**Chapter 2**
Sunlight edged past the blinds in narrow blades, cutting across the rumpled sheets. Avery woke first, cheek pressed to Stiles's bare chest, the steady thud of his heart anchoring her. His arm curled around her back beneath the hoodie she still wore—his hoodie—and his fingers had slipped beneath the hem sometime in the night to rest against the warm skin at the small of her back. She didn't move. Just breathed him in, the faint trace of soap and boy and the unmistakable scent that was simply Stiles.
Last night hadn't been a dream. The ache in her lips, the faint sting where he'd sucked a mark into her neck, the heavy pulse between her legs—all of it grounded the memory. She had told him. He had told her. And then they had crashed together like they'd been waiting their whole lives for permission.
Stiles stirred, a low rumble vibrating through his chest. His hand flexed against her spine, pulling her closer on instinct before his eyes even opened. When they did, hazel meeting hazel, the sleepy confusion melted instantly into something darker and hotter.
"Still here," he murmured, voice gravel-rough from sleep. "Good. Thought I might wake up and find out I'd hallucinated the best night of my life."
Avery pushed up on one elbow so she could look at him properly. The hoodie had ridden high on her hips; his gaze flicked down, then back to her face like it took effort. "Not hallucinating," she said. "Unless we both are."
His free hand came up, thumb tracing the fresh bruise he'd left on her neck. "Mine," he said simply. No sarcasm, no deflection. Just raw possession that sent heat licking down her spine.
She leaned in and kissed him. It started soft—morning-soft—but Stiles made a rough sound in the back of his throat and rolled them so she was underneath him again. The weight of him felt perfect, grounding. His mouth moved against hers with the same desperate focus as the night before, like he was still afraid someone might take this away from him. Avery opened for him immediately, tongues sliding, her hands mapping the lean muscle of his back under his t-shirt.
When they broke apart for air, Stiles rested his forehead on hers. "Tell me this is okay. Tell me you're not freaking out now that the sun's up."
"I'm not freaking out." She hooked a leg around his hip, drawing him closer until she could feel exactly how not-freaked-out he was. The hard line of him pressed against her through thin fabric made her breath catch. "I meant every word last night. I've wanted this—wanted you—for longer than I knew how to admit it."
Stiles's hips jerked once, involuntary. "Fuck, Ave. You can't say stuff like that and expect me to be a gentleman."
"I never asked you to be a gentleman."
The words snapped whatever thread of restraint he had left. He kissed her hard, tongue stroking deep, while his hand shoved the hoodie up to her ribs. Avery helped, wriggling until she could yank it over her head and toss it aside. Cool air hit her skin, then his mouth followed—hot and wet across her collarbone, down to a breast. When he closed his lips around her nipple and sucked, her back arched clean off the bed.
"God—Stiles—"
He hummed against her, the vibration pulling another gasp from her throat. His fingers traced down her stomach, slipped beneath the waistband of her sleep shorts. She wasn't wearing anything underneath. The realization drew a groan out of him that sounded almost pained.
"So wet already," he whispered against her skin. "All for me?"
"Only you." She tugged at his shirt until he stripped it off, then shoved at his sweatpants. He kicked them away, leaving them both bare. The sight of him—lean, flushed, cock heavy and curving up against his stomach—made her mouth go dry. She'd felt him through clothes last night. Seeing him like this was different. Real.
Stiles braced himself on one forearm, the other hand sliding between her legs. Two fingers traced her slick folds before circling her clit with devastating accuracy. Avery's hips bucked. He watched her face the entire time, cataloging every reaction like it was the most important research he'd ever done.
"I've thought about this," he admitted, voice low. "Too many times. In this bed. In the shower. In the damn Jeep. Every time you crawled in next to me and trusted me to keep my hands to myself."
"I never wanted you to keep them to yourself." She reached down and wrapped her fingers around him. He was hot, velvet over steel, and he twitched in her grip. "I wanted you to touch me like this. To fuck me."
The dirty words from her mouth made his eyes flutter half-shut. "Careful. I'm trying not to come just from hearing you say that."
"Don't be careful." She stroked him once, twice, thumb spreading the bead of wetness at the tip. "I want you inside me. Now."
Stiles cursed, a string of words that would have made their dad blush. He fumbled in the nightstand drawer, coming up with a condom. Avery almost laughed at the absurdity—her brother keeping condoms two feet from where she used to fall asleep on his chest—but the laugh died when he rolled it on with shaking hands and settled between her thighs.
He paused, cock notched at her entrance, and met her eyes. "I love you. Not the way I'm supposed to. The way that means no one else ever gets to have you. Not Connor. Not anyone."
The mention of Connor should have cooled things off. Instead it only sharpened the ache. Avery nodded, fingers digging into his shoulders. "Then make it true."
Stiles pushed inside in one slow, relentless thrust.
The stretch burned in the best way. Avery's mouth fell open on a silent cry. He was thicker than she'd expected, filling her so completely she felt claimed down to her bones. Stiles buried his face in her neck, breathing hard, hips locked still while she adjusted.
"Jesus Christ, you're tight," he ground out. "Perfect. So fucking perfect for me."
After a moment she rolled her hips experimentally. The drag of him inside her pulled a moan from both of them. Stiles took that as permission and began to move—long, deep strokes that hit something devastating inside her with every pass. The bed creaked beneath them. Skin slapped against skin. Avery wrapped both legs around his waist and met him thrust for thrust, nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks.
Every sensation narrowed to this: Stiles above her, inside her, whispering filthy praise against her ear between kisses. *That's it. Take me. Been dying to feel you come on my cock. No one else, Ave. Never anyone else.*
She came without warning, clenching around him so hard her vision sparked white. Stiles fucked her through it, pace turning erratic, until he followed with a choked groan of her name. He collapsed half on top of her, both of them slick with sweat and trembling.
For a long minute the only sound was their ragged breathing. Stiles's hand stroked up and down her side like he couldn't stop touching her. When he finally lifted his head, the look in his eyes was so tender it hurt.
"I'm not sorry," he said quietly. "Not for any of it."
"Me either." Avery brushed damp hair off his forehead. "We'll figure out the rest. Just… not right now."
They stayed tangled together until the room grew too warm. Eventually Stiles eased out of her, disposed of the condom, and came back with a warm washcloth. The gentle way he cleaned her up nearly undid her all over again. Afterward they lay facing each other, legs intertwined, trading lazy kisses that promised more later.
But reality crept in at the edges. Avery traced a finger along his jaw. "Connor texted me this morning. He wants to talk. Thinks breaking up was a 'mistake.'"
Stiles's expression didn't change, but the hand on her hip tightened possessively. "He won't be texting you again."
The calm certainty in his voice sent a shiver through her. She remembered the look on his face last night when he'd promised to handle it. The same look he wore now.
"I don't want you getting in trouble," she said.
"I won't." He kissed the tip of her nose, then her mouth, softer this time. "I'm not going to do anything that comes back on us. But he touched you. He thought he could have what's mine. That's not something I can let stand."
Avery searched his face. She knew this side of him—the protective streak that could turn ruthless when someone he loved was threatened. She had always been at the center of that circle. Now the circle had narrowed to something fiercer, more exclusive.
"What are you going to do?"
Stiles rolled onto his back, pulling her against his chest so her head rested over his heart again. "I'm going to make sure he understands that Beacon Hills isn't safe for him anymore. Permanently. He'll leave town by tonight, and he won't look back. You don't need the details, Ave. Just know it's handled."
She nodded against his skin. Part of her knew she should feel uneasy about how easily he talked about removing someone from their lives. The rest of her—the part that had spent years curling into his bed because no one else ever felt right—only felt safe.
They stayed like that another half hour, trading quiet touches and softer words. When Stiles finally rose to shower, Avery watched him cross the room, memorizing the lines of his back, the faint red scratches she'd left there. Hers. All of him was hers now.
By the time he came back dressed in jeans and a hoodie, his expression had settled into focused determination. He leaned down and kissed her slow and deep, tongue stroking hers like a reminder of what they'd just done.
"Stay here," he said against her lips. "Watch something trashy. Eat the leftover pizza. I'll be back before dinner."
"Be careful."
"Always am." A crooked smile, the one that used to make her stomach flip for reasons she hadn't wanted to name. "I love you. More than a brother should. More than anything."
"I love you too."
He left the room, footsteps quiet on the stairs. The front door clicked shut a minute later. Avery pulled his hoodie back on, inhaling the combined scent of them, and curled into his pillows.
Outside, Stiles climbed into the Jeep, lacrosse bat resting on the passenger seat like an old friend. Connor's house was ten minutes away. The route gave him plenty of time to run through every scenario, every contingency. By the time he parked at the curb, the plan was ironclad.
Connor opened the door on the second knock, looking surprised. "Stiles? Hey, man, is Avery—"
Stiles didn't let him finish. The bat swung once, low and precise, catching the other boy behind the knee. Connor crumpled with a shout. Stiles stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and looked down without a trace of remorse.
"You're going to listen very carefully," he said, voice even. "Then you're going to pack a bag and drive until Beacon Hills is a speck in your rearview. You won't call her. You won't text her. You won't even think her name. Because if you do, next time I won't stop at a broken leg and a few missing teeth. I know things, Connor. Things that can make a person disappear so cleanly no one ever finds the body. And I love my sister enough to make sure that happens if you test me."
The younger man stared up at him, pain and terror mixing in his eyes. Stiles waited until understanding sank in fully.
"Good. Clock's ticking. I suggest you run."
When Stiles pulled back into the driveway two hours later, the bat was back in the trunk and his hands were clean. He walked into the house, kicked off his shoes, and climbed the stairs.
Avery looked up from his bed when he entered. Whatever she saw in his face made her smile—small, secret, relieved.
"Handled?" she asked.
"Handled." He crossed to her, pulled her up into his arms, and kissed her like he hadn't been gone at all. "It's just us now."
She melted against him, fingers threading through his hair. The rest of the world could burn. In this room, in this house, they had everything they needed.
(Word count: 1997)