smallbone

tylerstitties  asked:

Stiles teaching Scott how to drive Roscoe. :)

It was supposed to be a driving tutorial. Stiles had resigned himself to the notion, of being some kind of NPC in the introductory levels of a video game that featured an earnest-featured young werewolf who was so, so bad at driving a stick. Stiles couldn’t understand why Scott was so bad at Roscoe’s stick. He hated that bike Scott had but he knew enough about it to know it had a clutch, too, and required shifting gears just as much as the Jeep did.

But here they were in the school parking lot, way too freaking early on a Saturday morning while it’s mostly empty, and Stiles was sitting on the wrong side of his precious blue baby listening to Scott grind his way into second gear by brute force. He gripped at the inside of the window and his voice ground into existence at the same time. “Scott! Scott. Left foot! Clutch! You have to push it! You can’t let go until you’re in the gear you want or you’re going to turn my gearbox into a pile of scrap!”

Scott scowled at the steering wheel, and then down at his left foot, readjusting the way he was resting it on the clutch. “This is so complicated. Why does your car have to be so complicated, why couldn’t it be an automatic like any reasonable car?”

“Because Roscoe was born in 1982 and nothing was automatic in the stone age.” Stiles frowned, reaching out to wrap his fingers over Scott’s on the gear shift. “Okay, let’s try again. We’re gonna take it back to neutral and you can work on timing the shifts, right? It’s just like with your bike, when the RPMs get high it’s time to shift up. This should be easy for you.”

So they went, round and round in circles in the BHHS parking lot. This time, Scott was virtually flawless on the clutch, shifting confidently and accurately into every new gear. Encouraged there might actually be an end put to this eventually, Stiles gradually pulled his hand free.

Almost immediately, Scott dropped the clutch.

Slowly, something started to dawn on Stiles, a pattern that he’d only just now noticed. A correlation between the electric spark of their hands touching and Scott’s competence behind the wheel. Something too consistent to be coincidence.

Scott had been intentionally dropping the clutch just to get Stiles to put his hand on Scott’s hand.

Something jumped up into his throat that Stiles thought might be his heart. Just as slowly as the realization had dawned, he reached out, wrapping his fingers around the knob of the gear shift and Scott’s hand too, letting the warmth of Scott’s skin radiate up into the smallbones of his hand. It felt good.

A smile fluttered over Scott’s face, hopeful, like he’d just been waiting for Stiles to figure it out. “…Should I just drive us home?”

“…yeah. Yeah. You totally should.”