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Theo is high when he steps off the stage, the noise from the amps still ringing in his ears, making everything else sound foggy and distant. He can see more than hear the cheers from the crowd, the bloody faces and forming bruises showing only when the venue’s lights flash. He’ll be hoarse in the morning, he knows - he can feel the tickle in the back of his throat, the kind that spells out days of gargling shit and drinking tea with honey to be able to talk at full volume. He doesn’t care, though; his voice sounds sexy when it’s raspy, and if this goes well, he gets a week off from gigs, anyway. He got a surprisingly long time up there in front of an audience, and he milked it for everything it was worth.
He’s been lucky getting booked lately. It’s always small venues, but they’re regular shows and they pay, so he’s been taking every chance he can, pushing himself. He’s always been ambitious, and he needed to prepare for this night. It’s just a battle of the bands, a bunch of kids from the few towns in the area fucking around, but he heard the same whispers everyone did about who was judging. They’re not that far from LA, after all, and the Hales have roots in Beacon Hills. The flyers were unusually vague about what the prize for taking first was, just stating there was “a $500 cash prize and an even greater reward’”.
His main competition has already come and gone from the stage, another band that graduated Beacon Hills High to dive straight into the local scene. On paper, they shouldn’t be as good as they are. Their writing and their style are purely pop punk, like they listened to too much music in the early 2000s and never moved on. It’s not his style at all, but Theo begrudgingly likes it. It’s hard not to, though that’s probably more down to who sings the songs than to what the music’s about.
Theo would say that Scott McCall is electric if it weren’t for the fact that that title’s been handed off to his bandmate and drummer, Kira. Scott is… something, definitely. He’s all bounce and energy behind the mic, or away from the mic, working the stage, hip checking Boyd and smiling with the force of the sun.
Theo knew him back in school, when Scott spent as much time in the veterinary clinic as he did at the skate park. Everyone expected him to go on full ride to UC Davis, and everyone was caught off-guard when he deferred to play in his band.
But seeing him on the stage, everything makes sense. Scott is up there because he feels it with every bone in his body, because he loves it, and he makes other people love it. He’s reliable in that he’s always there, whenever he’s booked, always alert and always on top of things. But he’s unpredictable in that every show is unique, because Scott never wants anyone to feel like the show they’re going to is the same old same old. Scott gives his all to whatever he and his band are feeling that night, and what he’s feeling is written in every single moment of his time on stage.
Scott and Theo don’t always run the exact same circles; Theo tends to get more club gigs DJing than bar gigs, though he takes whatever he can get. The nights when he and Scott meet, though, the nights like this, Theo always watches Scott’s set. It’s partly calming to see Scott’s band, so he can size up the competition, to try and catch them off their game. More than that, though, Theo has his eyes glued to Scott to see where he’s at.
Tonight is a promising night.
Scott’s hips swivel against his guitar when he plays, a long, slow drag that Theo feels in his gut. Scott’s plush lips press close to the mic, and his voice sounds low and throaty, his set matched perfectly to the tone with slower, sexed-up songs that Theo hasn’t heard before tossed into the mix. Scott burns with an intensity that knocks his usual earnestness up a few notches, and when Scott fixes his gaze on Theo, Theo knows.
Theo’s set ends, and once all his gear is put away and loaded up, he cuts his way back through the crowd. He could make out Scott’s face from the stage, knows where he was propped up against a support beam near the back of the crowd. Scott won’t be there anymore, though. The last band has already started their set, and then the winners will be announced, but Theo’s focus is elsewhere. He searches for Scott’s goddamn floral snapback peeking over the tops of the crowd, but Theo isn’t tall enough to get a clear view of much of anything, and Scott isn’t exactly tall, either.
It isn’t until Theo’s heading for the bar that he catches a glimpse of Scott’s plaid shirt lit up in flashes of green and purple, Scott’s crooked jaw and bright eyes visible through the gaps in the crowd. Theo could approach him right now, could weave in and out until he’s pressed against Scott, pulling him off to the side. That’s not how they work, though. Scott’s too good and Theo’s worked too hard to duck out before the results are announced, so Theo knows he has to wait. It doesn’t stop him from catching Scott’s eye and shooting him a wink before he meanders his way to the bar.
It isn’t crowded, not while there’s a somewhat decent band playing, so Theo waits for one person and is up to the front of the line. The person behind him is pressed too close, but Theo isn’t in the mood to start shit, so he ignores it until he opens his mouth to order and hears a voice behind him order, instead.
“Two shots of tequila” and Theo is turning his head to see a familiar hoodie, black and grey, the strings chewed until they frayed. A glance at the face, moles dotting pale skin and lips bitten almost bloody, and he’s reassured, enough that he nods his assent to the bartender.
“You’re paying for these,” Theo says as the bartender pulls out the tequila and shot glasses. He performed, so he gets drinks free, but he has no qualms against being a dick. “There’s no way I’m drinking this shit on my tab.”
“You’re kidding me,” Stiles says flatly, but when Theo holds firm, Stiles fishes into his pocket and takes just a few seconds too long before he drags it out. He doesn’t hold it up triumphantly, like he did the first time Theo saw him at a bar. It’s not much of an improvement, but it’s palpable. Stiles must be spending more time at Scott’s gigs than he used to, if he’s managed to pick up all this chill. “Should I have gotten one for Scott?”
“Nah,” Theo says. Scott bones high, but gets too sloppy when he’s drunk. Theo, on the other hand, won’t say no to a shot or two between his sets and his sheets. “We’re doing this right?”
“Fuck yeah,” Stiles says. He carefully scoots his shot closer to the edge of the bar, grabbing the salt shaker and eying Theo closely. Theo isn’t planning on getting half-naked; at least, not yet. He rolls his eyes and holds out his hand while he grabs Stiles’ lime.
“You’re no fun,” Stiles pouts as Theo grips the lime with his teeth, but Theo’s eyebrows convey his impatience clearly enough that Stiles moves on, yet again. He holds Theo’s hand and licks a long stripe from his knuckles to his wrist, practically pouring the salt from the shaker. He takes much longer with his mouth the second time around, his tongue dragging along Theo’s hand, Theo getting goosebumps when Stiles lingers at the end, glancing up at Theo through his eyelashes.
If Theo didn’t have a lime in his mouth, he’d tell Stiles to fuck off. Stiles knows exactly what he’s doing, and knows that he’s testing Theo’s resolve. Theo avowed himself of venue bathroom quickies, but he can see the long line of Stiles’ neck, the motion of Stiles’ adams apple when he knocks the shot back. Stiles’ face dips and tilts to meet Theo’s mouth, his breath hot on Theo’s skin and his nose brushing Theo’s cheek when his teeth sink into the lime and pull away.
It baffles Theo, sometimes, how quickly Stiles can go from sexy to the hot mess Theo remembers from high school. When Stiles finally clumsily untangles the lime from his teeth and puts it in his shot glass, Theo grabs the salt shaker for himself. He doesn’t need to think about where he’s going to salt, because he already knows, has known since the second he saw Stiles’ hoodie.
“You should take that off,” he tells Stiles, and Stiles rushes to comply, tying the hoodie around his waist and revealing a white shirt. The collar’s so wide that it looks stretched out, like it’s been tugged back so many times that it no longer knows what shape to hold.
It’s absolutely perfect for Theo. He grins at Stiles and then runs his tongue along the dip of Stiles’ collarbone, feeling the vibrations of Stiles’ hum more clearly than he hears it. He salts haphazardly and then licks again, his mouth tracing above the bone up to Stiles’ neck, where he closes his mouth on the soft skin and sucks a quick mark.
The shot goes down quick and easy, because despite Theo’s complaining, he doesn’t actually mind the taste of tequila. It definitely tastes way better than the cheap vodka this place serves. He still appreciates the cut of lime, but he doesn’t keep it there long, disposing of it and replacing it with his mouth, slotting his lips between Stiles’. Theo is almost perversely pleased that Stiles still hasn’t lost that first flutter of shock and awe across his face when he’s being kissed, like he still can’t believe that someone attractive wants to kiss him.
Theo wants to do much, much more than that to Stiles. Tonight, he knows his focus won’t be as much on Stiles as it could be, but he still relishes in the knowledge that Stiles views his attention more like a gift than an expectation. Soon, Theo will take him to pieces and get to watch Stiles thank him every step along the way.
He knows he’s testing the bartender’s patience, and at any other venue in the area, he’d probably at least have gotten dirty looks by this point, if not a walk-by from a bouncer. But it isn’t until he’s working a hand under Stiles’ shirt that someone pipes up, and it’s not anyone working at the bar.
“Starting without me?”
Scott’s snapback has gone crooked, his hair spilling haphazardly from underneath it, but Theo suppresses the urge to reach out and straighten it. He always gets this way when Scott’s around, when Scott’s lit up like he is today. His grin hits Theo at his core, makes him feel frustratingly full, like he needs to do something, anything, to burn off the contact high. More than anything, he wants to touch Scott everywhere, to wind his fingers in Scott’s hair and hear Scott’s moans. Theo wants to make Scott feel the same rush Scott feels on the stage, to make Scott feel some fraction of the amount he feels.
“You can’t bring him to your shows and expect to keep him to yourself,” Theo replies. He flattens his hand against Stiles’ happy trail, though he lets his other hand fall from Stiles’ belt loop. Scott laughs. He bites his bottom lip with his top teeth. Theo wants.
“Hey, now,” Stiles says. “I’m not his to share. Not always.”
“Tonight?” Theo asks, glancing at Scott. He doesn’t need to, from the way Stiles’ cheeks flush, but it’s telling; Scott looks at Stiles the way Theo feels burning in his gut for Scott, the heavy thrum of mine.
“Tonight I’m his.”
The weight of his words hang in the air for a moment, ringing even over the sound of the final band introducing their last song. Theo isn’t bothered, because Scott and Stiles are Scott and Stiles, a fluid, complicated sometimesmaybealwaysforever that has existed since before the first time Scott took Theo to the back room after a gig to fuck.
“And tonight he’s mine,” Theo says, finally pulling away from Stiles. “As soon as they announce the winner.”
Theo doesn’t win, though he does take second. It’s a smaller cash prize, but he has a business card with the Hale Records seal and a name and a number in tiny, black letters. He knows better than to let himself believe it’s real, not yet - he knows there are way too many hoops to jump through before it amounts to anything at all, even for Scott’s band, which is riding the high of victory. The card’s still burning up a hole in his pocket, though, eating away at the frustration that would normally be coursing through him, souring his mood.
Stiles waits with Theo while Scott congratulates his band, sheepishly tells them he’s heading home early. “I’m exhausted,” Theo can practically hear him saying. “I’m gonna head home early.” No one looks convinced, but the glances they shoot in Stiles and Theo’s direction mean they know, and they don’t entirely disapprove.
“I’m all yours,” Scott says when he’s back, and the impatience and hunger are back in equal force.
Theo drags Scott into the backseat of Stiles’ jeep with him, in spite of the In-N-Out trash littering the floor and the lack of leg space. He’s got his hand wrapped around Scott’s thigh and his face inches from Scott’s, close enough to feel Scott’s breath hot on his face, when Stiles cuts in.
“Hey, no,” he shouts. “Not in the jeep, I still haven’t gotten the jizz stains out from-”
“We were just gonna make out a little,” Scott protests.
“None of it,” Stiles says. “Not unless you want me to get distracted and crash this thing. You can keep it in your pants until we’re home.”
Theo shoots him a dirty look, but Stiles holds firm, and Scott puts some space between them. He doesn’t move Theo’s hand from his thigh, though. It’s the only thing keeping Theo tethered until they arrive at Scott and Stiles’ apartment. Stiles blares music Theo’s never heard before from the radio, though it’s familiar to Scott. He hums along the entire way, tracing his index finger along the sticky spots Stiles left between Theo’s knuckles.
When they’re finally to Scott’s bedroom, where the big bed is, it’s all Theo can do to wait for Scott to take his snapback and jacket off before he has his mouth mashed against Scott’s, his hand on Scott’s cheek. Scott’s mouth tastes of salt gone sour, but his mouth is warm and his lips are just as puffy and soft as Theo remembers them. Theo tugs with his teeth, just a little, just to feel Scott loosen and melt against him.
“Fuck,” Scott says, gasping for breath, and Theo plunges in again. He wants to drink every noise from Scott’s mouth, wants to feel every breath in Scott’s lungs, and when Scott pulls away, laughing low and warm, Theo presses his lips to Scott’s neck, instead, where he can feel Scott’s pulse beating beneath the skin.
“Been too long,” Scott says, and Theo can’t agree enough. He wants to wreck Scott and Stiles both, wants them to wreck each other. Wants to leave his mark on Scott’s ass, on Stiles’ thighs. Wants to suck Stiles’ tits so he feels it the next day when they brush against his shirt, wants to leave Scott so hoarse he can’t practice with his band without everyone knowing he spent the night before sucking Theo’s dick, screaming Theo’s name.
Theo gets his mouth on the sensitive skin behind Scott’s ear before he finally pulls away and gives Scott some space. As much as Theo wants, he knows the cardinal rule of threesomes, and Scott and Stiles haven’t done anything at all yet. He watches as Scott pulls Stiles down, slides back on the bed so Stiles can straddle his legs and kiss him.
The way Scott and Stiles kiss is familiar, but never loses that slight edge of desperation, both of them clinging like they never learned to do anything else. Stiles pulls away from kisses only to rush back in and slip Scott tongue, and Scott’s hands tug Stiles closer and closer until Stiles is toppling down, his body one long line against Scott.
Theo strips while they’re busy, because although he knows that the unwrapping is Scott’s favorite part, Scott’s already turned his attention to getting Stiles’ clothes off. Stiles’ hair is a messy nest in the aftermath of Scott tugging the hoodie over his head, though the shirt underneath goes over easily. Stiles gets his own hands on his jeans, fingers fumbling with the button and the zipper, and Scott tugging them down over Stiles’ ass, taking his loose boxers with them.
“Your turn,” Theo says when Stiles rolls off from Scott to let Scott sit up. Theo slides in behind Scott, gently guides Scott’s arms together behind his back and brings them together at the wrists. “Gonna hold you down,” Theo says into Scott’s ear, just loudly enough for Stiles to hear. He can feel Scott’s shiver in the tension of his wrists against Theo’s hands, and he presses another kiss against Scott’s neck when he has to release Scott’s hands so Stiles can slide Scott’s plaid shirt down his arms and off.
They make quick work of the rest of Scott’s clothes, until he’s finally naked and open. Theo could spend ages touching Scott’s skin, running his hands along Scott’s abs and leaving feather-light trails along Scott’s sides and thighs, running the palms of his hands down Scott’s smooth back. Theo wants more than that now, though, and he knows from how hard Stiles’ dick is that he’s on the same page.
“What do you want, Stiles?” Theo asks. Stiles startles, but his answer comes more quickly than Theo expected, rushed out of his mouth like he’s worried the opportunity to choose will be taken away from him.
“Wanna fuck him,” Stiles says, and Theo smiles.
“Better start opening him up, then.”
Stiles reaches down below the bed and fishes out a bottle of lube and a condom, opening the condom packaging before he slicks up his fingers. He eases the first finger in, but after that, he goes much more quickly, pouring extra lube on his second finger before sliding it in. Scott’s hole opens up easy under the slick, slurping sounds of Stiles’ fingers, and Theo runs his fingers through Scott’s hair.
“Someone’s been slutty,” Theo says, and both Scott and Stiles blush.
It still feels like ages before Stiles finally covers his dick in a condom and pushes in slowly. Stiles’s moan of relief is louder than Scott’s when he finally bottoms out, Stiles’ face sweaty and already flushed in the hollows of his cheekbones. Theo knows the feeling; even with Scott so open for Stiles, he knows what it feels like inside Scott, what it feels like to have Scott under him. Scott is warm and tight, squirming and pushing himself onto Stiles’ dick, like the only thing holding him back is that Theo hasn’t told him he can yet. The amount of power Theo holds in the barest whisper of a word is dizzying, a rush almost as great as standing up in front of a screaming, rowdy crowd.
Theo slowly lifts Scott’s hands above his head and traces his fingers along Scott’s wrists before putting weight down, pinning Scott to the bed. Scott’s breath catches and he squirms, trying to lift his wrists, but Theo’s grip holds firm.
“Fuck,” Stiles says, his hips stuttering inside Scott. “How does it feel, Scotty?”
“Good,” Scott says, slow and syrupy.
“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, thrusting hard into Scott, making Scott’s thighs shake. “Bet it feels good. Having me fuck into you, fill you up, stretch you wide open for me. Being held down, made to just take it, to just let me use your hole.”
“He can’t even come,” Theo says. “Can’t come without a hand on him, and no one’s going to touch his cock until you’ve come inside him. His dick is already so red and hard, I bet he’s aching to come, but no one’s going to give him that until you’ve gotten exactly what you want from his tight little hole.”
“I’m not gonna last much longer,” Stiles admits, but that wasn’t something that Stiles needed to tell Theo. Theo can already see, from the way Stiles’ thrusts are going uneven, shallower and quicker, Stiles rabbiting into Scott like he can’t help it. He probably can’t; he’s been hard practically since the bar.
“You can come,” Theo tells Stiles, and a few thrusts later, Stiles is jerking to a halt, his eyes squeezing shut and his mouth dropping open, his come filling up the condom. He melts on top of Scott, and Theo is proud when Scott doesn’t even try to take advantage and rut up against Stiles.
Theo lets Stiles have a moment to recover, but waits until Scott begs, a quiet, “Please, Theo,” before he tells Stiles to get Scott off. He watches as Stiles jerks Scott’s cock as easily and fluidly as if it were his own, Scott’s arms tensing and pushing against Theo’s hands when he gasps and comes. Theo finally eases up on Scott’s wrists, letting Scott move his hands down to his sides as he catches his breath.
Stiles wipes the come from his hand and watches with fondness as Scott comes down, his breathing slowly evening out. Scott’s heavy breaths are the loudest sound in the room, and it doesn’t take long before Stiles’ attention shifts back to Theo.
“What about you?” Stiles asks, eying Theo’s dick.
Theo gets his hand on himself, tugs once, twice, just to show that he’s still hard. He’s been patient, but he isn’t self-sacrificing, and he plans to get exactly what he wants from his orgasm, too. Between the thick smell of sweat and come, the smacking sounds of Stiles fucking Scott deep, and the sight of Scott’s head tipping back and abs tensing up when he came, Theo is plenty worked up. “I’m gonna fuck his mouth.”
Though Scott is obviously sleepy, finally coming down from the excitement of the night, he takes as much of Theo into his mouth as he can. He sucks Theo’s cock eagerly, whimpers when Theo pulls back out to thrust in deeper. Theo has to be patient and let Scott put his love of hard work to use, but the moment Theo fucks deep into Scott’s throat and can feel Scott swallowing around him makes everything worth it. Although he’s tempted to come there, to fuck in deep and stay there, he’s nice. He pulls almost all the way out so Scott can savor the taste of his come on his tongue. When he moves out of the way to lie down on the bed, he watches Stiles lean in to kiss Scott after so he can taste for himself.
With all three of them sleepy and taken care of, Theo knows that things are done. He curls up next to Scott and lets Stiles cuddle him and give him reassurances, Theo throwing in the occasional snippet of praise himself just to see the way Scott’s face lights up. Stiles disposes of the condom, and the three of them doze off together, all squeezed into Scott’s bed.
When Theo’s alarm goes off in the morning, he quickly shuts it off and carefully extricates himself from the other two. He slips his clothes back on, making sure that his wallet, the prize money, and the business card are still tucked safely in his pocket.
He heads out before they wake up, because he doesn’t deal with morning afters, even with Scott. But he does send a text.
“Had fun last night - feel free to bring Stiles next time, too.”