed his hand along Roscoe’s now upright fender. Startled, he quickly pulled his hand away. The Jeep was warm. Roscoe emitted a low, rhythmic reverberation that may have been a chuckle. Stiles shivered, his cheeks paradoxically warm.

He spun away from the Jeep and spoke directly into the phone. “Scott, please get your ass down here before I engage in a crime against nature.”

“Yes, Scott. Please hurry,” Roscoe rumbled.

Less than 10 minutes later, Scott rolled up on his bike, still in his pajama pants, a thin flannel he’d tossed on over his tank top, and bedhead at maximum thanks to the helmet he’d just removed. “How did this happen?” he asked as he drew closer to Stiles. That was a question Stiles should have put more thought into before now, but he wasn’t about to admit that.

“Like I said, I can’t explain it. Magic? A spell or something?”

“Yeah, maybe. But I don’t sense anything magic related.” Scott paused and sniffed the night air. “I can tell you exactly who’s horny right now, though.”

“This isn’t about me,” Stiles muttered.

“No,” Roscoe said, suddenly serious. “This is about both of you.” He took a step toward them, and Scott’s claws popped out almost immediately in response. Stiles’ mind briefly flashed on the government issued 9mm he kept hidden in his glovebox, where ever that may be inside Roscoe’s rearranged body.

Roscoe stopped in his tracks. “I do not wish to harm you.”

“Then what do you want?” Scott asked. Somehow he was able to see through the Jeep’s hotness and ask all the questions Stiles should have asked awhile ago.

Roscoe sagged a little, and Stiles could swear he looked...sad? “My people need your help. You see, I’m not the real Roscoe. I and a few of my compatriots have been sent here to find someone who can help stop the war that’s tearing my planet apart. We’ve been watching you two for some time.”

“And?” Stiles asked.

“We have witnessed your many accomplishments and determined that you are our best chance at defeating the great evil. Please, come with me.”

Scott looked at Stiles. This makes zero sense, his expression said. Stiles gave him the I agree with you, but let’s just see where this goes eyebrows. Scott rolled his eyes and turned back to the Jeep.

“What do you mean when you say ‘compatriots?’ How many of you are there?”

Roscoe smiled. “Assessing the threat. Very good. This is why we think you can help us.” He took another tentative step forward, and when Scott made no move to attack him, he continued. “We infiltrated a local Toyota dealership a few years ago based on intel we’d received about a group of fierce warriors who lived here.”

“Scott’s pack.”

“Yes,” the Jeep replied. “You two were the first, and so you will come with me.”

“Okay,” Stiles said. Scott tugged on the back of his hoodie to stop him.

“Dude, what the hell are you doing?” Scott asked him.

“It’s Roscoe, Scott. We can trust him.”

“We can tr-...Stiles, you’ve never trusted anything in your entire life. I know how much you love your Jeep, but did you miss the part where he said he wasn’t the real Roscoe? For all we know, this could be some kind of trap.”

“Scott,” Roscoe interrupted, “would you like for me to tell Stiles about my clutch, now?”

Scott released Stiles’ hoodie. “Are you blackmailing me? Really?”

“What’d you do to his clutch?” Stiles might not have been able to smell other people’s emotions, but he definitely recognized the cute blush creeping up Scott’s neck.

“Nothing,” Scott insisted.

Stiles snorted. “Liar.”

Roscoe swung open one of his doors. Scott and Stiles saw the inside had been transformed into something that resembled a cockpit. Stiles could barely contain his excitement; it’s as if all his childhood mecha dreams were finally coming true. But one thing immediately stood out to him.

“There’s only one seat,” Stiles pointed out.

Roscoe shrugged. “A minor design flaw. I assure both of you will be safe during our intergalactic journey.”

“Intergalactic?!” they said simultaneously.

Roscoe shifted his gaze up to the night sky. “My planet, Cybertron, is beyond the boundaries of your galaxy. We must hurry.”

Scott turned pleading eyes to Stiles. “I have an owl scheduled for surgery in the morning. And someone brought in a stray cat that’s going to have kittens any day now. I don’t want to add ‘stop an alien civil war’ to that list.”

Stiles gently squeezed Scott’s arm in sympathy, but frankly, Stiles was looking forward to being gone for awhile. Today was his last day of vacation, and a mountain of boring paperwork awaited him at him back at the FBI field office.

Also, Roscoe was hot.

“Will your people tell our family and friends where we are?” Stiles asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“See?” Stiles felt Scott relax the tiniest bit.

“And my bike?” he asked.

“One of my people will retrieve it.”

Stiles grabbed Scott’s hand, and together, they approached the open door. Stiles climbed inside first.

“Hey, wait-” Scott couldn’t get the whole sentence out before Stiles had claimed the only cockpit chair and started touching shiny, multicolored blinking buttons in awe. Once Scott was also inside the cramped quarters, Roscoe close the door behind them.

“Where am I supposed to sit?” Scott asked.

Stiles reached out and hauled him down onto his lap. “Right here. It’s just like when we were kids.”

Scott apparently saw the futility in protesting, so he tried to make himself as comfortable in Stiles’ lap as he could. A little too comfortable. Scott was a warm, heavy weight in Stiles’ lap, and his body seemed to apply pressure to Stiles’ body in all the right/wrong places. After a few seconds of enduring the best kind of torture imaginable, Stiles tapped Scott’s shoulder.

“Um, Scotty? Buddy?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But if you don’t do something, this is going to be a really long trip for both of us, so can you maybe calm down?”

“My beloved Jeep is a person now, and I get to go to space with my best friend. Can you blame me for being excited about that?”

“Excited? Yeah, you are. In more ways than one,” Scott muttered. He slid back a little more into Stiles’ lap. Stiles choked off a curse.

“Only one thing is gonna fix that,” Stiles said, his voice sounding a little huskier than he intended. “Maybe two.”

“Oh, my God. You’re the worst, Stiles.”

“If you really believed that, you would have asked me to switch. But you didn’t, did you?”

Scott adjusted his butt yet again. The torture was deliberate and would apparently not be ending any time soon. Stiles sighed. That seemed completely fair somehow.

As though making the decision for both of them, a seat belt snaked out of one side of the chair and connected to the other side with a mechanical click. The belt tightened over them, pulling Scott even more firmly into Stiles’ lap.

He tried really hard not to think about how his half-chubb was now nestled neatly in the cleft of Scott’s ample, supernaturally warm, pajama-clad ass.

Roscoe’s voice filtered into the cockpit through hidden speakers. “Are you two settled?

“As settled as we’re gonna be,” Scott replied. He sounded calm, but Stiles knew him well enough to tell he was far from okay. Their position was a little awkward, but Stiles still managed to take hold of Scott’s hand. He was relieved when Scott interlaced their fingers and held on for dear life.

The lights dimmed in the cabin, and the sound of something charging up resonated all around them.

Just before lift off, Stiles had to ask. “Scott, what exactly did you do to Roscoe’s clutch?”

Scott sighed. “Nothing, I swear...”

#foreversciles #scott mccall #stiles stilinski #scilescoe #joeldawsons #mobile users there's a cut #divvy do you mind if it tag on this :)#nonnie #my fic #been awhile

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