Isaac could barely breathe himself, everything in his world has narrowed down to this moment, here on his back on Stiles' dinner table. He wanted it, he could feel his body tensing up in anticipation, his stomach, his thighs squeezing tightly as his body worked his way toward its orgasm. Another stroke, another thrust, the slight tightening of his fist and he was coming, hard and fast and messy against them both.

It was like nothing he'd ever felt before, not anything he'd done on his own. It was warmer, and the anticipation, the emotional complications of it all- it felt like glass being dragged through his veins, hard and rough, and it almost hurts, but it's eclipsed in the utter pleasure that comes from finally getting his release. It's good, and it leaves him shuddering, his skin damp and his pupils blown wide.