For readings on the correlation in horror between puberty and the monstrous, see:
They’re almost finished with the dishes, Scott is washing, Derek drying. Derek asks Scott to pass him a dry towel, and Scott turns away to reach for one, only when he turns back to offer it Derek is standing closer than before. He takes the towel from Scott, grips it tightly for a second, and Scott has just enough time to blink before Derek is moving in, pressed up tight against Scott, bracketing him between his arms, his hands curling around the counter’s edge.
Scott’s own hands are still wet, dripping in fact, but he brings them up to palm the sides of Derek’s neck all the same. “Derek,” he says.
“Yes.” Just confirmation. Scott shakes his head a little.
He asks, more clearly, “What the hell are you doing?”
Derek’s smile is blinding. “I don’t know,” he says. They kiss once, a quick-press test, and when Derek draws back Scott’s grin is a mirror. They try again. It would be easier if they could stop smiling like idiots. Scott clears his throat.
“Open,” Derek replies, and Scott knows like he always knows that it’s not a lie. Right now, he’s having a hard time remembering when Derek lied to him last. The tops of Derek’s shoulders are wet from Scott’s hands. He clears his throat and drapes his arms around Derek’s neck more purposefully. A moment later, he feels Derek’s fingers pressing into the small of his back. “You?”
Scott exhales. “Free and clear.” The words make him feel hot, or maybe that’s Derek’s breath on his cheek. They kiss and it’s not as amusing as before.
As it turns out, Derek absolutely does know what he’s doing. It’s after midnight when Scott finds himself standing again, in his bathroom, examining the side of his neck, his throat, his clavicles and hips in the mirror behind the door. He remembers better than their first kiss the way Derek’s mouth had felt as it marked him, hot and strong. “Shouldn’t these be fading?” Scott asks, faintly puzzled as the glass clouds with steam, obscuring his reflection, and that of Derek who appears behind him, embracing him while the shower warms.
The blunt edges of his teeth are like razorblades, just scraping the shell of Scott’s ear. “They will,” he says, and all at once Scott recalls a ledge, and a deep wound in his side. He slides his hand over Derek’s forearm, fingers curling tight around his wrist as Derek concludes, “As soon as you let them.”
when people who aren’t even in your convo interrupt you