#title IB: Nothing To Lose by Wingtip

[lucky-punk-lemonade]

Nothing to Lose

| Did you ever realize how far apart you and Stiles grew, even as you spent hours together? [Established relationship; smut MDNI 18+; oral (fem receiving)] Classic overworked loser boyfriend! (canon) Stiles Stilinski

This work belongs to me, lucky-punk-lemonade (Minte_Condition on AO3). I do not give anyone permission to distribute or share my work without consent.

You’ve always trusted Stiles to know his limits. Never badgered him if he wanted to stay up into the early morning hours researching niche supernatural events or when he’d say he survived off of microwave dinners and PB&J's and hasn’t drank water in a few days. Of course, he loved it when you sternly told him that wasn’t healthy, that he should get more sleep or get up to get a cup of water. He loved that about you. Seeing you cared when it mattered.

It started when you took his hand in yours and brought it up to your mouth. Pressing small kisses to each of his knuckles, punctuating words he wasn’t listening to. “Stiles?” You frowned, giving up on the conversation.

“Hm?” He’d blink as if his eyelids were sticking together; slow, fazed and distracted.

“You’re not listening,” you’d said, kissing his fingertips.

“M’listening. I was…” he tested bending his fingers, smiling when your lips followed. “I was…”

You could hear the thought die in his throat, the remnants leaving in the form of a small moan as you take his ring finger between your lips.

“Let me make it up to you.”

Then he was resting his cheek against your inner thigh, eyes already glazing over and eyebrows knitted dramatically. An overwhelmed and weak expression. When you had told him you liked it when he looked like that, you suspected he started looking at you with those half-lidded eyes and slightly-parted mouth more often. Whatever makes you happy.

When he spoke in a needy whisper, his voice took on a gravelly static. His ‘M’s and ‘S’s slurring and spilling over into the next word after it. He lost the sense to enunciate words or put much work into the praises and instead focused his efforts into watching your face and sliding his fingers between your legs and letting out a deep exhale, something about how wet you are leaving with it.

It’s been a while for sure. Since you’ve had time for each other. Since you got time alone, really. Consumed by school, work, and helping the pack. You’d joked that the pack couldn’t survive without two humans, he laughed, and you both went back to work. It was comfortable. You hadn’t realized how badly you needed to just be with him until he’d coincidentally sat next to you in the bed for a small break. Reading through the notes you’d both taken, switching the notebook between backpacks every research session, you leaned into him.

Now, he was looking up at you from between your legs, almost cross-eyed at the slick covering his thumb. And when his head dipped down, ready to coat his mouth in you, he knew your mouth would fall open. He knew it did something to you, the boldness of his eye contact while he did something like this, lapping at you, hands holding your thighs down, and humming into you every so often as if he wanted this as much as you did. As your head lolled back, he smiled against you and reached up to hold your hand. He gently guided your hand to the top of his head, his moan vibrating against you as your nails scratch softly at his scalp. He lifts his head and gives you a crooked grin. His lips are wet and his eyes almost sparkle as his voice comes out cracking in need. “M’listening now, sweetheart.”

Before you could answer, his head dipped back down, sucking softly as your hands tighten in his hair. Stiles was indulgent. In his research, mostly, losing track of time and awareness of his own needs. He was often dehydrated, tired, and hungry, making you out to be his guardian angel every time you came over to remind him. He said his ADHD gave him an addictive personality, or his father’s genes. At the very least, he was obsessive. It was useful in research, but you never imagined how advantageous it’d be if he set his sights on you.

He grinned against you and pulled away again, impatient to get his words out. Your eyes fluttered seeing him lick his lips and the words that come out are barely heard, “Missed you.”

The sight makes your heart flutter. His awkward smile because he’d stopped to tell you. His chin was still shiny, and he licked his lips again, enunciating for the first time since you’d kissed his neck,

“I missed you, honey. Am I makin’ it up to you?”