Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3496463.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      teen_wolf_-_Fandom
  Relationship:
      stackson, Stiles_Stilinski/Jackson_Whittemore
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Jackson_Whittemore, Erica_Reyes, Scott_McCall, Vernon
      Boyd, Allison_Argent, Lydia_Martin
  Additional Tags:
      BDSM, Light_BDSM, Dom_Stiles, Sub_Jackson_Whittemore, Anonymous_Sex,
      Rimming, Blow_Jobs, Loss_of_Virginity
  Collections:
      Teen_Wolf_Rare_Pair_Exchange:_Round_3
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-03-07 Chapters: 10/10 Words: 32642
****** In the Arcade ******
by nikkithedead
Summary
     After an accidental hook-up, Stiles and Jackson enter into a no-
     strings-attatched sexual relationship.
Notes
     Takes place after the events of season two, and is more or less
     season two canon compliant. The only differences are that Erica and
     Boyd were never captured by the Alpha pack, and there was no triskele
     on Derek's door. The Alpha pack, Jennifer and any other elements
     introduced in season 3 do not exist in this universe.
     Obviously, Jackson did not go to London, either.
***** Blue-Eyed Monster *****
           “Alice asked the Cheshire Cat, who was sitting in a tree,
                            'What road do I take?'

                   The cat asked, 'Where do you want to go?'
   
'I don’t know,' Alice answered.
'Then,' said the cat, 'it really doesn’t
                              matter, does it?'”

              —Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland


                                      ***
It was called the Arcade, but no one who went there had much interest in
playing video games. Not even Stiles, who would have put playing video games on
his list of top ten things he was interested in doing. But the other thing was
higher on the list. Lately he thought it might have even been number one. 
Stiles had only found the Arcade pretty recently. Before that he'd gone to this
place in the park that wasn't nearly so nice—mostly because it was a washroom.
But even by dirty, scuzzy washroom standards, the one in the park was just
nasty. You couldn't even see who the hell you were fooling around with. It was
too impersonal for him, just sticking his dick through a dirty hole in the wall
and letting some stranger suck him off. He wasn't exactly there looking for
romance or anything, but it would have been nice to be able to at least see
what these guys looked like.
Compared to the washroom in the park, the Arcade was the Ritz. No gross glory
holes to speak of. 
As far as Stiles knew, the Arcade had been opened for year and years. It was
the kind of place Stiles' Dad had probably gone to, when he was a kid—solely
for the purpose of video games, of course. It used to have some other kind of
name too, but whatever it'd been was long lost, nothing more than a faded,
impossible to decipher word on a sign that now just read “The [blank] Arcade.”
The games were old, years outdated. The lighting was bad, the wiring faulty,
and the guy behind the counter where you could exchange money for tokens
(although the machines also took quarters) was without a doubt high as a
fucking kite every time Stiles went in there.
But none of that mattered. Because what the Arcade lacked in style and allure,
it made up for with its labyrinthine expanse of small, dark back rooms. That
was the way the place was set up—where most arcades had one big room full of
games, the Arcade had about two or three games in the entrance way, and the
rest were located in those back rooms. Each room had at least one old style
arcade game set up in it. 
So if you were looking for a discreet, out of the way place to hook up with
strangers in, it was perfect. 
And that was exactly what Stiles was looking for.
                                      ***
 It was the day after the first day of eleventh grade, and Stiles was headed
for the Arcade, as usual. He would have gone the day before (he'd sure as hell
needed it) but lacrosse tryouts had occupied his time. He'd actually managed to
make first string this year, for the first time ever. It felt good... but not
as good as Stiles would have thought. It strange, how things that had once
seemed so important hardly mattered anymore. When there were things like
werewolves, kanima's and God-Knows-What-Else running around tearing people's
throats out, what did a dumb sport like lacrosse count for?
Sure, the summer had been quiet, pleasantly death, mutilation and horror free.
But Stiles knew it couldn't last forever. Sooner or later something else would
come, and when it did they would never be ready for it. How could they? 
Stiles knew that Scott had spent the summer training with Derek and his
pack—although he had still refused to join them, in an official capacity. They
were learning to fight, to strengthen themselves and work together more
efficiently. Stiles himself, along with Lydia and Allison, had spent the summer
pouring over every resource they could get their hands on—the Argent and the
Hale's bestiaries, books that Derek had leant them and an entire database full
information given to them by Deaton, (which he only handed over after making it
clear that he would in fact kill them if they ever told anyone that he had).
And still he knew it would not be enough. It wasn't that he didn't think they
would be able to stop whatever came—they would, he was pretty sure. Eventually.
In the end, they would find some way to triumph over whatever terror plagued
their town next... but how many would die before they did? And how long would
it be before it was one of them lying on a cold slab in the morgue, them and
not a stranger? Allison had already lost her mother... which one of their loved
ones would be next? 
This was what kept Stiles awake in the night, every night. They would fight,
and they would train and they would struggle... and in spite of it all, people
would die. There was no way to stop it.
He wished he had someone to share these worries with, some way to let out all
the frustration and fear. He couldn't talk to Scott, because if Scott knew how
awful Stiles felt all the time he would worry and fret over him, and Scott had
enough on his plate already without Stiles' whiney bullshit to stress him out.
No, unloading on Scott wasn't fair. And other than Scott, who did he have,
really? Allison? She was his friend, of course, and a good one... but somehow
he just didn't feel comfortable taking this sort of thing to her. And like
Scott, she had enough to deal with.
So he kept it to himself, and tried his best to grin and bare it. He was
miserable, and he was alone, and he would just have to deal with it.
When he reached the Arcade, Stiles had put himself in an crappy mood. He almost
felt like turning around to go home and sulk, but decided against it. What did
he come here for, if not to distract himself from awful thoughts and perpetual
crappy moods? No, this was what he needed. Something nice, something simple and
easy. Something to take his mind off everything that was not. 
The front section of the arcade was empty as always, and the guy behind the
counter didn't bother looking up from his cellphone when Stiles walked in. He
headed straight to the back area, and began looking around for an open door.
At the end of the hallway a door stood ajar, and Stiles headed towards it. He
stepped in slowly, frowning. The room was completely dark inside, and it was
impossible to see. Someone had killed the lights, and unplugged the arcade
machine. He was considering calling out to see if whoever had done so was still
there, when the door slammed shut behind him. Instinct took over and when he
felt a hand on him, he shoved the person away. They shoved him back and slammed
him up against a wall, pining him back against it. Then they kissed them, a
hard kiss that collided with only half his mouth. Stiles figured that was
probably due to them not being able to see, either.
The kiss calmed him down, reminded him that wasn't being attacked. It was dark
because whoever he was kissing wanted to stay as anonymous as possible. And
today, Stiles didn't care. The stranger managed to plant a more centred kiss on
him, and this time Stiles kissed him back. 
In the pitch black their hands roamed over each others bodies, pulling at
clothes as they stumbled back against each other. Usually in this sort of
situations, Stiles couldn't stop himself from wondering about the person he was
with; who were they, what were they like? What was their favourite movie, their
favourite band? Did they prefer pizza or hamburgers?
Today none of this questions floated through his mind, and if the guy had
volunteered the answers Stiles wouldn't have cared. All he wanted was to get
off, and go home. Nothing else mattered, not who this guy was or even what he
looked like.
Stiles felt around for the guys shoulder, and gave a firm push downwards. Quick
on the uptake, he immediately sunk down to his knees and began fiddling with
the button of Stiles' jeans.
Stiles leaned back against the wall as the stranger went down on him, closing
his eyes and threading his fingers through the guys hair, which was stiff with
gel. Stiles moaned quietly. He had been waiting all day for this. This was
good.
It wasn't long before Stiles was finished, but even after he had come he kept
his eyes closed, revelling in the feeling of release and peace. For just a few
moments he had no worries, no problems and no need to struggle. For just a
moment, everything was okay.
The strangers hands were back on him soon, although he made no move to kiss
Stiles again. Stiles reached out in the darkness, found his face and pulled it
towards him, pressing their lips together. They kissed slowly for a minute, and
then Stiles felt a hand on his shoulder, pressing down. It was his turn.
Stiles dropped to his knees, feeling around for the button of the guys jeans.
He found a well muscled abdomen and ran his hand down until he came to the
groin area, then got to work. Going down on someone wasn't as good as having
someone go down on him—especially this guy, who had a real knack for it—but he
didn't exactly mind it, either. Already he could feel himself getting hard
again, just listening to this guy moan, and feeling him thrust his fingers into
his recently grown-out hair.
Why he did it, Stiles didn't know. The room was pitch black, there was nothing
to see... and yet for some reason, Stiles looked up. And through the darkness,
two blue eyes stared down at him. Bright blue and glowing in the dark. And
Stiles only knew one person with eyes like that.
Stiles stumbled backwards, wiping his mouth as he staggered to his feet. He
fumbled for the light switch, found it and flipped it on. 
Jackson Whittemore was pulling up his pants. When the lights flicked on and he
saw Stiles standing there, his jaw dropped. They stared at each other for a
moment, mouths open and nothing coming out. Stiles' mind had gone completely
blank, as if the situation was somehow too impossible to contemplate.
Suddenly Jackson stormed past him and out the door, leaving Stiles staring
after him, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now.
***** Fool Me Twice... *****
            "My shame circuits burned out from overuse years ago."
                   ―David Wong, This Book Is Full of Spiders

                                      ***
Stiles didn't see Jackson again until the next day, when he shoved him up
against a wall after lacrosse practice. Everyone else had already gone,
including Scott who'd rushed off to work saying that he would call Stiles
later. Stiles had purposefully lagged behind, wanting to talk to Jackson. Had
he anticipated the wall-shoving, he probably would have asked Scott to stay.
"Did you tell anyone?" Jackson demanded, grabbing fistfuls of Stiles' shirt and
shaking him.
"Well, Jackson, that depends on what exactly you're talking about—" Jackson
shook him again, and Stiles rolled his eyes. "No, I didn't tell anyone. Why the
hell would I?"
"Revenge? To humiliate me? Because you've got a big fucking mouth?" Jackson
ground his teeth, glaring at Stiles. "You're sure you didn't tell anyone? Not
even McCall?"
"Jackson, trust me, if what happened between us got out, I would be just as
horrified as you," Stiles assured him.
Jackson snorted, and let go of his shirt. "Yeah, I really doubt that,
Stilinski," He muttered.
Stiles raised his eyebrows, stepping forward. "You think so? Believe me, I
don't have any interest in people knowing I gave half a blow job to a zombie—"
In a flash, Stiles was once again shoved back against the wall with Jackson
breathing down his neck. "Shut your fucking mouth," Jackson spat out.
Stiles licked his lips, and grinned. "You know that's what people call you now,
right?" He raised his eyebrows once more. "'Zombie boy,'"
Jackson pulled a fist back and Stiles braced himself, but the punch never came.
He could see Jackson's jaw was tensed and he seemed to be struggling with what
to do. After a moment, he dropped his fist and backed up.
Jackson ran his fingers through his hair and Stiles looked him over, wondering
what the hell was going on. "Jackson, not that I'm not glad you didn't punch me
but... what gives?"
"If I punch you I could break your face," Jackson muttered. "Probably get in
trouble for that..." He looked up sharply, and Stiles saw his eyes were the
same blazing blue they'd been the day before. "Don't think I don't want to,"
Stiles nodded. "Interesting... I'm kind of wondering, who are you worried about
getting in trouble with?" He asked. "The police... or Derek?"
Jackson glared at him, and Stiles could not help smirking.
Jackson stormed forward again, and Stiles backed up, pressing himself back
against the wall. "Come on, Jackson, we already know you won't hit me," He
taunted. There was a voice in his head telling him he should really stop
talking, lest Jackson lose his temper and break a lot more than his face. But
how often had he ever listened to that voice, really? "What else aren't you
allowed to do?"
"Shut up, Stiles," Jackson was once again so close to him that he could feel
his breath hot on his face. Stiles' heart had begun to race in his chest, and
he couldn't seem to make himself stop talking.
"What? I'm just curious. How short is that leash Derek's got you on, exactly?"
"I said shut up!"
Stiles tilted his head back and grinned. "Make me," He said.
For a moment, Stiles thought that Jackson really was going to hit him. There
was fury in his blue eyes, and Stiles got the sense that his resolve was
breaking.
But Jackson did not hit him.
Instead, he shoved his mouth against Stiles' in a ruthless kiss. And though
Stiles was shocked and a little confused, that did not stop him from kissing
Jackson back.
It was not a gentle kiss. Their mouths were smashing together, and their noses
kept bumping and it would have hurt like hell if it hadn't felt so damn good.
Stiles' hands roamed over Jackson's body, sliding up under his shirt and along
the smooth expanse of his back. Each kiss was harder, more furious than the
last but Stiles never wanted to stop.
He grabbed Jackson by his shirt and turned them around so that it was Jackson
pressed back against the wall now. He cried out as Stiles kissed down his neck,
sucking angry red marks that healed instantly into his skin. Jackson's fingers
were in his hair again, and it felt just as good as it had the day before. All
of it did.
"Stiles, we... we should stop," Jackson mumbled. Stiles lifted his head and
sucked the lobe of Jackson's ear into his mouth. "Ahh... mmm, we, really... we
should stop... someone could... someone..."
Dimly, the words stop registered in Stiles' mind, and with great difficulty he
pulled himself back. He realized he had been pining Jackson against the wall by
his shoulders, but he wasn't quite willing to let go yet.
"What? What's wrong?" Jackson asked, obviously irritated.
Stiles furrowed his brow. "What do you mean? You said stop. I stopped,"
"I said we should stop," Jackson snapped. "Not that I wanted to," They glared
at each other for a moment, before the reality of the situation seemed to come
back and both realized what they had done. Again.
Stiles dropped his hands from Jackson's shoulders, and Jackson put his face in
his hands. "Fuck," He muttered.
Stiles turned away, suddenly needing to be anywhere but around Jackson. He
needed to clear his head, needed to get a grip on himself. "I gotta go," He
said.
Without waiting for a response, he turned away and all but ran out of the
change room. He marched quickly down the hallway, not looking where was going.
Suddenly something smacked into him, and he stumbled backwards.
"What the hell, Stiles?" It was Erica he had bumped into, and she put her hands
on her hips, looking him over.
"Sorry," Stiles muttered, shaking his head. "I wasn't looking..." Erica gave
him a funny look, but Stiles didn't care.
He continued down the hallway and was out of the school and at his car in two
minutes. Stiles drove home as fast as could without speeding, and collapsed on
his bed.
What the hell had happened? One moment they'd been arguing, and the next...
why? Why any of it? This was Jackson Whittemore they were talking about. For as
long as he could remember, Jackson had been nothing but a bully to him and
Scott. All Stiles was supposed to feel towards him was disdain, mixed with some
lasting resentment over his relationship with Lydia (even though Jackson was no
longer with her, and Stiles was no longer obsessed with her, old habits die
hard).
Instead of feeling those normal, expected feelings, Stiles was feeling... well,
other things. Things that made him wish their kiss in the locker room had
lasted a hell of a lot longer than it had. Things that kept him wondering when
he would be able to kiss him like that again. And sure, there was anger and
resentment mixed in there, but definitely a lot of desire too. For some God-
unknown reason, he wanted Jackson. And he wanted him a lot.
Maybe it wasn't all that crazy. Jackson was a lot of things, but unattractive
was not one of them. And he was more than proficient in the art of giving head,
that Stiles could say for certain. Unlike most of the men Stiles hooked up with
in the Arcade, Jackson was his age and Stiles knew he would take this secret to
his grave. What was the downside, really? Other than his personality.
But no, it could never work, it was a stupid thought. Why would he want it to
work, really? He shouldn't. And, he promised himself, he wouldn't.
                                      ***
Jackson sat on a bench in the locker room, mentally berating himself for making
out with Stilinski again. The first time he could excuse, he hadn't known,
hadn't realized... but this time he had nothing to hide behind. What the hell
was wrong with him? Why was he like this?
He needed to get a grip.
Footsteps sounded from out in the hallway, and Jackson prayed they would pass
the locker room. Of course they stopped right outside the door, and the person
who belonged to them knocked.
"Jackson, you in there?" Erica. What the hell did she want? "Are you naked? I'm
coming in, and if you're naked I'll beat the crap out of you, alright?"
Jackson groaned, and Erica opened the door, her hand lifted to cover her eyes
in case of his nudity.
He sighed. "I'm not naked, Erica," He muttered.
She let her hand drop. "Good," She said, letting the door swing shut behind
her. She leaned back against a locker and crossed her arms. "So, I ran into
Stilinski out in the hall way," She began. The hair on the back of Jackson's
neck stood up. "You want to explain that?"
Jackson shrugged, trying to appear casual. "It's a school, he goes here...?"
Erica rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that's true. Doesn't really explain why your
scent was all over him," She said, raising an eyebrow.
Jackson's face turned red, and he felt his heart beat pick up in his chest. A
million thoughts raced through his mind, each one trying to find some way to
deny what had obviously occurred. "I don't have to explain myself to you," He
snapped, standing up and trying to barge past her. She caught him by the arm
and dragged him back, and he turned and glared at her. "Did you ever think
maybe my scent was on because I beat the crap out of him?"
Erica snorted. "Jackson, you're a werewolf. If you'd beat the crap out of him,
he'd have at least had a limp,"
Unable to think of any other response, Jackson shoved her. Erica stumbled
backwards, reached out and caught a locker to stop herself from falling.
Jackson pointed a finger in her face. "You better not tell anyone,"
Erica gritted her teeth, and her eyes flashed yellow. Fast as a whip she was
back on him, kicking him in the knee and sending him crashing to the floor.
"Well since you asked so nicely," She snapped.
Jackson stood up slowly, considered lunging for her but decided against it.
He'd gone up against Erica before in training, and although he was improving he
knew she could still kick his ass.
Erica shook her head. "Come on, we're late for training. Derek will be pissed,"
Jackson glared at her. "Bite me,"
Erica rolled her eyes. "Whatever," She muttered, turning around and walking
out. Jackson continued to glower at the door, trying to get a hold of himself
and the situation. Erica knew. What could he do about that? Could he bribe her
into keeping the secret? Perhaps... but there was nothing he could do to erase
the information from her mind, make it so that his secret was truly safe again.
This was not good... but there was something even worse, something even more
terrible than Erica finding out his secret. Jackson wouldn't have thought that
was possible, but there it was. The truly awful, terrible thing was that even
though Erica knowing filled him with an unspeakable dread and anxiety, Jackson
could still not stop thinking about fucking Stiles. The way he had felt when
Stiles had kissed him, the feeling of his lips on his neck and his hands
running along his body... Jackson could not get it out of his head, could not
stop replaying every second of it and wanting more.
That was the worst part of it all.
                                      ***
Late at night, Stiles woke with a jolt to a tapping sound at his window. The
tapping sound had invaded his dreams as well, and he was angry at it for waking
him because it had been a good dream. He'd been in the Arcade, getting a
blowjob from some guy when Jackson had stormed in and pulled the guy off of
him. "Stiles is mine," Jackson had said, chasing the guy off before pulling
Stiles towards him and kissing him hard and quick. They'd been in the process
of shedding their clothes when the tapping had started, and as much as he'd
tried to ignore it eventually the dream had slipped away, leaving him alone in
his bed.
Tap tap tap.
Stiles groaned and rubbed his eyes, then opened them and sat up, looking for
the source of the tapping. Much to his surprise he found Jackson sitting
outside of his window, tapping his finger against the glass. For a moment,
Stiles wondered if he was still asleep.
A little concerned that Jackson was here because he'd changed his mind about
punching him in the face, Stiles went over to his window and opened it up.
"Jesus Christ, Stiles, took you long enough," Jackson grumbled, climbing
inside.
Stiles crossed his arms over his chest. "It's late, I was asleep," He muttered.
A glance at the clock told him it was past midnight. "What the hell are you
doing here, Jackson?"
"We have a problem," Jackson said, walking into Stiles' room. Stiles suddenly
became aware of the amount of clothes—including several pairs of dirty
boxers—that were lying on his floor. He began scooping them up as fast as he
could, throwing them in a heap into his hamper. "Erica knows,"
"What?" Stiles asked, stoping his cleaning and staring at Jackson. "How?"
"She bumped into you after we... when you left the locker room," Jackson
explained. "She could smell me on you,"
Stiles groaned, and sat down on the bed. "Well is she going to say anything?"
"That's the problem, I don't know," Jackson said. "I couldn't get to her to
promise not to,"
"Fuck," Stiles muttered. He thought back to bumping into Erica earlier in the
day, remembered the way she'd looked at him. "Fuck,"
"Basically, yeah," Jackson agreed.
Stiles groaned, hanging his head. "How did this happen?" He mumbled.
"I told you, she could smell—"
"Not that," Stiles snapped. "This," He gestured between them. "You and me. How
the hell did this happen?"
It was dark in the room, but there was enough light coming from the open window
for Stiles to tell that Jackson looked uncomfortable. "You were there, weren't
you?"
"It's your fault, y'know,"
Jackson's mouth opened. "Excuse me? I don't think I was fooling around with
myself, Stilinski.
It takes two to tango,"
"You killed all the lights, that was your bright idea," Stiles paused. "So to
speak,"
"You didn't exactly object,"
"Why did you do that, anyways? And can't you see in the dark, with your crazy
werewolf senses or whatever?"
Jackson folded his arms and looked away. "Only if I concentrate a lot... and
even then, only a little. But since I didn't want to see in the dark, I wasn't
trying,"
"Well what about smell? You could still smell me, right? You should have known
who I was!"
"I'm not that good at that yet!" Jackson protested. "Alright, fine, I thought
you smelled familiar, but I just figured you were someone I'd hooked up with
before," He glared. "I don't have your scent memorized,"
"Well, you should,"
"Well I don't so there's no point arguing about it,"
Stiles shook his head. He felt stupid for starting such a pointless argument,
stupid for blaming Jackson for something he had obviously been a part of as
well. He wished he could just tell Jackson to get lost, get him out of his room
and put him out of his thoughts. If only it were that easy.
"What are you doing here, Jackson?"
Jackson looked up, frowning. "What?"
"What are you doing here?" Stiles repeated. "I mean, this stuff about Erica
couldn't have waited until tomorrow? It's not like there's anything we can do
about it,"
"I didn't want to be seen talking to you at school. My social status has taken
a big enough hit as it is, remember?" Jackson replied cooly.
"Okay, you could have texted. Or e-mailed, or called... " Stiles stood up, and
walked over to him. "There was no reason to come here in the middle of the
night," He raised his eyebrows. Jackson looked away. "Well?"
Jackson was quiet for a moment. He shook his head. "Forget it, fine. I'm
leaving," He turned towards the window, but Stiles reached out and put a hand
on his arm. Jackson allowed himself to be pulled back, and Stiles put a hand on
his face. He looked at Jackson through the darkness and finally came to a
decision. If he had to put that decision into words, he supposed it would be
something a long the lines of "eh, fuck it,"
He pulled Jackson towards him and kissed him. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe he
would wind up regretting it but all of a sudden he couldn't have cared less. He
spent so much time worrying and agonizing over what would happen in the future,
worrying about consequences and what he would do if the worst should happen...
he was sick and tired of it. Tired of caring, of worrying that he wasn't doing
the right thing. Maybe the answer was just saying "fuck it all" and doing
something he knew was wrong, without caring about the consequences.
And if the worst should happen, at least the only person hurt would be himself.
***** The First Rule *****
                "At the time, my life just seemed too complete,
                     and maybe we have to break everything
                  to make something better out of ourselves."
                         ―Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club
                                      ***
After school, Stiles and Jackson met up in the Arcade. After the night before,
there was no point in fighting it. For some strange, unfathomable reason they
liked fooling around with each other. So what? It was hardly the end of the
world.
Or so Stiles told himself.
In one of the many dirty rooms in the back of the Arcade, Stiles and Jackson
pulled at each others clothes, unable to be rid of them fast enough. Stiles
hated to admit it, but he'd been thinking about this all day. The feel of
Jackson's body under his fingers, the taste of his mouth... Stiles had fooled
around with his fair share of people in the last few months, and not one of
them could compare to Jackson. Not the way he felt or the way he looked as
Stiles jerked him off, the whole time watching his red lips tremble and his
eyes squeeze shut as Stiles worked him over the edge. Every time he moaned,
ragged and drawn out, Stiles thought he could get off just on that noise alone.
When they were finished and they'd both cleaned themselves off, as he was
pulling his pants back on Jackson announced that he had an important matter to
discuss. Figuring this sounded as if it would take a while, and since it was
kind of cold in the room, Stiles followed Jackson's example and put his pants
back on as well, although he didn't bother to zip them up.
Jackson took a seat on the floor and leaned back against the wall. For some
reason, that struck Stiles as odd; he would have imagined Jackson to be
prissier than that, too high strung to just casually lean back against the
grimy arcade wall. Then again, if Jackson was okay with having anonymous sex
with random men in this sleazy place, obviously he wasn't as prissy as Stiles
had assumed.
As Jackson pulled out a notebook, Stiles dug some change out of his pocket and
inserted it into the coin slot of the arcade game that was gathering dust in
the corner of their room. The lights flashed, Stiles hit the START button, and
a game of Galaga began.
"So," Jackson began, as Stiles moved the joystick back and forth, shooting at
clusters of tiny alien spaceships. "We need to set up some rules, if we're
going to be doing this,"
Stiles rolled his eyes. "Seriously? Rules?"
Jackson glared at him. "Yes, Stiles, rules. Now, rule number one—no one can
know about this, understand?"
"Except Erica, you mean," Stiles reminded him. He completed the level, and
while the game levelled up he cast a quick glance at Jackson. "Since she
already knows,"
Jackson ground his teeth. "Well there's nothing we can do about that," He
muttered, writing his rule down in the notebook. Rolling his eyes again, Stiles
went back to his game. "Rule number two—no emotions. No feelings, and no
attachment. This is purely physical. I'm not your boyfriend, or your friend, or
even an acquaintance that you make casual conversation with every now and
then,"
"Fine by me," Stiles muttered, repeatedly smashing the SHOOT button and
pretending the little aliens were Jackson's head.
"Third rule—no talking about it. I don't want to discuss what we're doing
anymore than we have to, okay?"
Stiles snorted. "That should have been the first rule," He said.
"Why?"
"Fight Club,"
"What about it?"
Stiles blinked a few times, and hit PAUSE on his game. He turned to Jackson.
"Have you not seen Fight Club?" He asked.
Jackson shrugged. "So?"
"So... Jesus, Jackson, that's like... I mean, it's not as bad as not having
seen Star Wars, but I mean, it's up there!"
Jackson raised his eyebrows. "I haven't seen thateither," He said.
Stiles gaped at him for a moment, and then put a hand to his head. "Oh, my
god... I kissed you," He mumbled. "I kissed you and you haven't seen Star
Wars, or Fight Club... Jackson, get up, I need you to strangle me to death. I
can't live with this,"
Jackson stared up at him, obviously not impressed. "So, anyways, rule number
four..." Jackson continued, going back to his notebook. Stiles shook his head
at him, and then went back to his game. "We ignore each other at school,"
"Don't we already?"
"Not thoroughly enough. I mean no contact at all, not even eye-contact. During
lacrosse, don't even pass me the ball. When we're at school, I don't exist to
you and you don't exist to me,"
"Okay, but what if you find me in the hallway, and I've been stabbed or
something and I'm bleeding out and you're the only one around? Would you stop
and help?"
"What are the odds of that happening?"
"At our school? High, actually,"
Jackson thought it over for a moment. "Yes, I would stop and help. But I'd only
stay with you until the paramedics showed up and took over, and then I would
leave and deny my involvement,"
"Nice. Okay, what's next?"
"We keep this in the Arcade. Last night at your house was an anomaly, I don't
want it happening again,"
"Oooh, 'anomaly,' that's a big word, where'd you learn that?"
"Shut the fuck up," Jackson muttered. "Do you understand all the rules, or
should I repeat them again slower?"
"Yeah, Jackson, I understand your rules," Stiles muttered. In the game, his
spaceship was shot by an alien, and he lost his final life. The words GAME OVER
flashed on the screen, and Stiles turned away. "I've got another rule to add,"
He said, taking a seat next to Jackson on the floor. "No hickeys. I don't want
to have to worry about explaining that,"
"What if I just leave them in a place your clothes will cover?"
"How will that help me when I have to shower and change after lacrosse?"
Jackson nodded, and wrote the rule down. Next to it, in brackets he
wrote Stiles Only. Stiles raised his eyebrows, and Jackson shrugged. "My
hickeys will heal,"
"Fair point," Stiles said, leaning in and pressing his mouth against Jackson's
neck. Jackson closed his eyes as Stiles sucked a mark into his skin. He pulled
back and watched the mark heal. There was something weirdly satisfying about
that. "Actually, I know it breaks rule number three but there is something we
should talk about," He said.
Jackson narrowed his eyes. "What's that?"
"You have a list of rules... I think we should make another list," Stiles said.
"Of things we like,"
Jackson raised his eyebrows. "Stiles, I really don't think I need a list of
your favourite nerd hobbies, okay?" He said. "If you've logged 120 hours
on World of Warcraft, or seen the Star Wars 56 times, that's your personal
business, no need to share,"
Stiles glared at him. "First of all it's just Star Wars, no 'the.' I just said
it like 5 minutes ago Jackson, pay attention. Secondly, I don't mean those sort
of likes," He told him. "I meant sexually, the things we like to do, or have
done or whatever,"
"Oh," Jackson glanced away. "Can't we just figure that out as we go?"
The fact that Jackson seemed uncomfortable was surprising to Stiles. "Yeah, but
it'll be easier to just get it all out there right now, won't it?" He waited,
but Jackson didn't agree or disagree. "Come on, if we're going to do this,
shouldn't we try and get the most out of it? This is the perfect situation,
Jackson,"
Jackson's eyes flicked back over to Stiles, and he frowned. "How so?"
"Because we don't like each other," Stiles explained. Jackson continued to look
confused. Stiles sighed. "Jackson, do you give a shit what I think about you?"
Jackson's lip curled. "Of course not,"
"Exactly, and it's the same for me. So if we don't care what the other thinks,
there's no room for embarrassment, right? We should just be able to say all the
crazy, messed up shit we're into, stuff that we would feel weird about telling
someone we actually cared about,"
Jackson raised his eyebrows. "You're into crazy, messed up shit?" He asked.
Stiles wondered if he was imagining the hint of curiosity in his voice.
Stiles shrugged. "I mean... yes and no," He said. Jackson definitely looked
slightly disappointed. "Look, I haven't had a hell of a lot of real world
experience, okay? What I've had has basically been limited to hand jobs and
blow jobs. Guys at this place just want to get off and get out, they're not big
on 'exploring,'"
Jackson looked at him. "So, you've never had sex?"
Stiles shook his head. "No, I didn't really feel like doing it with some
stranger in the back of the Arcade," Blow jobs were one thing, but losing his
virginity to someone he didn't know would be another.
Jackson nodded. "Me neither..."
"Oh, so you've never done it either than?" He asked. "I mean, with a guy,"
Jackson's cheek turned slightly pink and he looked away again. "I never said
that," He muttered.
Stiles' brow knit together. "What—then who'd you do it with? If it wasn't a
stranger..." He frowned. "Danny?"
Jackson's head turned towards him so sharply Stiles was surprised he didn't
hear something crack. "No," He snapped. "God, I mean—Danny is practically my
brother!"
"Aw, that's sweet,"
"Shut the fuck up,"
"So who then? Do I know them?" Stiles asked, strangely curious.
Jackson put his face in his hands. "What I wouldn't give for a drink right
now," He said, his words slightly muffled by his hands. He lifted his head back
up, looking forlorn. "This all would've been so much easier to handle if I was
plastered,"
"Well you should've thought of that before, and brought something with you,"
Stiles scoffed.
Jackson groaned. "No, that wouldn't—I can't drink anymore," He said. "I mean I
can't get drunk, so drinking doesn't really have a point anymore,"
Stiles furrowed his brow. "You can't get drunk?" He asked. "Huh, I never really
thought about that..."
"Yeah, me neither," Jackson mumbled. "When McCall was going on about why this
whole werewolf deal sucks, he left that one out,"
"I guess having a healing factor, your body just metabolizes the alcohol too
quickly, right?" He continued. Jackson shrugged. "Weird, that never seems to be
a problem for Wolverine,"
Jackson groaned again, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Oh god... what I wouldn't give..." Jackson repeated.
Stiles raised his eyebrows and looked Jackson over. "Y'know, I'm sort of
getting the idea that you owe Derek Hale a big thank you ,"
Jackson looked up at him. "What? For what?"
"For saving you from a life time of alcoholism," Stiles replied.
Jackson glared at him, his jaw tight. "So that list you mentioned," Jackson
said, obviously deciding that they were done talking about this. "What's
yours?"
Stiles shook his head, although he did agree that they should probably get back
on topic. "My list... well, I like blow-jobs—getting them and giving them," He
began. "Obviously my only experience with this is myself, but I like getting
fingered—I think getting fingered while getting a blow-job would probably be
a top-notch experience," He made an 'A-OKAY' symbol with his fingers, and
Jackson rolled his eyes. "I think I'd like begging,"
"Me begging you or you begging me?" Jackson asked.
"You begging me,"
Jackson nodded. "Right,"
"Only if you're comfortable with that," Stiles added quickly. "Should we have a
list of things we don't like, too?"
"What don't you like?"
Stiles shrugged. "I don't know yet," He said. "I'll let you know as I figure it
out. But if you have anything—"
"Yeah, I'll tell you..."
Stiles nodded, and waited for Jackson go. When he didn't, he nudged him
slightly with his shoulder. "Your turn, Whittemore,"
Jackson sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck. "It's not that easy..."
"I just did it,"
"Please! 'I like blow-jobs and getting fingered?' That's so—that's so simple!
What happened to 'crazy and messed up?!'"
"I also watch a lot of hentai," Stiles said defensively. "And that can
get pretty messed up, so..."
"You watch what?"
"Hentai," Stiles said. "It's porn but... anime," He said. Jackson stared at him
like he was insane. "Just give me your list, alright?"
Jackson stared at the floor. "Fine..." He muttered. Stiles saw his face was
turning red again. "I like... being told what to do," He said slowly. He
glanced at Stiles and then quickly turned his eyes back to the floor, as if
checking Stiles' reaction. "I like being forced... and treated kind of rough...
I like being spoken to harshly, and I guess kind of... verbally abused..."
Jackson rubbed his hands together, and snuck another look back up at Stiles.
"Pain is good... not a lot of pain, but a little, biting and nails
scratching..." He shrugged.
"Oh," Stiles said, feeling surprised. None of this was what he expected.
"Anything else?"
"Yeah, it's stupid but..." Eyes back to the floor again. "Afterwards, I like to
be... praised," He said quietly.
"That's not stupid," Stiles said. "I didn't mention it, but I think I'd like to
y'know, spoon or cuddle afterwards..."
Jackson nodded stiffly. "That would be good..." He paused. "Would you be okay,
with doing that sort of thing?"
"Yeah," Stiles said quickly. "I mean... yeah,"
Jackson lifted his eyes, and they stared at each other for a moment. Stiles
thought he understood why Jackson had been so reluctant to tell him all of
that. Jackson was the kind of guy who prided himself on being in control, on
being the alpha male (so to speak). To admit to Stiles that he wanted to be
pushed around and forced to submit couldn't have been easy.
Stiles licked his lips. "Kiss me," He said. It sounded more like a request than
a demand. He would have to work on that. Still, Jackson leaned in and kissed
him anyways, lightly at first then parting his lips to allow Stiles to slip his
tongue inside.
Stiles pulled back abruptly and stood up, leaving Jackson on the floor. "Get on
your knees," Stiles said, trying to sound stern. The smirk on Jackson's face
told him it wasn't exactly working. Stiles folded his arms and waited. Slowly,
Jackson moved onto his knees in front of Stiles. He looked up at him, and
Stiles put a hand on the side of his face. "Suck me off," He said in a quiet
voice. Not exactly forceful, but it seemed to do the trick. Jackson made to
pull down his jeans, but Stiles stopped him. "Wait, one second," He said.
"Should I—I mean, should I like push your head down or something? Is that what
I should do?"
Jackson nodded. "Yeah, shove my head, or pull my hair... that sort of thing,"
"Okay, good, got it—uh, if you want me to stop, tap me twice on my leg, okay?"
He said. Jackson nodded again.
Jackson didn't bother with teasing him, and simply took Stiles into his mouth
and began to bob his head slowly. With one hand he jerked Stiles off, moving at
the same slow rhythm as his mouth. Even though they had just discussed it,
Jackson's mouth felt so good around him that he forget he was supposed to be
doing something. He placed his hand on the back of Jackson's head and pressed
down, shoving himself deeper into Jackson's mouth. Jackson moaned slightly, and
began to suck harder and faster, making Stiles gasp. "Oh fuck—Jackson," He
sputtered, tightening his grip on Jackson's hair. "You fucking—oh god—"
Stiles thought he should say something, something really nasty and dirty.
Jackson said he was into that sort of thing, he would like it. Stiles tried to
think of something good, something really creative but nothing came to mind.
Even if it had, he wasn't sure he would be able to voice much more than "Oh
fuck me," and "holy fuck yes,"
He could feel himself getting close, and he gripped Jackson's head tightly as
he thrust into his begging mouth. At the last second he pulled away, letting
out a cry as he came. Stiles breathed heavily and looked down at Jackson, whom
he had come all over. Most of had gotten on his bare chest, but there was some
dripping down his chin.
Jackson wiped at it with the back of his hand. He stood up and grabbed some
tissues from his bag and cleaned himself off, as well as the mess he had made
on the floor as he'd jerked himself off. Finally he cleaned off Stiles before
tucking him back inside his pants. Stiles kissed him slowly as he did, and
tried to pull himself back together.
They resumed their spot on the floor, only this time Jackson sat between
Stiles' legs, resting back against his chest. Stiles wrapped his arms around
him, lightly kissing the side of Jackson's neck. "That was really good," He
mumbled, nuzzling against Jackson's hair. "Amazing, actually. Yeah, amazing,"
Jackson ran his fingers along Stiles' arm. "It was good," Jackson agreed.
Stiles could tell there was a but coming. "But you could be more rough," He
said. "If felt like you were holding back. Were you?"
"I don't know, maybe?"
"Don't," Jackson said. "You're not going to hurt me, I'm a werewolf, remember?"
"Yeah, but still..."
Jackson reached up, and covered Stiles mouth with his hand. "No 'buts,'" He
instructed. "Just don't think about it so much,"
Stiles bit Jackson's finger lightly, and Jackson withdrew his hand, shaking his
head. "Fine," Stiles said, bending his head to kiss Jackson's shoulder. "I'll
be rough," He whispered. He squeezed his arms slightly around Jackson, and
nipped at his shoulder.
Jackson smiled, and leaned his head back. "Good," He said, drawing Stiles
towards him and pressing their mouths together. "That's all I want,"
***** Trust Building Exercise *****
                        "And though you're so annoying,
                              So easy to despise,
        And though there's something scary behind your cold dead eyes,
                        And though I'll never like you,
                             It's nice to realize,
                     Maybe I shouldn't quite say 'never,'
                   Maybe, you're not the worst thing ever."
               —Galavant, Maybe You're Not The Worst Thing Ever

                                      ***
The next day, they had barely made it through the door of their Arcade room
before their hands were pulling at each others clothing, mouths hungrily
pressed against each other in fast, sloppy kisses. Jackson's fingers were in
his hair and his hand roamed impatiently between his legs. "I want you to fuck
me, Stiles," Jackson moaned into his ear, biting down on the lobe before
looking Stiles in the eye. "I don't care how, just do it,"
Stiles nodded, kissed him again and said "I've been doing some research,"
Jackson shut his eyes, his brow creasing. "That is like, the least sexy thing
you could have said just now," He groaned.
"What? Hey, research is sexy," Stiles insisted, slightly offended. "Knowledge
is power,"
"Oh god, just stop," Jackson mumbled, taking a step back. He put a hand on his
head. "Give me a minute, I need to rethink my entire life," He sighed, and then
looked back up at Stiles. "Were you at least researching something sexy?"
Stiles nodded again. "Yeah, I was,"
"Okay, what?"
"BDSM, everything I could learn about it," Stiles said.
Jackson looked surprised. "Oh..." He said, glancing away. "What did you learn?"
"Well, the big thing I learned is that BDSM isn't really about causing someone
pain," Stiles began. He had personally been relieved to find that, since he
wasn't all that sure that he really wanted to hurt Jackson. But from what he
had read, he was definitely interested in some of the other aspects. "It's
about control, and trust,"
Jackson frowned. "But it is kind of about pain too, right?" He asked. Stiles
raised his eyebrows. "Sure, control and trust, that's nice... but there'll be
some pain too?"
"Well, I mean yeah. However much pain you want there to be, I guess," Stiles
said. Jackson seemed pleased with this answer, and said nothing further, so
Stiles continued. "So, if you want to give up control to me, that makes you the
submissive and me the dominant, or sub and dom. There's a lot of different sort
of... things we can do together, but only if you trust me. Do you?"
Jackson shrugged. "I guess,"
Stiles shook his head. "Well, I think we should wait before doing anything
really serious... we've kind of been enemies for a lot of years, it might take
a while before we seriously trust each other. We can start off small, do stuff
like we did yesterday,"
Jackson nodded once more. "Alright... that sounds okay,"
"Before we do anything though, we need a safe word," Stiles said. "I propose
the word 'fire,' because it's short and I think if you yelled out 'fire!' my
gut reaction would be to stop whatever I was doing immediately, "
"Fire," Jackson repeated, as if trying out the word. "Sounds good to me,"
"So... do you want to get started?" Stiles asked. Jackson nodded his head.
Stiles pulled Jackson towards him and kissed him roughly, parting Jackson's
lips and pushing his tongue inside. Jackson moaned slightly, pulling Stiles
closer to him, obviously wanting more. Stiles responded by shoving him back,
enjoying the look of surprise on Jackson's face when he did. When he tried to
move forward again, Stiles stopped him. He grinned. "Take off your shirt,"
Stiles instructed. Jackson glared at him for a moment, and he grabbed the hem
of his shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it to the side. "Now mine,"
Jackson stepped forward and removed Stiles' shirt, and Stiles allowed him
another kiss. Then he shoved Jackson back against the wall, grabbed his wrists
and pinned them above his head with one hand. Stiles smirked slightly, watching
Jackson's face as his other hand slid into his underwear, taking Jackson in his
hand. "Do you like that?" He asked quietly. Jackson nodded, grunting slightly
as Stiles began to jerk him off. "Do you want more?"
Jackson nodded his head quickly.
Stiles stopped moving his hand. "I want to hear you," Stiles told him. "Do you
want more?"
"Yes, god yes,"
"Tell me what you want,"
"I want—I want you to use your mouth," Jackson stammered. "I want you to suck
me off,"
Stiles smirked slightly. "And I want to suck you off, Jackson, I really do," He
said, slowly stroking Jackson with his hand. Jackson squirmed underneath him,
desperate for something faster and harder than what Stiles was giving him. "But
I need you to do something for me first,"
"Anything, Stiles I'll do anything, please—"
"Remind me how to do it, because I don't quite remember," Stiles said. Jackson
looked surprised, and slightly dismayed. Stiles could feel how hard he was, and
knew how painful it would be to delay his orgasm until after he'd gotten Stiles
off. "Are you listening, I want a blow job. Now,"
"Stiles..." Jackson whined, looking at him with a pleading expression.
Stiles raised his eyebrows. "There's a towel in my bag, get it and lay it on
the floor. Then get on your knees,"
For a moment, Jackson only glared at him, his jaw tense. Then he snatched up
Stiles' backpack and pulled out the towel, lay it out in front of Stiles and
kneeled in front of him. As Jackson fumbled with the buckle of his belt, Stiles
laced his fingers through Jackson's hair. "And don't even think about trying to
get yourself off. Don't even touch yourself, got it?"
Jackson grumbled some response that Stiles didn't catch, and Stiles yanked his
head back. "I said got it?"
"Yeah I got it," Jackson snapped, pulling his head away. Stiles saw his eyes
flicker blue for a moment, and he smiled. This was fun.
"Remember, two hard taps and I stop,"
Like the time the previous day, Jackson didn't waste any time with teasing or
taunting. He began to suck Stiles off quickly, taking him as deeply into his
mouth as he could and bobbing his head fast. Stiles groaned and took hold of
Jackson's head, holding him to slow his movements down to a pace he preferred.
Though he was still nervous about hurting him, he thrust himself deeper into
Jackson's mouth.
Jackson gagged slightly and Stiles thought about letting up, but something
about the way Jackson's fingers were digging tightly into his hips made him
think better of it. Jackson wanted this, he got off on this. Stiles would not
hold back this time.
"You look so good down there, Jackson," Stiles mumbled as he continued to fuck
into Jackson's mouth. Jackson's eyes flicked up at him and Stiles licked his
lips, and ran his thumb lightly over Jackson's hollowed out cheek. "So
beautiful on your knees..."
Jackson continued to look up at him as he sucked him off, and Stiles could feel
himself reaching his limit. He wanted desperately to come in Jackson's mouth
and watch him swallow it down, but they hadn't talked about that and Stiles
wouldn't just spring that on him. He waited until the last possible second when
he could feel the orgasm building before he pushed Jackson off, once again
coming over Jackson's bare chest.
Stiles breathed heavily, running his fingers through his damp hair. Jackson was
still in front of him, obviously waiting for some kind of instruction. Head
still swimming, Stiles told him there was some paper towels in his bag, and
instructed him to clean them both up. Jackson did as he was told, cleaned first
Stiles and then himself, and tucked Stiles back into his pants.
Jackson was still naked and hard, and Stiles pulled him towards him by his hips
and gave him a long, slow kiss. "That was good, Jackson," He whispered. "Now
you get a reward,"
Stiles sunk to his knees and pressed his lips against Jackson's painfully hard
dick, listening to Jackson cry out at the contact. He teased him slightly with
his tongue, eliciting a a quiet whimper. "You taste so sweet, Jackson," Stiles
murmured, before taking Jackson into his mouth. And Jackson was so thoroughly
wound up it was hardly a surprise when he came against Stiles' lips a moment
later.
"M'sorry," Jackson muttered, as Stiles spit into a nearby garbage can and then
wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Stiles shook his head. "And I was so courteous to you," He chided. Jackson
glanced away, shrugging, and Stiles smiled.
They pulled the towel Stiles had brought over to the wall and relaxed together
on it, Jackson once again lying in Stiles' arms. Stiles stroked his hair. "How
do you feel?" He asked. Everything he'd read about BDSM had stressed the
importance of aftercare, and Stiles wanted to make sure Jackson felt as good as
possible.
Jackson closed his eyes, pressing himself back against Stiles. "Really good,"
He mumbled. "That was really... that was good,"
"For me too," Stiles agreed. "Is there... can I get you something? There's a
vending machine outside, I could get you some water, if you want. Are you cold?
I read sometimes you can get cold after, so I brought this really soft
sweatshirt of mine, I could get that for you... ?"
Jackson shook his head. "Just... keep holding me, okay? It feels good..."
"Yeah, yeah of course," Stiles said, giving Jackson a light squeeze. He
remembered what Jackson said, about wanting to be praised, and tried to think
of a compliment. "I like being with you, Jackson," He said quietly. "I like the
way you look and the way you feel," He kissed his neck, and nuzzled him softly
with his nose. "And the way you taste,"
Jackson smiled slightly, and ran his fingers over Stiles' arm. "I like being
with you too, Stiles," He said. "God knows why, but I do,"
Stiles made a face. "Have you ever considered ending your thoughts a sentence
earlier?"
"No, not really,"
"Well, you should,"
Jackson just shrugged. "I'll take it into consideration," He said. Stiles knew
he would not.
They lay together quietly for a little while, Jackson resting back against
Stiles' chest as Stiles continued to stroke his hair gently. "Jackson?" He said
softly.
"Mmm?"
"Who'd you have sex with?"
Jackson blinked a few times, taking a moment to comprehend the question.
"What?"He sat up and stared at Stiles. "Are you freakin' kidding me?"
"Come on, I'm curious!" Stiles whined. "Why won't you tell me?"
"Maybe because it's none of your business!"
"I think it's because I know them, and you think I'll freak out or something,"
Stiles countered. Jackson just shook his head. "It is Mr. Harris?"
The look of repulsion on Jackson's face seemed to indicate it was not. "Mr.
Harr—what? What the fuck? It's not—why would you even suggest that, god?!"
Stiles shrugged. "Well I don't know, he always seems like weirdly concerned
about you, I thought maybe..."
"I cannot stress enough how disgusting the very idea of sex with Mr. Harris is
to me," Jackson shook his head. "Oh god, I'm never going to be able to look at
him again. Ever. What have you done?"
"Sorry," Stiles said, his grin undermining his apology. "Come on, wouldn't it
be easier to just to tell me and have me shut up?"
Jackson shook his head. "Fine, I'll tell you," He said. "It was Derek, okay?
Now can we please stop—"
Stiles' mouth fell open. "Derek!? As in—like Derek Hale, Derek? That Derek?"
Jackson rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Stiles, that Derek..."
Stiles made a few sputtering noises, and continued to gape at Jackson.
"How—how? How with Derek? Oh my god,"
"Look it's not that big a deal..."
"Not a big deal? You had sex with Derek freakin' Hale and it's not a big deal?"
Stiles shook his head. "There's so many questions... does Derek know how to
have sex?"
Jackson snorted slightly. "Oh, he knows,"
"Weird, that's so weird... is that why you're into all that rough stuff?
Because of Derek?"
"No, none of that is because of him. Derek's not like that, not into the rough
stuff, really..." Stiles raised his eyebrows, waiting for Jackson to expand.
Jackson bit his lip. "He's more... gentle, I guess. Tender,"
Stiles held his hands up, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. "Woah woah
woah, Derek Hale is tender? Derek Rip-Your-Face-Off-With-My-Teeth Hale is
a tender lover?" Jackson shrugged and nodded. "No, I don't accept that,"
"Stiles, Derek isn't like you think he is," Jackson said. "I mean, yes he is
pretty rough around the edges and he can be an asshole... but there's another
side to him, alright?"
"Will the other side also rip your face off with his claws slash teeth?"
"No,"
Stiles shook his head, refusing to accept the information he was being given.
"This just... it doesn't make any sense," He looked up at Jackson. "How many
times?"
"How may times what?"
"Did you have sex with Derek?"
"I don't know, a lot of times, why does it matter?"
"It doesn't, I don't know..." Stiles shook his head again. "This is insane,"
"It's really not," Jackson said. "Why is this so crazy to you?"
"Because it's Derek Hale we're taking about!" Stiles cried. "Didn't he try to
kill you once?"
Jackson raised his eyebrows. "He did kill me, Stiles. You were there,"
"Oh, right... okay so that's even worse! He killed you, and you slept with him?
What the hell?"
Jackson pulled away from him, and Stiles could feel him stiffening. "Alright,
forget it, I'm leaving, I'll see you tomorrow—"
"No, no no, wait, fuck I'm sorry—" Stiles pulled Jackson back, and wrapped his
arms around him again. "Look I'm not judging you. Okay, I know that's how it
sounds, like I am judging you but I'm really not... I'm just surprised, because
Derek is like this weird stoic like... I don't know, not someone who has sex,
at least in my mind..."
"Yeah, well, who he is in your mind is not who he is," Jackson grumbled, slowly
letting himself loosen up in Stiles' arms.
"I know, I know—I mean, I don't but I'll take your word for it,"
Jackson snorted. "Yeah, take my word for it..." He leaned in, and pressed his
lips against Stiles' jaw. They shifted around slightly and Jackson tilted his
chin up, and they began to kiss slowly. Stiles' hand drifted down along
Jackson's chest, down to the waistband of his underwear.
There was no more discussion of Derek Hale for the rest of the afternoon.
***** Sympathy for Pinocchio *****
            "I'm the most terrific liar you ever saw in your life.
      It's awful. If I'm on my way to the store to buy a magazine, even,
                     and somebody asks me where I'm going,
           I'm liable to say I'm going to the opera. It's terrible."
                    ―J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

                                      ***
All in all, things with Jackson were going surprisingly well. Jackson was
difficult, and had a tendency to be stubborn and childish, but then so did
Stiles. They bickered a bit, picked on and ribbed each other but everyday their
insults were becoming more like banter and their bickering was turning playful.
They were getting along, and not just when one of them was on their knees. It
was strange, and unexpected... but it was nice.
There was only one problem, and that problem had a slightly uneven jawline, big
brown puppy dog eyes and went by the name of Scott McCall.
There were very, very few people in the world that Stiles actually
felt bad about lying to. In fact, the list consisted entirely of three people:
Scott, Scott's Mom, and his own father. Now, the latter two he had long ago
reconciled with lying to, deeming it a sort of necessary part of life.
Sometimes parents just had to be lied to, and that was the way things were.
This had proven to be even more true over the last year, when it had seemed to
become impossible to get through a conversation with his Dad without telling
some kind of lie. Did he feel good about it? No, of course not. But he wouldn't
lose sleep over it, either.
Scott, on the other hand, was different. Scott was supposed to be his partner
in crime, the one he told the lies with, not to. He was supposed to be able to
tell Scott anything. The fact that he had to hide something from him, something
reasonably big, well... it felt pretty damn bad, yeah.
It wasn't every day, but it was enough that it was becoming a problem. Most
days after school or lacrosse practice, Scott had work. So they finished
changing, or getting their books from their lockers and they said their
goodbyes and that was it for the day. Scott went off to work and Stiles went
off to the Arcade. No muss no fuss.
But Scott did not always have work. And on those days, before Jackson, they
would have usuallyhung out together. Played some video games, considered doing
some homework before deciding to play more video games... normal stuff.
Now, on those days when Scott asked "do you want to hang out?" Stiles had to
come up with some stupid excuse why he couldn't. And every single time he did,
Scott would just nod his head and mumble a small "oh," in response.
It was torture.
Worse than the actual lying was the fact that Scott could tell he was lying,
what with him being a werewolf and all. Every time Stiles lied, he could
actually see it on Scott's face: he knew he was lying. Knew it, but said
nothing. And Stiles knew that Scott knew, and Scott knew that Stiles knew that
he knew... and still he just nodded his head, and let Stiles get on with his
big fat obvious lie.
It was driving Stiles insane. Lying and getting away with it was one thing...
getting caught in a lie and still having to go through with it was another
thing entirely.
Rules or no rules... this could not go on. Well, it could. But Stiles didn't
want it to, which left him no other choice than to talk to Jackson.
When they met up in the Arcade that day, Stiles was determined to put Jackson
in a good mood. While he had learned a lot about BDSM from his research, in
truth it hadn't given him half the information he needed. That is, it hadn't
taught him anything about Jackson, and what Jackson wanted and needed from him.
It hadn't taught him how to make Jackson moan and beg for more, or make him
come so many times he insisted he would never be able to again.
These things Stiles had to learn himself. Some things he learned by asking, by
listening to Jackson tell him what felt good and what did not, what he wanted
more of and what wasn't working. Most things, however, he learned by paying
attention. He listened to the noises that escaped Jackson's throat when he
touched him, watched the way his mouth opened or he bit his lip. He saw the
look in Jackson's eyes when he ordered him to do things, felt the pressure of
his fingers as he carried out Stiles' commands. And all the time he learned.
So when Stiles wanted to make sure Jackson was in the best mood possible, he
knew what he was doing. He knew what ways to touch and taunt him, the cruel
ways Jackson loved to be spoken too... the harshness he craved in every stroke
of Stiles' fingers and each lash from his tongue. He knew how to force him down
and keep him there, humiliate and hurt and string him along until every ounce
of composure was purged from Jackson's system. Knew how to turn him into
nothing more than a begging, whimpering mess willing to do any and everything
Stiles wished, if only he would give him the sweet release he needed so badly.
Even as he was more focused on Jackson than usual, it was impossible for Stiles
not to feel the high of it all. He couldn't deny the thrill that ran through
him every time he so much as touched him. Stiles had never known what it could
be like, to have another person as completely as he had Jackson. To feel
Jackson give himself to him, turn himself out and hand all of his control over
to Stiles like this... it was incredible. And it was all the better, because it
was Jackson. Jackson the high strung jock, the prom king, the big man on
campus... and here he was with his wrists bound behind his back, naked on his
knees in front of Stiles.
Stiles loved every moment of it. He had been nervous at the start, sure... but
those nerves were gone now, replaced by an undeniable feeling of right. What he
was doing with Jackson just felt right, every bit of it. A month ago, Stiles
would have laughed at the idea that having anything to do with Jackson could
feel so right and good, but now everything was different. He and Jackson were
different, and they were better for it. Better together.
It was hours before they were finished. By the time they were collapsed
together in a corner, chests heaving and brows lined with sweat, Stiles had
almost forgotten he'd had some kind of ulterior motive. It all too easy to get
lost in Jackson, lost in what they were doing together. Had he wanted something
else? What else could he possibly want, other than just this, forever?
But it came back to him slowly and as they relaxed together, taking time to
come back to themselves, back down from the delirious high they'd both reached,
Stiles began to formulate what he wanted to say and waited for the right
moment.
"How do you feel?" Stiles asked, pressing light kisses against Jackson's
temple. "How are your wrists? I didn't tie the rope too tight, did I?"
Jackson snorted. "Uh, no, you didn't," He said. He was lying against Stiles'
chest, and he tilted his head back to look at him, raising his eyebrows. "I
could've practically slipped my hands out of them,"
"Alright, I'll do it tighter next time,"
"Okay, but it won't be enough," Jackson said. "We're going to have this
conversation at least three more times before you get it tight enough,"
"Mmm, probably," Stiles agreed. "But I'll do my best to get it right next time,
okay?" He kissed the side of Jackson's mouth. "I'm just worried about cutting
off your circulation. If your hands go numb in the middle of things, trust me,
it won't be sexy,"
Jackson shook his head, smiling slightly. "Always so cautious..." He mumbled.
Stiles mouth opened slightly, offended. "Excuse me? I am not cautious! Ask
anyone—I'm reckless and devil-may-care—no, I am, stop—why are you laughing?"
"I'm not laughing," Jackson said, clearly laughing. "Come on, Stiles. Look,
maybe you're reckless in other parts of your life, but when we're together you
are tediously careful,"
"Well maybe I'm just worried about hurting you,"
"I know that's what you're worried about, and it's sweet, but it's really not
necessary," Jackson said. "For the fiftieth time, let me remind you, I am a
werewolf,"
"And let me remind you again, I don't think that matters," Stiles said. "I
could still hurt you. Maybe not physically, but, I don't know, emotionally. I
just... we need to be careful, okay?"
"And you were saying what a minute ago?"
Stiles rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'm cautious with you, happy now?"
"Deliriously,"
Stiles smiled, and gently turned Jackson's face towards him. "Good," He said
quietly, pressing a soft kiss against his mouth. "Jackson... there's sort of
something I need to run by you," He began. "It's about your rules,"
"Yeah? What about them?"
"Well, I sort of... I kind of need to... break one,"
"Alright, which one?" Jackson asked. "If it's rule three, you can just go
ahead. We've already broken it about a hundred times," He glanced up at Stiles.
"I mean, it's not so bad, talking about things,"
"Yeah?" Stiles said, surprised. "I mean, I guess we have... and no, it's not so
bad. Communication is important. But that's not it... it's rule one," Stiles
cringed, feeling Jackson stiffen in his arms.
"Rule one is no one can know about it," Jackson said.
"Except Erica," Stiles reminded him.
"Yes, obviously, and it's bad enough that she knows... but it's been a month
and I don't think she's said anything, so it's not the end of the world..."
Jackson frowned deeply. "Who do you want to tell?"
Stiles glanced away, and cringed again. "Uh... well, Scott..."
"Scott?!" Jackson cried, sitting up at staring at Stiles as if he'd lost his
mind. "You want to tell Scott McCall?"
"Well, I mean, he is my best friend..."
"I know that, but he's also my—I don't want to say 'arch nemesis,' but it is
the phrase that comes to mind,"
"Are you kidding?" Stiles sputtered. "Scott is not your arch nemesis—Scott
isn't anyone's arch nemesis. He's too—I mean, have you met Scott? He is not
arch nemesis material,"
Jackson rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's exactly it. Everyone thinks he's this
sweet, innocent puppy dog who's so perfect and awesome and it's just—why does
he get everything? I mean, one day he's this little second string loser with
stupid hair, and all of the sudden he has the whole fucking world in his hands!
Coach just hands him the lacrosse team, he steals my girlfriend, he turns into
some big fucking hero and what do I get? I get turned into a fucking homicidal
lizard. I get nightmares, and guilt so bad I want to die—again! But sure, let's
just take the one good thing I have right now and let McCall ruin that too," He
shot Stiles a fierce, blue-eyed look. "I don't want anyone to know, Stiles. No
one. Especiallynot Scott,"
Stiles stared at Jackson, feeling strangely torn between hugging him and
slapping him. He decided to do neither, and instead pointed his finger in
Jackson's face. "Okay, first of all Scott was only ever co-caption of the team,
something he shared with you. Since you were obviously away the day in
kindergarten they taught sharing, that's your problem not his. Second, Scott
didn't steal Lydia, she kissed him of her own freaking volition, and
then you broke up with her. And finally, you're damn right Scott's a hero, and
you're lucky he is because he's saved you more than once,"
Jackson glared at him, and when Stiles reached out to put a hand on his face,
he smacked him away. Not one to be deterred, Stiles reached out again and
grabbed Jackson's face with both hands. "Jackson, what happened to you was not
Scott's fault, and it wasn't yours either. It's just something that happened,
something awful... and I get that you feel guilty, and I wish I could help with
that... but Scott's never done anything to hurt you, alright? He just hasn't,"
He stroked Jackson's cheek with his thumb, and slowly watched the anger
disappear from his eyes.
Pulling himself away from Stiles, Jackson shook his head. "I don't want him to
know, okay?" Jackson said quietly. "I just don't,"
Stiles sighed. "Okay, what if... what if I just tell him I'm seeing someone. I
won't tell him who, I swear, I just... I can't keep lying to him about what I'm
doing every day,"
"Why not?"
"Because he knows I'm lying! Maybe if I was getting away with the lies, it
wouldn't be so bad, but I'm not, and it is. It's so shitty, Jackson, it really
is,"
Jackson was silent for a few moments. Slowly, he nodded his head. "Alright," He
said, turning his eyes back to Stiles. "You can tell him you're
seeing someone," He said. A relieved smile grew on Stiles' face. "But I swear,
if you ever tell him it's me, this is over, understand?"
Stiles nodded quickly. "I understand, absolutely," He said. He leaned in and
gave Jackson a quick kiss. "Thank you, Jackson, seriously,"
"Yeah, yeah..." Jackson muttered, rolling his eyes. Slowly, he settled back
against Stiles' chest, although Stiles could still feel a tension in him.
Feeling bad, Stiles wrapped his arms tightly around him, and began leaving soft
kisses along the back of Jackson's neck.
"Jackson, I know we're not... I know we're supposed to be leaving all the
emotional crap out of this, but... if you ever wanted to talk about something,
I mean... I'm here," He said quietly. Stiles lifted his head, trying to gauge
Jackson's reaction. "The last year, everything that's happened... it's been
hard on all of us, and I know you got some of the worst of it, so I'm just
saying..."
Jackson was quiet, and for a minute Stiles worried he'd gone too far. He'd
already upset him by wanting to tell Scott, and now he was suggesting they
break yet another rule.
"Maybe," Jackson said eventually. He glanced over his shoulder at Stiles, and
he could see the reservation on his face. What Jackson was so scared of, Stiles
didn't know. "Maybe we could... talk or whatever,"

Stiles nodded, leaned in and kissed him. "Yeah, yeah whatever you want,"

                                      ***
Stiles waited until after school the following day to talk to Scott. He would
have brought it up at lunch, but Isaac had begun to sit with them on most days
and Stiles had no interest in divulging any personal information to him. It was
one of those days where Scott wasn't working, and after school when Scott ran
the usual "do you want to hang out" by him, Stiles said "sure." Scott had
already begun to nod his head like he did every time Stiles turned him down and
when he registered Stiles' answer, his head shot up in surprise and a big smile
appeared on his face, making Stiles feel even worse than before.
They went back to Stiles' house, grabbed some snacks and headed down to the
basement to play video games. Scott flopped down on the couch and Stiles went
over to the large pile of games that had accumulated in the corner of the room,
as a result of him never bothering to put anything away. He dug through it for
a minute, not really registering the names of any of the games he was looking
at. Deciding to bring it up before they became immersed in the game they were
playing, Stiles stood back up and turned to his friend.
"Scott, there's something I need to talk to you about," He said.
"Uh, okay," Scott said. He put aside the bag of Doritos he'd been eating, and
wiped his hands off on his jeans. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, it's nothing bad," Stiles said. He took a seat next to Scott on
the couch, rubbing his palms together nervously. "It's, well... okay, we both
know I've been lying to you for a while now," He began.
Scott gave a one shouldered shrug. "Yeah, I know," He said.
"And I know you know, so it's just stupid for me to continue," Stiles said.
"And, for the record, I never wanted to lie in the first place. You're my best
friend, dude... having to lie to to you sucked,"
Scott smiled, and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I appreciate that," He said.
"And yeah, I didn't like that you were lying to me either,"
"Okay, so I don't want to do that anymore... but I can't exactly tell you the
entire truth, either," Stiles continued. Scott raised his eyebrows. "The thing
is... I've kind of been seeing someone,"
"Seriously? That's great! Who is it?"
Stiles hesitated. "See, that's what I can't tell you. We kind of have an
agreement to keep it a secret... I had to get special permission just to tell
you I was seeing someone... I'm still not allowed to tell you who,"
"Oh," Scott said. He picked up the bag of Doritos again, put a chip in his
mouth and chewed slowly. Stiles waited for him to say something. "Is it a
dude?"
Stiles' mouth opened slightly. "Wha—"
"It's just, I know you're into guys, and I know you're kind of weird about
talking about it so... is that why you can't tell me? Because it's a guy?"
Stiles stared at his best friend, a little stunned. He'd had no idea that Scott
knew he was into guys, let alone that he didn't like to talk about it. When had
Scott become so astute?
"You know I don't care, right?" Scott went on. "I mean, you know it's not in
any way a problem, right?" He put his hand back on his shoulder. "You're
basically my brother, Stiles. It doesn't matter who you're into," Stiles
continued to stare at him, and Scott withdrew his hand. "Just wanted to make
sure you knew that,"
Stiles glanced away, clearing his throat. He felt kind of touched. "Yeah, no,
of course I knew that," He said. And he had, of course. But still, somehow he
felt kind of reassured, hearing it out loud. "It's sort of the reason I can't
tell you, I guess... I mean, it's more him than me," Stiles said. "Neither of
us are really ready to be... well, out, I guess, but he's really not... I mean,
if you think I'm weird about it, I'm nothing compared to him. He's really weird
about it," He said, thinking about the way Jackson had vehemently insisted
that no one could know about them.
"Why, do you think?" Scott asked.
Stiles shrugged. "No idea. Maybe he's worried about not being accepted, or he
thinks that everyone will be freaked out about it... I don't know,"
"That sucks," Scott said.
Stiles nodded. "Yeah, it does,"
They were both quiet for a few minutes. Stiles suddenly wished he'd asked
Jackson why he was so adamant that no one could find out about them. Was it
just that he was embarrassed about Stiles, or was it more than that?
Scott cleared his throat and Stiles looked up at him, saw he was fiddling with
a patch of pulled up fabric on the couch. "I actually kind of have news, too,"
He said slowly. "Well, it's not news really, it's probably not even anything
but, I don't know, it might be something,"
"What is it?"
Scott glanced at him, and ran his fingers through his hair. "I kind of think I
might be getting back together with Allison," He said.
Stiles raised his eyebrows. "What seriously? Dude, that's great! Details, come
on,"
Scott's face was slightly flushed, and he looked away again, obviously
embarrassed. Stiles had to smile. It had used to annoy him to no end, when
Scott would get all gooey over Allison, but now he kind of missed it. "We
haven't talked about anything, but we've had a few... I don't know, moments, I
guess, since school started. And the other day I walked her to her car and she
kind of... she kissed me,"
Stiles punched Scott on the arms. "Hey, that's awesome!"
Scott nodded. "The fall formal is coming up in two weeks, do you think I should
ask her?"
"Yeah, I think you should," Stiles said. Scott and Allison had made a great, if
not sometimes annoyingly lovey-dovey, couple. He'd never understood why they'd
broken up.
Scott smiled. "Alright, I will. I'm gonna ask her," He said. "Come on, let's
play some video games," Scott stood up and went over to the game pile and
started sorting through them, looking for what they should play.
Having finally ended the ridiculous lying to his best friend, Stiles felt
relieved. But for some reason, a weight still seemed to press on him. Despite
himself, and despite all logic and reason... he was beginning to find he liked
Jackson. And if they continued to be together, he knew it was only going to get
worse. How was that going to feel, when it was obvious Jackson would never let
it go anywhere? With all his rules and his fears... Stiles knew they would
never be able to have anything like a real relationship. One where they kissed
in the parking lot, or went to dances or held hands where others could see
them.
Most of the time, he felt as if he and Jackson were on the same page, wanting
something easy and uncomplicated, wanting each other for the warmth of their
bodies and nothing more... but suddenly he wasn't so sure. It wasn't that he
was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to go on dates with Jackson and have a
real relationship... but when he considered that there was not even
the possibility of letting something more develop... it didn't feel good.
And if his feelings continued to grow, he didn't know if he would be okay with
keeping their relationship locked up in the dark, sleazy Arcade where it would
never be anything more than sex.
***** Mr. Brightside *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
                                "I'm going out,
                         I'm gonna drink myself to day
                               And in the crowd
                         I see you with someone else,
                                I brace myself
                        Cause I know it's going to hurt
           But I like to think at least things can't get any worse."
                  —Florence and the Machine, Hurricane Drunk

                                      ***
It was the evening of the fall formal and Stiles was alone. He'd gone to a
dance alone before, of course, but he had never felt quite so alone as his did
at this one. At least before, Scott had always been there to be alone with him.
But Scott had asked Allison and she had said yes. Stiles could see the two of
them now, dancing with their arms around each other as if they had never been
apart. And Stiles was happy for him, he honestly was... but he could not deny
that he was just a little bitter, too.
In an attempt to not be alone at the dance, he had actually asked Lydia if she
would like to go with him, as friends. In what felt like a very cruel twist of
fate, Lydia had declined, as she was already going "as friends" with Jackson.
The pair were now dancing not far away from Scott and Allison, Jackson with his
arms around Lydia's waist and Lydia resting her head on Jackson's shoulder.
Stiles tried to ignore the churning feeling in his stomach as he watched them
together... they sure didn't look like a couple of friends.
Forcing himself to look away, Stiles glanced around him, surveying the room.
The two chaperones, Coach Finstock and Mr. Harris, were engaged in what looked
like a heated argument with each other. Stiles took the opportunity to sneak a
drink from the flask he'd brought, gritting his teeth as the harsh alcohol
burned his throat.
"Excuse me son, but there's no alcohol permitted at this dance, I'm going to
have to ask you to leave,"
Stiles jumped slightly, clumsily shoving his flash back inside his jacket and
looking around for who had caught him. Relief, followed by annoyance, came as
he spotted Boyd and Erica beside him, Erica snickering quietly and Boyd looking
pretty pleased with himself. "Thanks for the heart attack," Stiles muttered as
Erica took a seat next to him and Boyd next to her. "Really, I mean it,"
"You just looked so sad sitting there all alone with your flask," Erica said,
exchanging grins with Boyd. "We couldn't pass up the opportunity to fuck with
you,"
Stiles rolled his eyes. "Do you want something?"
Erica shrugged. "Nope, not really," She said. The slightly devlish look in her
eye seemed to Stiles to suggest otherwise. "They make a cute couple, don't
they?"
Stiles' eyebrows knit together. "Who?" He asked, although he had a feeling he
knew who she meant.
"Jackson and Lydia," Erica said, confirming Stiles' suspicions. Stiles turned
away from her, and said nothing. "I saw you watching them before. You know,
Stiles, jealousy is really unattractive,"
Stiles shot a glare at her, unable to stop himself from glancing at Boyd. Had
she told him already, or was she planning on doing it now, just to torture him?
Boyd's wore a neutral expression on his face, showing none of Erica's mirth.
Maybe he knew, and he just didn't care?
"Are Jackson and Lydia back together?" Boyd asked. Stiles' stomach sank. Maybe
he did know, after all.
"Hmm, I don't know," Erica said, eyeing the dancing couple from across the
room. "They sure look pretty cosy, don't they?"
Stiles gritted his teeth, reminding himself that punching Erica would result in
his imminent death. Her statement hurt, and so much more than it would have if
she hadn't been right. It wasn't even a slow song anymore, and Jackson and
Lydia were still dancing close to each other, hands on each others bodies and
faces close enough to kiss. If Lydia tilted her head up just an inch, her mouth
would be pressed flush against Jackson's...
Stiles swallowed, trying to get the image out of his head. He could feel Erica
watching him, and he didn't want to make taunting him even easier than it
already was.
Forcing himself to turn back to Erica, he was surprised to see that the devlish
look was gone from her eyes. "But I don't think they are back together. Jackson
said they were just going as friends, and they should really just keep it that
way," She said. "They're no good for each other. Too similar," Stiles raised
his eyebrows, surprised at the change in tune.
"Having a lot in common is a bad thing?" Boyd asked.
"In their case, yeah," Erica replied. "They feed off each others bitchiness,
you know? It's too much drama. No one needs that,"
Boyd shrugged. "I guess," He said. The song changed, and the fast pop music
faded out to another slow song. Why the hell were they playing so many ballads
tonight? Stiles was going to have a talk with the DJ, and insist they start
playing songs that could only be danced to by moshing. No one could mosh
romantically, he was sure. "Come on, let's go, I like this song," Boyd said,
standing up.
"Aw, gee Boyd that's really sweet," Stiles replied. "But I think Erica might
get jealous,"
Boyd gave Stiles a severely unamused look, then held out his hand to Erica, who
took it and stood up. "Bye Stilinksi," She said, sauntering away with Boyd.
"Good luck,"
Stiles glumly watched them walk away, wishing they'd stuck around a bit longer.
Without anyone to talk to, he was drawn right back to watching Jackson and
Lydia dance together, now with their foreheads pressed together as they turned
slowly to the music.
Suddenly unable to take anymore of it, Stiles stood up and headed out of the
gym, not entirely sure where he was going. Home, he supposed. But the idea of
getting in his jeep and driving back to sit alone in his dark room seemed even
more depressing than sitting alone at the dance.
Instead of heading out of the school, he went up to the second floor and ducked
into a bathroom. Once inside he pulled out his cellphone and sent a text
message to Jackson, telling him where he was and to come meet him.
The moment it was sent, Stiles regretted it. When had he become so needy? Was
he a toddler throwing a temper tantrum because he wasn't being paid attention
to? He should send Jackson another message, telling him to ignore the first.
Jackson was having a nice time with Lydia, there was no reason for Stiles to
get in the middle. He would see Jackson the following day in the Arcade, and he
would get the attention he needed then.
Stiles turned the phone over in his hands for a moment, considering this, and
then stuffed it back into his pocket. He pulled out his flask again and took
another drink, wondering how drunk he could make himself before Jackson showed
up. At least then he would have an excuse for his actions...
After a few minutes of waiting, the door to the bathroom opened and Jackson
walked in. "What've you got there?" he asked, as Stiles lowered his flask.
Stiles glanced at the flask, and raised his eyebrows. "I would've thought you'd
recognize an alcoholic beverage when you saw one, Whittemore,"
Jackson rolled his eyes, stepping towards him. "I meant what kind of alcohol,"
He said. He pulled the flask from Stiles' hand and took a swig. He grimaced.
"You're drinking the cheap stuff, Stilinksi,"
Stiles shrugged. Before Jackson could say anything else, Stiles pulled him
forward by his tie and pressed a hard kiss against his mouth.
After only a moment, Jackson shoved him back, shaking his head. "We can't do
this, Stiles," He said. "Not here, not now... remember rule number five?"
"Fuck your stupid rules, I need you," Stiles mumbled, stepping towards Jackson
again. He wanted to kiss him, wanted to shove him against the wall and jerk him
off. Suddenly he didn't care who knew or who didn't, or if they got caught by
everyone in the entire school. He just wanted Jackson, and he wanted him now.
Stiles leaned in to kiss him again, but Jackson put a hand on his chest,
stopping him. "The rules aren't stupid, Stiles. We have them for a reason," He
said, looking annoyed. Stiles gave him a pleading look, wishing he could
explain to him how awful and alone he felt. Jackson sighed, and his expression
softened. "Look, what if I come over after the dance?" He asked. "Think you can
make it until then?"
Stiles nodded. "Yeah, I can..." He said. Jackson nodded and turned to go, but
Stiles pulled him back. When Jackson turned back around he kissed him again,
softly this time.
They pulled apart slowly, neither really wanting to break the kiss. "I'll come
by around midnight," Jackson said quietly. Stiles mumbled an okay, and Jackson
pulled away again.
"Wait," Stiles said. Jackson paused by the door. "You have my flask,"
Jackson glanced down at the flask in his hand, and then smiled. "You owe me
a thank you," He said.
Stiles raised his eyebrows. "For what?"

"For saving you from a lifetime of alcoholism," Jackson replied. Then he ducked
out of the door, leaving Stiles alone again.

                                      ***
Stiles stayed at the dance for another hour before heading home. Knowing he
would be seeing Jackson later had made the rest of the night slightly more
bearable. Scott and Allison had taken a short break from dancing and sat with
him for a bit, and it was nice to catch up with Allison, whom he had not spoken
to in a while. The two of them seemed to be having an incredible night
together, which was nice to see (Stiles ignored his jealous twinges). If there
were any two people who deserved to have a great night, it was Allison and
Scott.
At nine he texted Scott that he was leaving, and headed out to his jeep. Scott
sent a frowny face back, along with the message "see you later, dude."
His father was watching television when Stiles arrived home, but when he saw
Stiles he turned it off and tried to talk to him about the dance. Stiles
mumbled his way through the conversation, telling him it was alright but a
little boring, which is why he'd left early. He'd left out the parts which
involved crippling jealousy and loneliness.
Getting through the conversation as quickly as possible, Stiles headed up to
his room and did some light cleaning, chucking his clothes in the hamper and
cleaning up the piles of paper and books on his desk. He considered making his
bed, but since Jackson was coming over, he figured they would probably be using
it... although with his father just down the hallway, Stiles wasn't sure how he
felt about that. Maybe they'd be better off heading down to the basement...
Just in case, Stiles went down to the basement and tidied that up a little bit,
before settling down and playing some video games to kill time before Jackson
arrived. When it began to approach midnight, he went back upstairs and waited
for him in his room.
Jackson appeared at his window a few minutes after midnight. "You better make
this worth my while, Stiles," Jackson said, as Stiles let him inside. "I'm
missing Danny's after party for you,"
"Oh, right, I forgot about the after party," Stiles said. He almost felt bad
for making Jackson miss it. Almost. "Wouldn't you rather be here with me
anyways?"
Jackson shrugged, stepping towards him. "Depends on what you've got in mind,"
He said quietly. Jackson grinned, and gave him a slow, light kiss.
"Can we take things easy tonight?" Stiles asked. Jackson raised his eyebrows.
"I just mean... I don't know, my Dad's around. I feel kind of weird doing the
kinky shit when he's so close by... Okay, I feel weird doing anything when he's
around, but you know what I mean..." He ran his fingers through his hair. "So
can we just keep things, like... vanilla?"
Jackson tilted his head to the side. "Vanilla?" He questioned.
"It means like... non-BDSM sex."
"I don't think we've actually been having sex, Stiles," Jackson said, taking a
seat on the edge of Stiles' bed.
"Well, that depends on what your definition of sex is," Stiles said. "I don't
think we should limit the definition to only include anal intercourse,"
Jackson pulled a face. "God, Stiles, it just sounds so sexy when you say it
like that,"
Stiles rolled his eyes. "Shut up. I'm just saying, I think sex is more than
that,"
"You mean it's also about emotions?" Jackson drawled.
"No, I mean it's also about blow jobs and stuff," Stiles said, sitting down
next to Jackson on the bed.
Jackson considered this. "Maybe," He said. He leaned in and pressed his mouth
against Stiles'. "But maybe we should explore all the options, before we come
to a conclusion,"
Jackson's mouth was wet and warm, and his words made Stiles' pulse quicken. If
not for his father down the hall, Stiles thought he would have pushed him down
and fucked him right then and there. "Hold that thought," Stiles said. He got
up and rushed over to his closest, dug around for a plastic bag hidden at the
back. "Alright, let's go," He said.
Jackson raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"
"Uh, condoms, lubricant—oh, we should probably bring a towel down..."
"Down?"
"I figured we should go to the basement," Stiles said. "Way less chance of my
Dad hearing anything if we're down there,"
Jackson nodded. "Okay... Stiles, hold on, I wasn't... I mean, I want to have
sex with you, obviously, but it doesn't need to be right now. We can wait, or
whatever,"
"Do you want to wait?" Stiles asked.
"No, but I don't want to rush you, either,"
Stiles strode over to Jackson, grabbed him by the hand and pulled him up. "I
don't want to wait. I don't even know why we waited, I guess I just didn't want
to do it for the first time in a place like the Arcade,"
"Understandable," Jackson said. "So... basement?"
Stiles grabbed a towel and a blanket from the linen closest, and the two
quietly snuck downstairs. The lights in the basement had a dimmer switch, and
he turned the lights down low, but kept them up enough that they'd be able to
see each other.
"So what exactly have you got in the bag?" Jackson asked, taking a seat on the
couch.
Stiles turned the bag over, spilling the contents onto the coffee table in
front of the couch. "I got condoms—you know there are no condoms out there
specifically for anal sex?"
"I did not know that," Jackson replied.
"Yeah, it's weird. I mean, these should work fine, but still..."
"Can I ask why you've got three different types of lube here?" Jackson asked,
picking up a bottle.
"Well, I wasn't sure what to get," Stiles said, running his fingers through his
hair. "See, the one you're holding is silicone based, which is supposedly
better for anal sex," Stiles paused, as Jackson reached into his pocket and
pulled out the flask he'd taken from Stiles earlier. He took a drink, closed
it, and then looked up at Stiles as if waiting for him to continue. "What was
that?"
"Every time you say the words 'anal sex,' I'm taking a drink," Jackson said, a
grin forming on his face. Stiles folded his arms across his chest. "Oh come on,
it's funny,"
"Jackson, we're not going to have anal sex, without talking about anal sex
first," He said. Jackson began to unscrew the lid of the flask again, and
Stiles grabbed it out of his hand. "You stop that," He scolded. Jackson
snickered, and leaned back on the couch. "So anyways, that one is better
for sex in the butt, but it doesn't work as well with condoms. But I thought,
do we even have to use a condom? Obviously there's no risk of pregnancy, and
you can't get any diseases," Stiles shrugged. "I figured I'd let you decide,"*
"I'm fine with not using one," Jackson said. "Like you said, there's no risk.
You couldn't give me anything, and I couldn't give anything to you,"
"Right, except..." Stiles frowned, thinking something over. "I've got a
question, if an alpha werewolf had sex with a human and didn't use a condom,
could they turn them?" He asked. Jackson stared at him, not impressed with the
question. "You know, I think I saw that in a movie once—"
"What are the other ones?" Jackson interrupted. "The other lubes? What are
they?"
"Oh... that one is water based, because it's better for use with a condom. This
one," Stiles picked up the third bottle. "Is flavoured. I don't know why we
would need that, but it seemed like a good idea at the time," He flopped back
down next to Jackson, and picked up the first bottle again. "So silicone it
is?" He asked, leaning in for a kiss.
Jackson nodded. "You're on top, right?" He mumbled in between presses of their
mouths, his hand already sliding up Stiles' thigh.
"Yeah, if—if that's okay," Stiles gasped slightly as Jackson's hand moved
between his legs. At that moment he became acutely aware that they were both
wearing far too much clothing, Stiles began to move Jackson's jacket off his
shoulders, before removing his own and tossing them both aside. "Clothes—off,
now—" He muttered. They broke apart to work on shedding their clothes, each
stripping down until they were both in their underwear. Then Jackson lay back
on the couch, and Stiles moved over him, eyes roaming over Jackson's body. He
wanted to take in every inch of him, remember every detail of what was
happening because it suddenly seemed like the most important thing he would
ever do.
They moved quickly at first, kissing and touching each other with a frenzied
passion that clouded Stiles' mind. He wanted Jackson, wanted to fuck him and
hear him moan and cry out for more. It wasn't long before their underwear was
added to the piles of clothing on the floor, and Stiles found himself kneeling
between Jackson's legs, fingers wet with lube and pressed inside of him. He
watched Jackson tilt his head back, gasping slightly as Stiles made him ready.
Stiles made an effort to slow down then, to take his time and keep a cool head.
He wanted to make this just as good for Jackson as it was for him. He moved
slowly, working his fingers inside of Jackson, using the way Jackson moved and
the noises he made to guide him, tell him what to do.
Before long Jackson was telling him it was enough, he was ready and he wanted
Stiles to fuck him now. Stiles made no argument.
Arms wrapped around each other and legs tangled they moved together, mouths
pressed half over each other as Stiles thrust inside of Jackson, in slow but
hard strokes. Jackson turned his face and bit down his lip to keep from crying
out. Stiles let his head fall against Jackson's neck, breathing in Jacksons
scent like he needed it to live.
As Stiles fucked him, Jackson's hands went to jerk himself off, but Stiles
brushed them aside, preferring to do it himself. "Don't think I wont take care
of you, Jackson," Stiles mumbled as his fingers worked him over. "I always
will,"
Jackson nodded slightly, and Stiles saw his face was flushed and the teeth
biting down on his lip had turned to fangs, drawing blood. "Relax, Jackson...
it's okay..." Stiles kissed him, his lips pressing against the corner of his
mouth before he managed to land them properly against Jackson's. He could taste
Jackson's blood, coppery in his mouth, but he didn't mind. A little blood was a
small price to pay for this feeling.
The orgasm came upon Stiles suddenly, not building slowly and approaching
quietly like usual, but instead sneaking up behind him and hitting him over the
head with a hammer. He moaned loudly and lurched forward as it struck him,
whimpered as the intensity of it tore through him, leaving him raw and weak.
His hand stilled against Jackson for only a moment as he collected himself,
dropping his head against Jackson's chest. Then he kissed his way down
Jackson's body and took him in his mouth, sucking him off until Jackson came as
well.
Afterwards, when Stiles had rinsed his mouth out in the sink of the basements
bathroom and cleaned both him and Jackson up with the towel he'd brought down,
he lay back down against Jackson's chest, and for a change let Jackson wrap his
arms around him. The blanket he'd brought was lying on the floor by the couch,
and with one arm Stiles grabbed it and hauled it up over them, enjoying the
feeling of the soft fabric against his skin.
"So how was that?" Jackson asked, as Stiles left lazy kisses along his chest.
Stiles shrugged. "I've had better," He said. Jackson shoved him slightly, and
Stiles laughed. "It was perfect, okay?"
Jackson placed his fingers under Stiles' chin and tilted his face towards him.
"For me too," He said, kissing him lightly. They lay together in silence for a
little while, enjoying the warmth and comfort the other provided. Stiles could
not remember having ever felt this good before, and he wondered if he would
ever feel this good again.
"I missed you tonight," Jackson said quietly. "At the dance, I kept thinking
about you... I felt bad you had to be there alone,"
"It's alright," Stiles said. Somehow the dance felt as if it had been years
ago, a long forgotten memory of a much less pleasant time. Had it really only
been a few hours? "I'm not alone now," Jackson smiled, and kissed his forehead,
and Stiles looked up at him. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure,"
"Are you going to get back together with Lydia?"
Jackson didn't answer immediately. "I don't know," He said after a moment. "I
think she wants to..."
Stiles considered that, looking away again. "Don't,"
"What?"
"I said... don't get back together with Lydia,"
Jackson paused. "Okay," He agreed.
Stiles sat up slightly, turning to look at Jackson again. "Will you stay the
night?" He asked. "You can sneak out tomorrow morning, before my Dad goes to
work," He said.
Nodding, Jackson brushed his fingers over Stiles' cheek. "I'll stay," He said.
Stiles leaned in and gave him a soft, slow kiss. "Thank you," He whispered.
Chapter End Notes
     Further research tells me that the information Stiles presents here
     is inaccurate. Silicone based lubricants work fine with condoms. It
     is oil based that should not be used with condoms, as it causes them
     to break down.
     The more you know.
***** Four Is A Crowd *****
                           "I know I'm fucking moody
                          And I know I'm quite unkind
                          I know I'm kinda of distant
                        But you're always on my mind."
                             —The Vaccines, Weirdo

                                      ***
After spending the night together, things felt... different. They began to meet
up whenever possible, met up every single day if they could manage it.
Sometimes they were together for hours, fooling around until they were
thoroughly exhausted and then lounging around in each others arms until they
were ready to go again. Other days it was shorter, just some quick blow jobs
and then they were off to whatever it was in their lives that was demanding
their attention. Stiles knew he preferred the long, drawn out days. He thought
Jackson did too.
On the rare day they would not see each other at all, Stiles felt as if he were
going out of his mind. His fingers ached with the need to touch Jackson, to
feel his skin and taste him. His mind raced and he found he could concentrate
on nothing. Was this what addiction felt like? Was Jackson some drug that
Stiles was becoming dependent on? Was Jackson feeling this way as well, or was
Stiles alone in this growing agony? He wondered, but he knew he would never
ask.
He thought it might have been different if their time together did not start
and end at the Arcade. Outside of those walls, it was as if his time with
Jackson had never happened. At school they pretended the other did not exist.
They did not text each other through out the day, they did not talk on the
phone at night. When they were together in the Arcade, it was as if they were
the only two people in the world. And when they were not, Stiles was all alone
again.
It didn't seem to be a problem for Jackson, to turn his feelings on and off
whenever he liked, but for Stiles it was impossible. He worried about what it
meant, about how everything was beginning to suggest to him that his feelings
for Jackson and Jackson's feelings for him would never be on equal ground.
Stiles wanted more, he wanted Jackson all of the time. He hated hiding, hated
lying and pretending and sneaking. It had been fun at first, felt nice to have
something the rest of the world knew nothing about, but now it was tiring.
Would Jackson ever want more than what they were doing? Was this truly enough
for him? After all, He had allowed several of his rules to be broken, opened up
and exposed the parts of him that were not flesh and bone, but insecurity and
fear and shame. He had shared himself with Stiles in ways that had nothing to
do with sex, and Stiles had given himself up to Jackson just the same. The
things they had wanted when they began were not what they wanted now, and yet
Jackson still insisted it stay a shameful secret, locked up in the Arcade to be
witnessed by no one but the stoner clerk that saw them arrive and leave
together.
For all his worrying and wondering, all the questions and uncertainties, all
Stiles really knew for sure was that when he wasn't with Jackson, he missed
him. He missed the way he made him feel calm and secure—not exactly safe, but
something very similar to it. Content, he supposed. When he was with Jackson,
whether they were fooling around or just lying in each others arms, he felt
content. Like maybe the world wasn't ending, and maybe he didn't need to worry
so much about the next horrible threat that was going to ruin all of their
lives. Maybe that threat would never come. Maybe things would just... be okay.
And on the days when he wasn't so sure, when his anxieties ate at him and his
fears overwhelmed, for the first time in a long time, Stiles had someone to
share them with. He had someone to tell his troubles to, someone who would
listen and comfort him and most of all, understand. Someone who was going
through their own torments, having their own nightmares and struggling with
their own fears. And Stiles would listen to those fears and try to calm them,
try to help in whatever way he could.
"I've just, I've struggled my whole life to be the best, to be someone
worthwhile and I just feel like it was all for nothing," Jackson told him one
day, as they rested together in the Arcade. Stiles kissed Jackson's shoulder
and neck as he spoke, running his fingers through Jackson's sweaty hair. "I
wanted to be a werewolf so I could get back what I had before, but it's
useless. I'm finally a wolf, and I'm strong and fast and my senses are crazy
and... and none of it matters. I still feel like I'm nothing, like I'm not good
enough and I just—what if it never goes away? What if I feel like this my
entire life?"
"You're not nothing, Jackson," Stiles told him, squeezing him tightly in his
arms. "You're worthwhile. You think I'd waste all this time with some loser?"
"Yes," Jackson muttered. "How else do you explain McCall?"
Stiles nudged him. "Hey, Scott's not a loser, alright? He's amazing, lay off
him,"
Jackson rolled his eyes. "Right, I forgot. He's Mr. Hero. Scott McCall is a
hero and I'm a murderer that should've been put down,"
"Only an idiot would say that,"
"You said that, remember?"
"And it's widely agreed that I'm an idiot," Stiles turned Jackson's face
towards him, and kissed him softly. "I was wrong, Jackson, and you know it. You
have to stop comparing yourself to others, to Scott or anyone. You're doing
your best, you're trying. It's enough,"
Jackson glanced away. "It doesn't feel like enough,"
"I know, but it is,"
Jackson's fears didn't end with not being good enough. Just like Stiles, he was
afraid of what was coming next, afraid he would be helpless to stop it. The
lives he'd taken as the kanima weighed heavily on him, and he was desperate to
make up for it, to help instead of hurt. All he'd done his whole life was hurt
people, Jackson said. He wanted to be different, to be better. He wanted to
help people, like Stiles did.
Stiles had only shaken his head, and told him he was wrong. He was not the
ideal that Jackson should aspire to. Whenever it had counted, Stiles had failed
to do the right thing every time. Scott was a hero, and Stiles was his best
friend... but that did not make him a hero himself.
Together they discussed every fear they had, their senses of failure and their
worries about the future and about themselves. They tried to offer the other
help when they could, but more often than not the comfort of their arms was the
most they were able to give. But it was alright. Just having someone to talk
to, someone to sympathize with... it didn't make it go away, but it made it
less awful to bare. It made it so that whatever suffering Stiles felt himself
enduring, at least with Jackson he was not doing it alone.

But only in the Arcade.

                                      ***
"Alright, class settle down now, back in your seats," Announced Stiles' English
teacher, Mrs. Tanner. She waved her hand at them, gesturing for everyone to
sit. Looking around, Stiles didn't actually see anyone out of their seats. Most
people were just talking quietly to the person in the desk next to them, or
looking at their cellphones. A few were even reading. "I'm introducing a new
assignment today—now no groaning, you knew this was coming—" Stiles did not
hear any groaning. "This project will be done in a group of four,"
Okay, now Stiles felt like groaning. Group projects were the worst. Mostly
because they involved working with other people.
"You may pair yourself up with a partner of your choosing, and then I will put
two pairs together,"
Well, that wasn't so bad. At least he could ensure that one of the people he
worked with was Scott. He glanced to his right where Scott was sitting, and
they exchanged the perfunctory "partners?" look. Scott nodded, and Stiles gave
a thumbs up.
"Now, no one get up yet," Mrs. Tanner continued (no one had). "Let me explain
the assignment first. It'll be a presentation on Hamlet, which you all should
have read by now. Your group will choose a theme from the play, give an
explanation of the theme in relation to Hamlet, as well as another work that
we've read this semester. Alright, you have five minutes to get into pairs,"
Having already accomplished this, Scott and Stiles took the time to discuss
what other story they'd like to do their assignment on. "We should
do Frankenstien," Stiles said. "We can talk about madness, and how it can
destroy the lives of everyone around you and crap,"
Scott smiled. "I don't know if Frankenstien was mad. I think he was just dumb
and selfish,"
"Well, that too, obviously," Stiles agreed. "But there was definitely a lot of
madness there, too,"
"Maybe we can talk about the creature as like... kind of a physical
representation of Frankenstien's madness," Scott said. "If that makes sense..."
"Yeah, yeah it does make sense. And we can compare the monster to the ghost
in Hamlet, because they're both kind of—"
"Okay, okay that's enough commotion for now," Mrs. Tanner spoke up, once again
waving her hand to quiet the non-existent noise. "Does everyone have a partner?
If you don't have a partner, stand up," She paused for a minute, waiting.
Slowly, and very reluctantly, two girls on either side of the room stood up,
heads hung in embarrassment. "Alright, Samara you pair up with Reagan," She
said. Reagan nodded her head, and went across the room to her partner. "Now
that everyone is paired up, I'm going to number you off. Pay attention to the
other pair that has the same number as you, you'll be working with them," She
began to point at students issue number, and Stiles and Scott received a four.
Stiles watched the teacher move around the room, assigning numbers. He hoped
that Reagan and Samara didn't get the other four. Both girls were kind of
strange and quiet, and to be honest they kind of weirded him out.
Mrs. Tanner pointed to Reagan and Samara, and deemed them number three. Stiles
let out a breath of relief. It was short lived, because a moment later, the
teacher pointed to another pair of students, said "Four," and suddenly Stiles
wished it had been the other girls. This grouping was going to be far, far
worse.
"I guess we're working with Jackson and Lydia," Scott said. "That's not so bad,
right?" He said.
Stiles could not have disagreed more.
At lunch, Lydia and Jackson sat down at their table and Lydia informed them of
what they would be doing for their project. They would be doing the theme of
madness, but they would be relating it to The Yellow Wallpaper, and
not Frankenstien. And it wasn't just plain old madness they were doing, because
that was too simple. They would focus on female madness, specifically how the
women were driven mad by the men in their lives, those rat bastards.
Stiles attempted to protest at first, but the look Lydia had given him when he
opened his mouth had shut him up fast.
All the while Lydia talked, Jackson said nothing. He kept his head down,
staring at the scratched up cafeteria table as if it were the most fascinating
thing he'd seen in his life. Stiles wished he would look up, glance in his
direction, make eye contact... anything. He didn't know why, but Jackson's
surly silence made him uneasy.
Lydia went on to tell them that they would be meeting after school, to discuss
the project further. The way she said this, it was clear that it was non-
negotiable. Then she picked up her books, tapped Jackson on the shoulder, and
the two walked off. Stiles stared after them, wondering how on earth he was
going to get through this.
                                      ***
After school, Stiles drove himself and Scott over to Lydia's home. He'd spent
the rest of the day trying to come up with excuses for why he had to duck out,
and had come up with nothing Lydia would accept. Unless he was willing to fake
his own death (and in this town, even that was not foolproof) he was going to
have to go through with this.
Perhaps it would not be so bad.
And perhaps the sky would open up, and pink monkeys would rain down from the
heavens. Anything was possible, after all.
Lydia greeted them at the door and led them to the kitchen where they'd be
working. Jackson was already sitting at the kitchen table, half-heartedly
leafing through his copy of Hamlet. He did not look up when they entered the
room.
"Jackson is looking for evidence of Ophelia's oppression," Lydia explained,
taking a seat next to him. Stiles and Scott sat down at the other end of the
table. "Aren't you, Jackson?" Lydia put her hand on Jackson's arm, and he
glanced up at her and nodded. "Good,"
Stiles swallowed slightly, trying and failing not to look at Lydia's hand on
Jackson's arm. Lydia was saying something, probably telling them what she'd
decided they would be doing for the rest of the afternoon, but Stiles couldn't
hear her. As Lydia removed her hand from his arm, and instead picked up her
print out of The Yellow Wallpaper, he let out a breath he had not even realized
he'd been holding.
Alright, that was just ridiculous. What the hell was his problem? All Lydia had
done was touch Jackson's arm and he'd started to get all worked up. Over what?
Lydia and Jackson were friends, she could touch his freakin' arm if she wanted.
Stiles did not want to be that person, the one who became irrationally jealous
over the simplest act, who lost his head every time the person he cared for so
much as spoke to another human being.
He needed to get a grip on himself.
Deciding he needed to focus completely on doing work, he threw himself into the
job Lydia had assigned him, refusing to let himself think about or look at
anything else.
In a complete disregard for Stiles' resolution to concentrate solely on his
work, the others all began to discuss their take on The Yellow
Wallpaper. Stiles tried to tune them out, but it wasn't easy to ignore three
people having a conversation all around him. Eventually he looked up, and his
stomach clenched tightly when he saw that Lydia now had her hand on the back of
Jackson's neck, and seemed to be stroking his hair.
"Jackson, did you even read the story?" Lydia asked, a slight smile on her
face.
Jackson shrugged. "I skimmed it. There was a woman, there was wallpaper... it
was yellow. I got the gist,"
Lydia shook her head. "You know, Jackson, being as pretty as you are does not
excuse putting zero effort into academics," She said. "Recent studies suggest
one can be hot and smart,"
"Not everyone is you, Lydia," Jackson replied.
Lydia smiled slightly, and Stiles began to grind his teeth. This was not
nothing, not a casual hand on the arm, or harmless banter with a friend. This
was flirting. Lydia was flirting with Jackson, and Jackson was flirting back
with her. He watched Lydia smiled at Jackson, and the look in her eyes said
nothing about wanting friendship.
As Stiles continued to seethe, Scott nudged him with his arm. "Are you okay?"
He asked quietly. "Your heart is kind of pounding like crazy,"
Stiles' eyes flicked over to Jackson for a moment. "I'm fine," He muttered.
He tried to go back to his work, to concentrate on what he was supposed to be
doing. But then Lydia would laugh at something Jackson said, or one of them
would say something flirtatious, and he would feel himself getting tense all
over. Lydia kept touching Jackson's arm, and the action no longer seemed
harmless to him. Somehow it felt like they were doing this deliberately to hurt
him, forcing him to watch their sick mating ritual, knowing he was unable to
say anything about it.
Suddenly he could take it no longer.
"I thought the story was stupid," Stiles blurted, not even sure what he was
saying. He'd actually liked The Yellow Wallpaper, found it tragic and
sympathized with the unfortunate protagonist. "So you're stuck in a room with
some ugly ass wallpaper, get the hell over it. Her husband was probably right
to lock her up, if she was already so unstable that something
like wallpaper could crack her up like that—"
The glare on Lydia's face was fearsome enough to scare even the bravest warrior
into submission, and Stiles abruptly stopped talking. Why he'd said any of that
in the first place, he did not know.
"The wallpaper was a symbol," Lydia snapped. "For her domestic oppression, for
her lack of control over her own life. It wasn't just ugly wallpaper, Stiles,
and if you think her husband was even something remotely close to right—"
"Lydia, calm down, he's just being Stiles," Jackson said, putting a hand on
Lydia's shoulder.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Stiles asked, offended.
"Jackson's right, just ignore him," Scott agreed.
Stiles turned to him, his mouth open. "Et tu, Brute?" He asked.
Scott raised his eyebrows. "What kind of a reaction did you think that was
going to get, dude? You heard Mrs. Tanner talk about the significance of this
story, and obviously Lydia picked it for a reason..."
"Oh?" Lydia challenged, her glare turned to Scott now. "And what reason is
that, Scott?"
Scott looked alarmed. "I—I just meant, because you're a woman, and you've been
oppressed by men..."
"Is that what you meant?" Lydia asked. If her eyes had shot flames out of them
at that moment, Stiles would not have been entirely surprised. "Or did
you really mean that I've been driven crazy by men? Or, a man, I should say?"
"Lydia, I swear I didn't—"
"I'll have you know that being supernaturally possessed by a psycho
killer werewolf is not the same thing as being driven crazy by wallpaper!"
"The wallpaper is actually a symbol," Stiles interjected. Three heads swerved
to look at him, and he shrugged. "What?"
Stiles except her to start yelling, but instead Lydia took a deep breath, and
folded her hands on the table. "I think we've all had enough group work for
today," She said. "Lets finish up separately, and meet up again some other
time, when we're all a little less anxious," She stood up, and showed them to
the door.
"So what the hell was all that about?" Scott asked as they walked back to
Stiles' car.
Stiles shook his head. "I don't know, I just lost it or something..."
Scott glanced back towards the house, frowning. "Yeah," He said. "I guess so,"
Later in the evening, Stiles lay on his bed turning his cellphone over in his
hands. He thought about the way he'd acted at Lydia's, how angry he'd gotten
and the stupid things he'd said, and he felt like an asshole. A childish,
jealous asshole. Jackson was not his property, not something that Stiles had a
right to exercise control over. He was not even Stiles' boyfriend. If Jackson
wanted to flirt with Lydia, that was his choice and he was free to do so.
Stiles knew that, knew it with the logical part of himself that could look at
the situation with clear-headed distance.
And maybe if the other far less logical parts of himself did not scream so
loudly, he could have believed it, too.
Stiles was a mess. He did not want to be this possessive, jealous person that
he seemed to become wherever Jackson was involved. No one deserved to have such
a person in their life, someone who monitored their every move and read into
each little thing they did. Moreover, Stiles trusted Jackson when he said he
would not get back together with Lydia. There was no reason for Jackson to lie
to him, to pretend he would not do something he intended to do. So why wasn't
that enough for him? It should have been.
He needed to make this right, and he needed to do better. He would not let
himself be that person.
Stiles sat up and took a deep breath, opened his phone to his contacts list and
clicked Jackson's number. It rang once, and then Jackson answered. "Hey," He
said.
"Are you still with Lydia?" Stiles asked, keeping his voice low.
"No," Jackson said. "I wouldn't have answered if I was,"
"Oh, okay..."
"Why are you calling?" Jackson asked. "You never call..."
"I just... I wanted to say I was sorry, for the way I acted today," Stiles
said, running his fingers through his hair. "I was being an ass, and getting
all worked up over nothing and it was really shitty of me. So, I'm sorry,"
"That's okay," Jackson said. Stiles raised his eyebrows in surprise. He'd have
thought Jackson would be more pissed than that. "I'm sorry too, I guess. I
shouldn't have... I didn't mean to flirt with Lydia. Especially after I
promised you there was nothing between us, flirting with her in front of you
like that... it wasn't right..."
"Well, I still didn't have a right to act like I acted," Stiles said. "You
don't owe me anything, Jackson. I can't keep acting like you do,"
"I guess..." Jackson said slowly. He paused for a moment. "Stiles, can I ask
you something? I was going to wait until I saw you tomorrow, at the Arcade, but
since you called..."
"Yeah, sure. What is it?"
"Well, how do you feel about breaking rule five?" Jackson asked.
Stiles smiled slightly. "I feel good about it. What'd you have in mind?"
"My house, this weekend. My parents are going away, so I thought you could come
over... spend the night. You don't have to stay the entire weekend, if that's
too much for you, but you can if you want,"
A full smile had spread across Stiles' face now. "That sounds awesome," He
said.
"Really?"
"Yeah, of course. You think I'd turn down the chance to spend the weekend with
you?"
"I don't know... I thought the whole weekend might be a little much," Jackson
said. "You might get sick of me,"
Stiles laughed. "You know, somehow I don't see that happening," He said.
"Okay, great... so, I'll see you tomorrow, I guess?"
"Actually, I think I'll skip the Arcade tomorrow," Stiles said. "I'm kind of
sick of you,"
Jackson snorted. "You're such an asshole, Stiles," He said.
"Sorry, you're cute when you're insecure,"
"I'm hanging up on you now, goodbye," Jackson muttered.
Stiles grinned. "See you tomorrow," He said.
They hung up, and Stiles lay back on his bed. The smile remained on his face.
***** All-Nighter *****
                               "You're so sweet,
                             But I like it rough."
                             —New Politics, Harlem

                                      ***
Stiles went over to Jackson's house early on Saturday morning, wanting to make
the most of the time they had together in an actual house, with a real bed and
walls not made of concrete, bearing mysterious and frankly questionable stains
on them.
They went up to Jackson's bedroom, which Stiles had never seen before. The room
was neat and tidy, and had an oddly adult feel to it. There were no posters on
the wall, no stacks of CD's piled up in corners, nothing you'd typically see in
the room of someone below 25. There was, however, a nice looking queen size bed
and an en suite bathroom and after all, these were the things that really
mattered.
He dropped his backpack at the foot of the bed, still looking around the room.
Jackson stood in the doorframe, watching him. "Looking for something in
particular?" He asked.
Stiles shook his head. "Just getting a sense for where you live," He said.
There was a desk in the room, with a Mac desktop sitting on top of it. Beside
the desk, on the floor, Stiles noticed a box with something pink and lacy
sticking out of it. Curious, he knelt down and picked up the box, ignoring
Jackson's vague noises of protest. "What's this?" He asked, pulling the lid
off. Inside the box were several items of girls clothing. Stiles looked at
Jackson with an eyebrow raised.
"They're Lydia's," Jackson explained. "It's stuff she left here while we were
together,"
"Jackson, there's like two full outfits here," Stiles said, digging through the
box. "How the hell did she leave here without her clothes?"
"She always had stuff to change into when she stayed over, I don't know,"
Jackson said. "And she didn't leave it all at once, it was over a long period
of time, you know? A top here, a skirt there..."
Stiles picked up a small piece of lacy fabric, turning it over in his hands for
a moment before he realized it was a pair of panties. He dropped them with a
yelp, and Jackson smirked. "And those," He added. "Don't worry, I washed
everything in there. I keep meaning to give it all back to her, I just... there
never seems to be a good time. I can't see her taking it well..."
"Yeah, me neither..." Stiles said, only half listening to Jackson. He glanced
at the box of clothing, and then at Jackson, an idea forming in his mind. "I've
got a question for you, Jackson," He said, licking his lips. "How do you feel
about cross-dressing?"
Jackson furrowed his brow for a moment, and Stiles saw him glance at the box of
clothes for a second. "I... what?" He said. Stiles repeated his question, and
Jackson's face flushed slightly. "I don't know, why?"
"You know why," Stiles said, smirking slightly.
Again, Jackson's eyes went to the box of clothes, and then back to Stiles. "I
don't... they're Lydia's clothes," He said, avoiding giving an actual answer.
Stiles stepped towards him, and took Jackson's hand in his, rubbing it with his
thumb. "Lydia has lots of clothes," He said. "She won't miss a few of these,"
He raised his eyebrows. "If you don't want to, then we won't. Simple as that,"
He pressed a small kiss on the corner of Jackson's mouth, then leaned back and
looked him over. Jackson's eyes were on the floor, and his cheeks were florid.
Stiles knew Jackson well enough at this point to know what that meant, and he
smiled. "So do you not want to... or do you want me to make you?"
Jackson looked up at him from under his eyelashes. "I want you to make me," He
said, pulling Stiles towards him and kissing him roughly. Stiles could feel
Jackson's hunger, and it matched his own.
It was with great difficulty that he pushed Jackson back, trying to collect
himself. "Take off your clothes," He said, forcing himself to sound cool.
Jackson hurriedly began to unbutton his shirt, but Stiles stopped him. "No, do
it slowly," He instructed.
Jackson's fingers slowed on the buttons, and he began to pop them open at an
easier pace. He pulled the shirt off his shoulders, revealing a white muscle
shirt underneath. This he shed slowly as well, lifting it up from the hem and
pulling it over his head. Stiles eyes ran over Jackson's body as he did,
appraising the way his muscles moved as he lost his clothes and feeling a heat
stir in his chest. No matter how many times he had Jackson, and no matter what
they did together, he never stopped wanting him with the same ferocity he
always felt.
Jackson removed his socks, unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down to his
ankles. He kicked them aside, and then looked up at Stiles as he always did,
pausing before he got to his underwear. Stiles nodded, and with a reddened face
Jackson lost his underwear as well, exposing himself. Stiles smiled slightly
when he saw how hard Jackson had already become.
Reaching in to the box behind him, Stiles pulled out the lacy pink underwear
and tossed them to Jackson. "Go on," He said.
Holding the underwear in front of him, Jackson looked skeptical. "These aren't
going to fit," He said.
Stiles raised an eyebrow. "I said put them on,"
Sighing, Jackson did as instructed. He pulled the panties up, doing his best to
tuck himself into them. He was right, they did not really fit, but they did
cover more of Jackson than Stiles had thought they would. Stiles could not have
explained it, but there was something incredibly enticing about the way Jackson
looked in the lacy underwear, something that made it near impossible not to
pull him forwards, rip the panties off and fuck him raw.
But not yet, Stiles told himself. Soon, but not yet.
Forcing himself to focus, he grabbed a pair of white thigh-high stockings from
the box, and tossed them over to Jackson as well. Jackson didn't question him
this time, and simply began the task of pulling them on. He had to sit down on
the bed for this, lifting up his leg as he slowly rolled the stocking up his
leg. It would only go to about mid-thigh, but that was fine.
After the stockings were on, Stiles handed Jackson a skirt and blouse. Jackson
sighed, taking them. "Come on, seriously?"
"Oh, I am so serious right now," Stiles said. "Put 'em on now, Jackson,"
Face ecstatically red now, Jackson kept his eyes on the ground as he slipped on
the skirt and zipped it up. It didn't fit quite right, sitting up much to high
on his stomach, where as Stiles assumed it was meant to fall more around the
hips. It made the skirt much shorter than it should have been, the hem of it
just brushing the tops of Jackson's thighs. Stiles could see his jaw tighten as
he put the blouse on, hands shaking slightly as he did up the buttons. When he
was done, he let his hands fall by his side.
Stiles could not help but smile. Jackson actually looked sort of sweet, all
girled up. "You look very pretty, Jackson," He said.
Jackson's head snapped up, and he flashed a blue-eyed glare at Stiles. "Fuck
you," He spat, trying and failing to seem tough.
Stiles raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I like that tone of voice," He said,
his own voice soft. "I think someone needs to be taught a lesson," He folded
his arms across his chest, and Jackson glowered. "Get on the bed, on your hands
and knees,"
Jackson looked at him for a moment before doing as he was told, crawling on to
the bed. As he did, Stiles had a perfect view of his pink panties clad ass.
Stiles stood there for a moment, enjoying the view, before walking over and
reaching his hand inside the skirt, running it over Jackson's backside. "I
didn't like the way you just spoke to me Jackson," He said. He took a knee on
the bed behind him, getting into a good position for what he was going to do.
"So when I do this, I don't want you to make a sound, understood? Nod if you
do,"
Jackson nodded. Stiles paused, and then added. "Except if you have to use the
safe word, obviously, that's 100% fine," Another nod from Jackson. "Good,"
Stiles pushed the skirt up slightly, and pulled the panties to one side,
exposing Jackson further to him. His other hand he ran up the inside of
Jackson's thigh, feeling him tense as his fingers briefly met his now painfully
hard cock. He leaned in to the crease of Jackson's tempting ass and let his
breath play over him for a moment, building the anticipation.
Though he'd told him to make no sound, the moment Stiles mouth pressed against
him, Jackson let out a shocked gasp. Stiles thought of scolding him, but if he
was being honest with himself, he really liked the noises Jackson made.
Punishment or no, he wanted to hear him.
This was not something they'd ever done before, although they'd certainly
talked about it enough. Both had admitted that rimming was something they were
curious about, curious to try and curious to feel. And now seemed like as good
a time as any to put all that talk into action.
To his credit, Jackson did seemed to be making an effort to keep quiet, even as
Stiles' tongue circled him, and his hand reached around to slowly jerk him off.
Jackson arched his back, and small noises escaped from his throat as Stiles
licked into him.
He smoothed his hand over Jackson's thigh while his other hand worked gently
between his legs. He moved his hand at an easy pace that he knew would not send
Jackson over the edge. It was not time for Jackson to come yet, and he when he
did Stiles wanted it to be the succour of his mouth that broke him.
As Stiles pushed his tongue in deeper, Jackson cried out and grabbed his
headboard with one hand, grasping it for support. "S-Stiles," He sputtered,
abandoning his resolve. "Oh god, Stiles please—"
"Shh," Stiles whispered against him. He pulled away slightly, kissing and
nipping at Jackson's ass until Jackson began to whimper and whine, desperate
for more. "Are you sorry for speaking up to me?" He asked quietly. Jackson
whimpered loudly and nodded in response. Stiles ceased the handjob, and instead
grabbed Jackson's hips with both hands, squeezing his fingers into his sides.
"Tell me how sorry you are,"
"Sorry, so fucking sorry," Jackson groaned. "Please, Stiles, please! I'll
never—never do it again, I swear, just please keep going, I can't—"
A smile played across Stiles' lips, and he resumed the presses of his tongue,
pulling Jackson towards him by his hips as he trust his tongue inside of him,
deeper and more insistent than before. With Stiles' hand no longer touching
him, Jackson began to feverishly jerk himself off, dropping his head and still
grasping at the headboard to keep himself up.
As Stiles continued to fuck Jackson with his tongue, he could sense Jackson
reaching his limit. Jackson's body tensed and he began to sputter as the orgasm
washed over him and he came over his own hand, come dripping down onto his
bedsheets. Stiles slowed his movements, giving Jackson a few last gentle licks
before pulling back and wiping his mouth.
"I'll be right back, okay?" Stiles asked quietly, running his hand along
Jackson's back. Jackson feebly nodded his head, and Stiles made for the
bathroom, grabbing his backpack on the way. He gave his teeth and tongue a
quick brush, grabbed a towel and headed back out.
Jackson was lying down on the bed now, and he'd removed the blouse and skirt
and tossed them away. Clad now in only the lacy pink undies and white thigh-
highs, he lay prone on his back with one arm thrown over his eyes, obviously
exhausted.
"Did I tell you to undress?" Stiles chided as he cleaned up the mess on
Jackson's comforter, and on Jackson. Jackson made a sort of moaning noise in
response, and Stiles sighed.
Peaking out from under his arm, Jackson frowned. "You," He said. "Are wearing
too much clothing right now,"

Stiles smiled, and ran a finger down Jackson's bare chest, stopping when he got
to the edge of his underwear. "You should probably do something to fix that
then," He said.

                                      ***
Hours and hours later, after a bit of cleaning up they collapsed together on
Jackson's bed, hearts pounding and skin thoroughly soaked in sweat. Stiles felt
as if each of his limbs had been filled with lead, making them impossibly heavy
to lift. Even just to pull the warm covers around them both and take Jackson's
in his arms was a trial. It seemed unfair to him that while Jackson seemed
tired, he didn't seem to be nearly as half-dead as Stiles felt. Stupid werewolf
stamina.
Not that Stiles actually had it in him to be mad at Jackson, as he lay against
Stiles' shoulder with his eyes closed and arms wrapped firmly around his waist.
His face was flushed, his hair matted and sweaty and his lips had been bitten
red, and as Stiles stared at him he realized with an almost sickening drop that
he loved him. It was a terrible, dirty thought and Stiles shook his head, as if
attempting to shake it away. But once realized, the idea persisted. He was in
love with Jackson, in love with every part of him, even—and possibly
especially—in love with the parts of him that drove him up the wall.
What would Jackson say, if he knew that Stiles felt that way? Stiles was almost
sure he didn't feel the same way. And even if he had, he would have never
admitted it. Jackson's relationship with the concept of love was strained and
difficult, something he and Stiles had talked over a few times. To love someone
meant you had given them the power to ruin you, in Jackson's mind. It made you
weak and it made you vulnerable, and those were two things that Jackson wanted
desperately not to be. He wanted to be strong, so much stronger than he felt he
was. He would never give in to love, Stiles knew.
Perhaps if he was lucky, one day Jackson would be able to accept his love, even
if he could not return it. The thought made him feel strangely alone. But he
supposed that a half-love was better than no love at all.
Stiles felt Jackson run his fingers over his cheek, and he pulled himself away
from his thoughts. "What are you thinking about?" Jackson asked quietly.
Stiles smiled. "How amazing you are," He replied. It was not entirely a lie.
Leaning in and kissing Jackson on the mouth, he whispered "Every time we're
together, you just get more and more amazing. How is that?"
Jackson just shrugged, and smiled slightly. Stiles kissed his forehead and
pulled him closer, running his fingers through Jackson's hair.
"I'm serious though, you know?" Stiles continued. "And I'm not just talking
about the sex—although that is, of course, also amazing," He said. "I mean...
you. You're amazing. I'm amazed, totally amazed by you. Not just amazed, even.
I'm several-mazed by you. Trillion-mazed. Over-mazed. I'm lost in a maze, and
the maze is made of maize, the corn kind and—"
"Oh my god, stop," Jackson said, laughing. "Your ability to make sense gave up
two sentences ago,"
Stiles shrugged, and busied himself with kissing along Jackson's neck and jaw.
"Always thought that ability was super over-rated," He mumbled. "Besides,
s'your fault,"
"Mmm, and how's that?"
Stiles pulled back and looked Jackson in the eye. "You make me not make sense,"
He said simply. "You turn my brain upside, and I can't be held responsible for
what comes out of my mouth in this state,"
Jackson reached up, and placed a hand against Stiles' face, running his thumb
softly over his lower lip. "I guess the things coming out of your mouth aren't
so bad," He said. Stiles smiled, put his hand over Jackson's and kissed his
thumb.
"Can I get you anything?" Stiles asked, pulling Jackson's hand away and kissing
his knuckles. They'd done this sort of thing enough times that Stiles knew that
all Jackson ever wanted after they were together was to be held and praised
(although he never said no to a warm blanket or sweater), but he often double
checked anyways. "Are you hungry? I think I'm kind of starving..."
Jackson nodded, and sat up in the bed. "Yeah, me too," He said. "We kind of
skipped over lunch today,"
"Did we?" Stiles said, sitting up as well. "Wait, what time is it?" He grabbed
Jackson's alarm clock and turned it towards him. "Holy crap, it's past seven
already?" He looked at Jackson, who appeared amused. "Wasn't it just noon, like
two minutes ago?"
"Try several hours ago," Jackson said, eyebrows raised. "You didn't notice how
dark it's gotten? That typically doesn't happen at noon,"
"Christ, no wonder I'm so hungry," Stiles said, flopping back down on the bed.
"I need my three squares a day, dude. I just need 'em,"
Jackson laughed, and shook his head. "Why don't we order something in?" He
suggested. "Chinese maybe,"
"Oh my god, yes," Stiles said, sitting back up. "I need Chinese food, right
now. Holy crap,"
Wrapping a sheet around his waist, Stiles stood up and dug around in his jeans
for his cellphone. He pulled it out and began looking up a nearby Chinese food
restaurant that would deliver. After pulling up a menu, he and Jackson noted
what they wanted to order, which was more or less everything. Stiles ordered
the food, and when it arrived Jackson threw on a robe and went to the door to
get it.
Jackson brought the three bags of food up to his room and plunked them down on
his bed, and he and Stiles began to dig through them, pulling out what they
wanted and eating right out of the containers. "Oh god, this is so good,"
Stiles moaned, slurping back some noodles. "Food, yes,"
Jackson just chuckled, and popping half a dumpling into his mouth.
"Hey, I almost forgot," Stiles said, setting down the container of noodles. "I
brought something for us to do, after we eat," He got up from the bed and
stumbled over to where his backpack lay.
Jackson leaned back against his headboard, watching Stiles search through his
bag. "Alright, but if it's something that's supposed to go up my ass, we still
need to wait like a half hour before I can go again..."
Finding what he was looking for, Stiles triumphantly pulled a large blu-ray
boxset out and held it up for Jackson to see.
Jackson appeared skeptical. "I don't think that's going to fit, Stiles,"
Stiles glowered at him, holding the boxset close to his chest as if protecting
it from Jackson. "It's Star Wars," He said. "The original trilogy. I thought we
could watch it together, since you haven't seen it,"
Jackson sighed. "Fine, put it in," He said. Stiles frowned, glancing from the
boxset to Jackson and back again. "In the blu-ray player, you pervert!"
"No no no," Stiles said. "We watch after we've eaten, not during," He said,
setting the boxset down on Jackson's desk. "I don't want you to be distracted
by anything," Jackson groaned and rolled his eyes. "Hey, if we were watching
your favourite movie ever, wouldn't you want me giving it my full attention?"
"I guess," Jackson said, picking up another Chinese food container. "But you've
probably already seen Hoosiers, so..." He said. Stiles shrugged, and Jackson
looked up at him in horror. "You've never seen Hoosiers?! Okay, after the
first Star Wars, we're watching that,"

"Deal," Stiles said, sitting back down on the bed and grabbed the box
containing the crispy chicken wings. "After we eat,"

                                      ***
"Okay, okay I have another question," Stiles said. "No, no wake up, this one's
important," He gave Jackson a small nudge, and Jackson groaned.
"M'awake," Jackson mumbled. "M'just closing m'eyes,"
It was nearing five o'clock in the morning, and they had finished off the first
two Star Wars movies, as well as Hoosiers. Now they lay in bed together,
talking over the movies and any other random subject that came to mind. Jackson
was dozing slightly, his head resting against Stiles' shoulder. "Alright, if I
died—" He began, causing Jackson to groan again. "And you had some way of
resurrecting me, but you knew it was possible there would be terrible side
effects, would you do it?"
Jackson breathed out through his nose. "I lied, m'sleeping. Go away," He said.
Stiles poked him a few times, and Jackson swatted angrily at him before sighing
and opening his eyes. "Fine. No, I wouldn't do it," He said. Stiles pouted, and
a made noise to express his hurt. "Sorry, but if there was the possibility of
terrible side effects, it's not worth. It would be a selfish move, I'd be
bringing you back for me, because I wanted you back, and ignoring the
possibility that you could be in pain or something,"
Stiles nodded. "Okay, I guess that makes sense. So, what if you could bring me
back, and you knew there would be no terrible side effects, but someone else
somewhere in the world would die? Would you do it then?"
Jackson rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Where do you even come up with this stuff?"
He asked. Stiles shrugged. "A while back, I would have taken that deal, yeah,"
He said. "But now, after everything that happened with Matt... I couldn't do
it," He said quietly. He looked up at Stiles. "People shouldn't get to decide
who lives and who dies. It's not up to us to pick and choose like that,"
Stiles brushed his fingers along Jackson's cheek, leaned in and kissed him
softly. "Jesus, Jackson. You're getting all philosophical on me, and all I'm
trying to do is be your zombie boyfriend," He paused, sucking in his breath as
he realized his mistake. "I didn't—not boyfriend, that's not what I—"
Jackson kissed him, running his fingers up through Stiles' hair. "It's okay, I
know what you mean," He said quietly.
They kissed gently for a few moments, and then Jackson lay his head back down
against Stiles' shoulder. After a couple of minutes passed, Stiles thought he'd
fallen asleep, and was about to close his eyes as well when Jackson quietly
said "I could be your zombie boyfriend, Stiles," Stiles wasn't sure what to
say. He looked at Jackson and swallowed. Jackson smiled. "Your heart is beating
really fast," He said, closing his eyes again. "Let's go to sleep,"
Jackson was asleep in minutes, but Stiles stayed up for a little, watching him.
There was a nameless feeling in chest, something indescribable that he'd often
felt when spending time with Jackson. The feeling that whispered that maybe
things were not so bad as he often thought they were, that maybe things would
be okay. And it whispered to him now, whispered that perhaps being in love with
Jackson was not such a terrible thing after all.
                                      ***
When Monday rolled around, Jackson could not have been in a better mood. Stiles
had stayed until late into the evening Sunday, and the entire weekend had been
like something out of an incredible, wild dream. Nothing could have brought him
down, not a single thing.
Or so he thought.
At lunch he went to the library, to meet up with his English group. The
anticipation of seeing Stiles made him feel slightly giddy, even though he knew
he would have to ignore him. Still, Stiles would be there, and if he was
careful he would be able to sneak glances at him when no one was looking. That
would be enough for now.
Scott was already at a table when he walked in, and not even that could upset
him. He took a seat next to McCall, and actually smiled at him. However, it
felt a little weird, and he decided not to do it ever again.
"Hey, Jackson," Scott said, returning the smile. "You look like you're in a
good mood. Did you have a good weekend?"
Jackson nodded. "I did, actually," He said.
Scott grinned, a goofy sort of smile that sort of bugged Jackson. He leaned in
slightly, as if to whisper a secret. "I'm really happy for you, Jackson," He
said.
Something cold ran down Jackson's spine, and the smile slipped off his face.
"What?"
"I mean, for you and Stiles..." He said, and obliterating Jackson's good mood
as if he'd struck it with a hammer. "I know it's supposed to be a secret, and I
swear I won't tell anyone, I just thought you should know that I think it's
great. You guys are really—"
But Jackson wasn't listening anymore. Moving as if in a daze, he gathered up
his things and walked away, not hearing McCall calling after him, not hearing
anything around him as he stumbled out of the library.
He felt ill, as if he might throw up. Stiles had told Scott, told the one
person he'd begged him not to. He'd made him promise... Stiles had promised.
Shaking his head, Jackson tried to get a grip on himself. Obviously, Stiles'
promises meant nothing. Fine, that was fine (no, no it wasn't. None of this was
fine, not at all...)
But if Stiles didn't have to honour his promises, then neither did Jackson.
***** Broken Promises *****
                     "There can be no deep disappointment
                        Where there is not deep love."
                           —Martin Luther King, Jr.

                                      ***
It was Monday, it was a little past 4:00 PM and Stiles was worried about
Jackson. He seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth.
They were supposed to have met up at lunch in the library, in order to work on
their English project, but Jackson had never shown up. Or, according to Scott,
he had shown up but had left abruptly and with no explanation. After that, no
one had seen him. He wasn't answering any of Stiles' calls or texts, and Stiles
was beginning to panic. He'd even gone to his house after school to make sure
he was alright, but no one had been home.
Now he sat at his desk, clicking around on the internet but not really doing
anything. Had something happened? Was he alright? Stiles hated not knowing.
Running out of ideas, Stiles sent a text to Erica, asking if she knew where
Jackson was. The reply that came back a few moments later simply said that she
did not.
Stiles could not stop his mind from racing around, conjuring up awful
possibilities to explain Jackson's disappearance. Everything ranging from a
death in his family, to some new terrible threat appearing in town and
kidnapping him zipped through his mind, each possibility more awful than the
last.
He wanted to call everyone Jackson knew. He wanted to phone Lydia and Danny and
every single member of the lacrosse team. He wanted to call his house and talk
to his parents, wanted to do everything he could to get answers. What stopped
him was knowing that Jackson would kill him if he did so, hate him for clueing
anyone in on the relationship they had together.
So he sat alone in his room and did nothing, telling himself that in all
likelihood, Jackson was fine. He was a werewolf, after all. He was strong, and
he had trained with Derek and Scott and the rest of the pack all summer long to
get stronger. Jackson did not consider himself tough or capable, but Stiles
knew he was.
He would just have to trust that he was alright.
On Tuesday morning Stiles headed to school early, hoping to find Jackson before
class and talk to him. They were doing a project together in English, he could
pretend he needed to ask him something about that. Technically it was breaking
the rules, but Stiles was worried and Jackson would just need to deal with it.
He downed his breakfast quickly and then sped to school, doing a terrible job
parking his jeep. As he made his way through the parking lot, he spotted
Allison walking towards him, smiling in greeting. He did his best to plaster a
returning smile on his face, although he was not sure it worked. He liked
Allison, and any other time he would have been happy to talk to her... but not
right now.
"Hey, Stiles," She said, giving him a small wave. "Good Morning,"
"Morning," He said, begrudgingly slowing his pace to match hers.
"You're here early," Allison commented, as they walked into the school
together. "Are you feeling alright?"
"Oh, yeah," Stiles said, forcing a laugh. "Just a fluke, it happens
sometimes..." Looking around the hallway, Stiles searched for some sign of
Jackson. Down at the end of the hallway he spotted him, and he was just about
to tell Allison he had to go when something made him stop in his tracks.
Allison peered down the hallway, obviously looking after what had made Stiles
stop walking. "Oh, yeah, that happened last night," She said, as they both
watched Jackson walk down the hallway, hand in hand with Lydia. "Honestly I'm
surprised it took them this long to get back together,"
Stiles' throat felt dry. Jackson was back with Lydia? How? Why? It made no
sense. Jackson had promised him he wouldn't... and then with everything that
had happened on the weekend—it didn't make sense.
"Are you alright?" Allison asked, surveying Stiles. Stiles opened his mouth to
reply, but nothing came out. "I thought you were over Lydia?"
Swallowing, Stiles made himself look away from the couple. "Yeah... I am, I
just... I don't know, residual feelings, I guess," Allison nodding
sympathetically, and put a hand on his shoulder. Stiles felt like he was going
to pass out.
Why had this happened? Stiles needed to find out what had gone wrong, what had
occurred to make Jackson change his mind like this... he needed to talk to him,
needed to understand.
"I'll see you later," Stiles said to Allison. "I've got to talk to them
about..." He trailed off, not bothering to finish his sentence as he'd already
walked away from Allison, heading towards Jackson and Lydia.
"Hey, guys, wait up," He called after them. Part of him expected them to keep
walking, act like he didn't exist or something. But Jackson and Lydia stopped
when he called after them, and turned around. "Hey..." He repeated, not
entirely sure what the follow with.
"Hi, Stiles," Lydia greeted. She looked happy, holding hands with the person
who was once again her boyfriend. Stiles wondered how she'd feel if he knew
that just two days ago he'd fucked Jackson in her clothing. "What's up?"
Looking at Jackson, Stiles once again felt like he could not speak. Jackson was
not avoiding looking at him, was not ignoring him or pretending he wasn't
there. Instead he was looking directly at him, with a blankness in his eyes
that pierced Stiles' chest like a knife. There was nothing in his gaze that
suggested he even knew who Stiles was, let alone had any feelings for him. It
was if he was looking right through him.
"I... the project..." Stiles found himself muttering. He looked down at his
shoes, unable to take Jacksons cold, impersonal gaze any longer.
"Oh, yeah, Jackson's sorry but he wasn't feeling so great yesterday," Lydia
said, giving Jackson's hand a squeeze. "We're going to meet up again tomorrow
at lunch, and finish things up then. Is that okay?"
Stiles nodded numbly. "Yeah, s'fine..."
Lydia tilted her head to the side, frowning. "Are you alright?" She asked. "You
look a little ill..." Shrugging, Stiles tried to come up with some excuse, but
wound up saying nothing. "Well, we'll see you later then, alright?"
Stiles nodded again, mumbled some reply and walked off down the hallway,
feeling more lost and confused than ever.
                                      ***
At lunch Stiles sat with Scott on the bleachers, watching the girls soccer team
practice, something he'd used to enjoy. Now they could have been playing naked,
and he would not even have noticed. Stiles picked at his sandwich, not feeling
hungry. Honestly, he wasn't feeling much of anything at all. A sort of numbness
had come over him, a daze in which nothing seemed real. Was he real? Was any of
this real? Who could say.
"Stiles..." Scott said, giving him a small shake. "I gotta tell you something,
dude," Stiles looked up at him blankly, and saw Scott was cringing. "And when I
do, I want you to remember that there are people around, and if you murder me
you will go to jail,"
"Okay," Stiles said.
Scott paused for a moment, apparently readying himself. "I know about Jackson,"
He said.
Stiles' brow furrowed slightly. That was not what he had been expecting Scott
to say. "What? How?"
"Last week, at Lydia's... she and Jackson kept flirting with each other, and
you were getting really jealous," Scott explained. "I kind of put it together,"
He cringed again. "I also may have mentioned that I knew to Jackson and... I
don't think he took it well,"
"You... what?" Stiles asked. "You told him?" The numbness he'd been feeling
faded suddenly, replaced by feelings of anger and panic. Suddenly things were
starting to make sense. Jackson must have though he'd told Scott, and was angry
with him for breaking his promise. Was getting back with Lydia revenge? It must
have been. "Why the hell would you do that, Scott?"
"I don't know, I thought—he seemed happy, I just wanted him to know I was happy
for him, and you," Scott said, shrinking slightly. "I mean, you said he was
weird about people knowing, I thought if he knew that I knew, and I didn't
care, or I thought it was good... I thought it might help?"
Stiles shook his head. "It did the opposite of help, Scott!" He fumed. "Fuck!"
"Stiles, I'm sorry, I didn't think—"
"No, you didn't fucking think!" He shouted. Scott looked hurt, and suddenly
Stiles felt terrible. "No, I'm—shit, I'm sorry. It's not your fault, you had no
idea what telling him would do..." He ran his fingers through his hair,
frustrated. "It's just, everything's all fucked up now and I don't know what to
do but... but you didn't mean to do anything, and I shouldn't take it out on
you,"
"I'm really sorry, Stiles," Scott said again.
"I know... it's okay," Stiles told him.
It was anything but.
For the rest of the week, Jackson ignored Stiles. He didn't answer his calls or
his texts and he brushed him off when he tried to speak to him in person. Every
day after school Stiles waited for him at the Arcade, hoping that he would
arrive and want to talk, and every day Stiles wound up leaving on his own.
Obviously whatever they had between them was, at least in Jackson's mind, over.
Stiles did not know what to do. He wanted to cry and scream and break things,
wanted to curl up in a ball in his bed and never leave again. He wanted to push
everyone away, tell everyone to go fuck themselves and to leave him alone
forever.
He did none of these things. Instead he went to school, he did his homework, he
played video games. But he was numb.
If he could only talk to Jackson, he could explain that he had not betrayed
him. Scott had figured it out on his own, Stiles had not broken his promise. If
he would only listen, Stiles could explain... but Jackson would not, and Stiles
could not make him.
On Friday they had a game of lacrosse against North Beacon Heights, and Stiles
was put on the bench. He'd played terribly in their last few practices, and
Coach did not want them ruining the winning streak they'd been on. Stiles
thought it was unlikely that he could, considering that they had three
werewolves on the team, who could run faster and react more quickly than any
other player. But of course, Coach didn't know this, and so Stiles was out
until he "got his head together."
Sitting on the bench, listening to the crowd cheer behind him and watching the
game go on without him, Stiles felt incredibly bitter. Trying to make himself
feel better, Stiles began to shout insults at the North Beacon players, calling
them pansies and loudly questioning how the hell they'd ever made first string.
At one point, after a string of particularly nasty insults, a player tossed his
helmet to the ground and stormed towards Stiles, likely with the intention of
murdering him.
Stiles stood up as the player, number 12, came towards him. "Aww, did I hurt
you feelings?" Stiles shouted, knowing he was about to get his ass kicked.
"Come on, suck it up you lousy pile of fecal matter!"
Just before number 12 reached him, Scott darted in front of him, pushing the
player back. "Come on, man, just ignore him," He said. "He's just having a
rough day,"
"His day is about to get a whole lot rougher if he doesn't shut the hell up,"
Spat number 12, trying and failing to push Scott away. Behind him, Stiles stuck
up his middle finger and did a small dance. He could see the players face
contort in anger and frustration, and for the first time all week, he actually
felt a little better.
Scott and number 12 struggled for a minute, Scott holding the much larger
player in place and 12 desperately trying to get him off. Finally he gave up
and sulked back to the field, ignoring Stiles' increasingly rude remarks for
the rest of the game.
"What the hell, Stiles?" Scott asked after the game was finished (North Beacon
had suffered a rather embarrassing defeat, which Stiles had been all too happy
to rub in the other players faces). "What was that?"
"Just blowing off some steam," Stiles said, changing out of uniform and back
into his normal clothes.
Scott shook his head. "He looked like he wanted to kill you,"
Stiles shrugged. "What a tragedy that would have been, right?" He grinned.
Scott was not amused. "Do you want to hang out tonight?" He asked. "We can
order some pizza, play some video games, watch a movie. Whatever you want,"
"I thought we were going to the after party?" Stiles asked, closing his locker
and shrugging on his backpack. "You told Allison this morning that you'd meet
her there, remember?"
"Yeah, but we don't have to go to that. I'm fine with doing whatever, really,"
"Why wouldn't we go?"
"Because..." Scott looked around, and lowered his voice. "Because it's at
Lydia's? Because they'll be there...?"
Stiles laughed a loud, obviously fake laugh. "Please, I'm so over that," He
said. Scott did not look convinced. "We can go, you can hang out and be gross
with Allison, I'll be fine," He clapped Scott on the shoulder, and headed out
of the locker room. "You worry too much, dude,"
                                      ***
When they arrived at the party, Lydia's house was already packed with people.
Apparently everyone from school had shown up, Lydia's temporary unpopularity
from the previous year seemingly forgotten. While Scott looked around for
Allison, Stiles made a beeline for the keg, where he would remain for most of
the evening.
Whatever pain had been dulled by taunting the North Beacon players had begun to
creep back, and as Stiles stood in the crowded room, watching people laugh and
drink and have a good time, he couldn't stand to feel it for one more second.
It was possible, perhaps, that coming to the party had been a mistake.
Somewhere in the house was Jackson, and the idea of him being so close and yet
so horrifically far away made Stiles chest hurt.
Stiles poured himself a beer, and vowed he would not stop drinking until he
could feel his pain no more. The beer was cheap (obviously it had been supplied
by someone other than Lydia) but after his third or so cup, it was actually
starting to taste pretty good.
He was on his—what, fifth cup? His fifth or possibly sixth cup, when Erica and
Boyd wandered over. Boyd had his arm over Erica's shoulder, and Stiles smiled
at them. "You know, you two make sucha great couple," He said.
Boyd furrowed his brow. "Hello to you, too, Stiles," He said, removing his arm
from Erica and busying himself with the keg.
"I'm serious, Vernon—may I call you Vernon?" Stiles asked.
"No," Boyd muttered, passing a beer to Erica before drawing one for himself.
Stiles grinned. "Vern?" Boyd glared, and shook his head. Stiles pointed a
finger at him. "You guy," He said, chuckling.
Boyd looked at Erica. "May we walk away now, please?" He asked.
Erica ignored him, looking with what was possibly concern at Stiles. "Are you
alright? You smell... not alright,"
Boyd made a face. "Don't smell him, Erica," He murmured. "It's weird,"
Erica rolled her eyes. "Get over it," She murmured back. She looked at Stiles.
"Well?"
Stiles just laughed, and took another large gulp of beer. "M'fine," He said,
wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "M'great, in fact. Hey, has either
of you ever seen Jackson 'n' Lydia around here somewhere? Because I have not,
and I thought I'd wish 'em a happy congratulations, on getting back together
and everything. Because that's just so great, right?"
Erica sighed. "Right, I'd forgotten about that," She said.
"Ha!" Stiles said, although he had never felt less like laughing. "I wish I
could forget! Guess coming here was a dumb move, huh?"
"Probably, yeah," Erica agreed.
Boyd looked confused. "I'm confused," He said, as apparently the way he looked
was an accurate gauge of the way he was feeling. Erica put her hand on his arm,
but did not clear anything up for him.
"Lemme 'splain," Stiles said, leaning forward slightly. "Jackson and I were f—"
"Friends!" Erica jumped in, speaking over Stiles. "A long time ago, they used
to be friends. But then Jackson started dating Lydia and he forgot about
Stiles, and Stiles resents him for that. And now that they're back together, I
guess it's brought it all up again, huh Stiles?"
Stiles frowned. "None of that is true,"
Erica shot Stiles a look that suggested she would very much like to kill him.
Over his shoulder, something caught her eye. "Jackson!" She called, waving him
over. Stiles whipped around, staring with an open mouth as Jackson came towards
them, his arm over Lydia's shoulder. "Jackson, great, you're here. Do something
about Stiles, he's very chatty tonight,"
Lydia laughed. "Is that any different than usual?" She asked.
Stiles' lip curled, and he glared at Lydia. "That's rude," He said. "Jackson,
are you gonna letter be rude t'me?"
Lydia looked confused, and Jackson took his arm from around her and instead
grabbed Stiles. "Obviously someone has had way too much to drink," He said.
"I'll take him upstairs, so he can lie down," He dragged Stiles off through the
crowd before anyone else could get another word in.
Pulled by Jackson, Stiles stumbled up the stairs, spilling beer everywhere.
"Hey, watch it, I need that for stuff—"
Jackson took him into Lydia's room and slammed the door behind them. "What the
hell, Stiles?"
Stiles laughed, and flopped down on Lydia's bed. "'What the hell, Stiles.'
That's funny. I wondered what you'd say t'me, if you ever talked to me again.
'What the hell, Stiles' was not what I imagined, I'll tell you that—" He went
to take another sip of beer, but Jackson snatched it out of his hand. "Hey!"
"You were acting like an ass down there," Jackson snapped.
"You are an ass always," Stiles responded.
Jackson shook his head. "You've got some nerve, showing up here and blabbering
like an idiot in front of Lydia, you know that," He crossed his arms over his
chest. "I thought I made it clear that things between us were over,"
Stiles laughed. "Clear? Clear?! You think getting back with Lydia—who is
a girl by the way, in case you didn't notice—and ignoring me for a week
is clear? It is so much the opposite of clear, it's fucking... what that's
fucking word, starts with an 'O?'" He frowned, trying to recall. "O-pack? O...
o-something..."
Jackson rolled his eyes. "Opaque?" He drawled.
Stiles snapped his fingers. "Yes, that. It's fucking opaque, is what it is,"
"Fine, well I'm making it clear now," Jackson said. "We're done, okay? And I'd
appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about my temporary insanity, thanks,"
Stiles stood up. "Temporary insanity? For the last three months? I don't think
so, Jackson!" He shouted. "You know what you are, is a coward. And you're
stupid, and you know what I don't even know why I love you, because you're so
stupid! You think I broke my promise to you, and told Scott about us? Is that
what you think?"
Jackson's jaw tensed. "Yes..."
"Well I didn't, dumbass! He figured it out on his own when we were working on
the stupid English project!" Stiles turned away, feeling sick to his stomach.
He hated Jackson, wanted to punch him in his stupid beautiful face for hurting
him like this. And at the same time, he loved him and all he wanted was to hold
him and kiss him and for things to be okay. Also, he wanted to vomit.
"I need to get out of here..." Stiles muttered, pushing past Jackson who had
gone oddly silent. He stormed out of the house and out into the cool night air.
Walking to his car, he fiddled with his keys for a moment before it occurred to
him that he was way too plastered to drive. Fine, he would walk home. Whatever.
Stiles began to walk down the street, trying to calculate how long he could go
before the urge to vomit overwhelmed and he threw up on the sidewalk. He
estimated he had about five more minutes.
Down the street, Stiles could see some people walking towards him and he
groaned slightly. The odds of getting past them before he vomited seemed slim.
This was going to be embarrassing. If he was lucky, he wouldn't remember any of
it the next day.
The people got closer and closer, and with a sickening crunch Stiles realized
he knew them. They were players from the North Beacon team, and his old friend
player 12 was among them.
"Uh, hiya guys," Stiles greeted, as the players walked towards him. There were
four of them, and all much bigger than he was. He was going to die. "Nice night
for a walk, eh?"
One of the players smiled, and put a hand on 12's shoulder. "Toldya it was a
good idea to crash their party," He said.
12 nodded, putting his fist in his hand and actually cracking his knuckles.
"I'm going to enjoy this, you lousy pile of feces,"
"Fecal matter," Stiles corrected, before a fist came and punched him in the
jaw. Pain rocketed around his head, and Stiles saw the world swim before him.
He fell to the ground, and the players laughed. They began to kick him, and
Stiles curled up in a ball and wished he could die.
Somewhere very far away, Stiles heard a loud growling noise and suddenly the
kicking stopped. There was silence for a moment, and then the sound of
screaming and running. The screams faded away, and slowly Stiles picked himself
up, feeling very confused. His head was pounding, and his vision blurred, but
Stiles thought he could see a face that looked an awful lot like Jackson
hovering over him, asking if he was alright.
Comforted by what he was sure was some kind of hallucination, Stiles turned to
the side and threw up five or six beers, and then lost consciousness.
***** What May Come *****
                    “Oh, come forth into the storm and rout
                         And be my love in the rain.”
                       ―Robert Frost, A Line-Storm Song

                                      ***
At some point during the night, Stiles had been decapitated, and his head had
been replaced with a watermelon full of nails. That was the only possible
explanation Stiles could think of to account for the way he was currently
feeling.
Stiles groaned, sitting up in his bed and trying to recall how he'd gotten
there. His memory was fuzzy; images of four neanderthals in letterman jackets
and a blurry angel that looked like Jackson flickered around in his head.
“Good, you're awake,” Stiles looked up, and saw Jackson striding towards him.
He took a seat on the edge of the bed near Stiles. “I was worried you hit your
head too hard, and were going to slip into a coma or something,”
Stiles groaned slightly as his memories came back more clearly. Players from
North Beacon Heights had been beating him up, and Jackson had chased them off.
Stiles remembered Jackson asking if he was alright... right before Stiles had
vomited in front of him and passed out. As well, he dimly remembered getting to
Jackson's car and being taken home, and Jackson tending to his wounds and
giving him some water to drink.
He put his head in his hands. “You didn't have to do this,” He muttered.
“Yeah, like I was just going to leave you on the sidewalk in a pool of vomit,”
Jackson said, rolling his eyes.
“Well, you didn't have to stay. I'm fine,” He said, though he felt far from
fine. His head was pounding, he felt nauseous and his mouth tasted like dried
crap. His body felt bruised and sore and worse than all of it was the deep
sense of shame he felt, when he recalled the way he'd acted, and the things
he'd said to Jackson. “You can leave now, if you want... I'm just going to lie
down and die, if that's okay...”
Jackson shook his head, picked up a glass of water from Stiles' bedside table
and handed it to him. “Here, have some more. You're probably dehydrated from
all the alcohol,”
Stiles took the water from him and sipped it slowly. He looked at Jackson,
wondering just how pathetic he'd looked getting the crap kicked out of him. It
must have been pretty bad, for Jackson to suddenly start being nice to him
again. He wondered how long this would last. “Thanks for getting rid of those
guys,” He said, setting the water back down. “I mean I probably deserved it,
but...” He shrugged. “You could hear, I guess?”
“What?”
“I mean, you came out and got rid of the North Beacon guys. Could you hear them
beating me up, or what?”
Jackson glanced away. “I saw them...” He said quietly. “I was down the street,
and I saw them jump you...”
“Oh...” Stiles said quietly. “You were outside? Why...?”
Jackson rolled his eyes. “Why do you think?” He asked. Stiles shrugged. “I was
coming after you, genius,”
“Oh,” Stiles said again.
Jackson looked at him, his eyes questioning. “Did you mean what you said?” He
asked softly.
“No, I didn't mean it at all,” Stiles said, thinking Jackson was referring to
when he'd called him a stupid coward. Jackson glanced away again, as if
disappointed. “You're not a coward, Jackson, that was a shitty thing to say.
And obviously you're not stupid, either... I was just drunk and angry and—”
“No, not that,” Jackson said, looking up again. “I meant the part when you said
you loved me,”
“Yeah, that I meant,” Stiles said.
Jackson leaned forward and kissed him. Stiles barely had time to kiss him back
before he pulled away again, putting a hand to his mouth. “Your mouth tastes
like vomit,”
“Yeah, I know,” He said, cracking a smile.
Jackson laughed, and put his head in his hands. “Oh, god...” He muttered.
Slowly his shoulders began to shake, and tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Hey, hey it's alright,” Stiles said, leaning forward and putting a hand on
Jackson's shoulder. “I'll brush my teeth and we can try again...”
Jackson pulled his hands away and shook his head. “It's not that, I—I'm sorry,
Stiles. About this week, and Lydia, I thought... I thought...”
“I know,” Stiles said quietly. “It's okay,”
“No, no it's not,” Jackson said. “I should have talked to you, instead of
acting like a fucking child and trying to hurt you back. I was so angry, and
stupid...”
“Jackson, it's alright, okay? We all make mistakes sometimes, it's human
freakin' nature. I mean, case in point, I made a lot of mistakes tonight. I
said things I didn't mean, and I acted like a piece of shit,”
“You were drunk,” Jackson said.
“Not an excuse,” Stiles replied.
Jackson licked his lips, reached forward and took Stiles' hand. “I want to fix
this,” He said. “Last weekend was amazing, and I fucked it all up this week.
Can we just... go back to how things were?”
Stiles bit his tongue. He wanted so badly to say yes, to say yes to anything
Jackson wanted and give him the whole wide world. But he couldn't. “I don't
want to go back to how things were,” He said softly.
Surprise and hurt flickered across Jackson's face, and he withdrew his hand.
“Oh, okay...”
“Wait, Jackson, I don't mean—” Stiles grabbed Jackson's hand back. “I want to
be with you, Jackson. That's all I want. But not like before. I'm sick of
hiding, Jackson. And I'm sick of lying, and pretending we're just fucking
around when we both know that's not all it is. I want to be able to call you
when I feel shitty and talk about my day, I want to hang out and play video
games and force each other to watch movies and television shows we never would
have watched on our own. I want to be your boyfriend, Jackson, not some guy you
fuck in the Arcade,”
Jackson looked away. “I... I want that too, but... I don't...” He swallowed.
“You were right, when you called me a coward tonight, Stiles,” He turned his
gaze back to him, shame in his eyes. “I am. I'm not ready to... for people to
know about me. That I'm gay, I guess. I don't know why, but I'm just not
ready,”
Stiles gave Jackson's hand a squeeze. “I'm not asking you to come out for me.
I'm not even sure I'm ready to come out. It doesn't make you a coward, Jackson.
Don't think that for a second, okay? I'll keep it a secret, for as long as you
need to. I'm fine with that... I just... I need more than what we're doing
now,”
Jackson nodded. “More sounds good,” He said. “I want it too, all those things
you want. I thought I didn't, I thought.... my whole life, I've been
struggling, trying to be better and do more and to prove myself, prove that I
was worth something. But you make me feel like I don't need to prove anything,
like what I am now... that's enough.” Jackson brushed his thumb along Stiles'
hand. “So... you should probably go brush your teeth now,”
Stiles climbed out of his bed and did so, brushing quickly and furiously. The
moment he was finished, Jackson pulled him towards him and gave him a hard,
aching kiss that made his knees shake. Stiles wrapped his arms over his
shoulders, sighing against Jackson's lips and feeling as if all week long he
had been suffocating, and only now was he able to draw in air.
Between soft presses of their mouths, Jackson murmured Stiles' name, whispering
it over and over as if it were something important and special. Stiles held
Jackson tightly as they kissed, but not as tightly as he once would have. There
was no need to cling to him now, no need to hold on for dear life and grip him
with all his strength, because Stiles knew that neither of them was going
anywhere.
                                      ***
Jackson broke up with Lydia the following day. Feeling that he owed her, he
told her the truth of the situation. That he was gay, and had feelings for
Stiles. He'd only gotten back together with her to hurt him, and he was
incredibly sorry. She deserved better, so much better than he could be for her.
Recounting it later to Stiles, Jackson told him she had not taken it well. She
had screamed and shouted, said terrible but not exactly untrue things, and told
him she never wanted to see him again. Stiles assured him that she would
forgive him one day, but Jackson was doubtful. One could only ask to be
forgiven so many times.
All of their parents took the news of their relationship reasonably well,
although both of their fathers were startled to find that they were dating each
other. This was not surprising, considering the last time they'd seen them
together a restraining order had been involved. Jackson's mother was mostly
just pleased that her son had chosen to share something about his life with
them, and immediately began making plans to have Stiles and his father over for
dinner.
Besides Lydia and their families, the only other people that Jackson came out
to were his pack. They told them together, during training one day. Only Isaac
seemed surprised, as Erica had already known and after the party, Boyd had
figured it out. Derek, obviously, had known that Jackson was gay and his only
surprise was that he'd chosen Stiles to be his partner. He'd said very little
while they were making the announcement, but later Stiles received a text from
him saying that if he hurt Jackson, Derek would rip his throat out with his
teeth. Stiles spent the entire week wondering how the hell Derek had gotten his
phone number.
They began to spend time together at school, although they did not let on that
their relationship was anything romantic. But Jackson was willing to let people
know that Stiles was his friend, and it was a step in the right direction.
Jackson was skeptical about spending so much time with Scott, but Stiles told
him to suck it up and get over it. If he wanted to be with Stiles, he had to
accept that Scott was part of the deal. That's just the way it was.
Over time, Lydia did forgive Jackson, and began to spend time with their group
again. It took a little getting used to, but by the end of the year they were
all hanging out together as if there had never been any drama.
After the final day before winter break, Stiles and Jackson headed back to
Stiles' house to talk over their plans for the break. Up in Stiles' room,
Stiles flopped down on his bed and announced that that was where he was
planning on spending the entirety of the break.
“Alright, fine with me,” Jackson said, turning his backpack over on the floor
and beginning to sort through the mess. “Just make sure there's room for two,”
“There's always room in my bed for you, boo,” Stiles said, grinning.
Jackson rolled his eyes. “I have asked you repeatedly not to call me that,” He
mumbled, separating all of the papers and notebooks into a pile to be thrown
away and a pile to be kept.
“No, you asked me not to call you sugar bear, sweetie pie and baby cakes,”
Stiles said. “'Boo' was not on the list,”
“Well, it's going on the list now,” Removing himself from the pile of papers
surrounding him, Jackson crawled onto Stiles' bed with him, moving slowly over
him. He pressed a light kiss against the tip of Stiles' nose. “Come on, you've
got your own backpack to go through, get up,”
Stiles raised an eyebrow. “First of all, you can not climb on top of me and
then tell me to get up,” he said, wrapping his arms over Jackson's neck and
giving him a small kiss. “Second of all, if you don't like any of the nicknames
I've given you, what am I supposed to call you, huh?”
“I suggest 'Jackson,'” Jackson suggested with a grin.
Stiles pouted. “What about 'honey toes?'”
“What about no,” Jackson nipped lightly at Stiles' lower lip, then pulled away
again, ignoring Stiles' protesting groans. “Things to do, come on,”
Jackson reseated himself among his papers, and Stiles crawled over to the edge
of his bed and lay down on his stomach. “I've been meaning to ask you, what
should I do with that collar I bought?”
Jackson raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I can't return it since we took the tags off, but I figured I could
probably pawn it or sell it on ebay or something, right? I don't know,”
Jackson put the notebook in his hand down and looked at Stiles. “Why do you
need to do anything with it?”
Propping himself on his elbows, Stiles shrugged. “Why bother keeping it? We're
not going to use it again after what happened, are we?”
“I wanted to try it again, yeah,”
Stiles furrowed his brow, feeling a bit like he was missing something. “But
you... I thought you didn't like it? When we used it, you got all panicky and
you used the safety word. Typically I find that when you're enjoying something,
you tend to not use the safety word...”
“I told you, the problem was it was too tight,” Jackson said. “I couldn't
breathe, and it freaked me out. If we loosen it a few notches next time, it'll
be fine,” He picked up the notebook again and began leafing through it.
Stiles pursed his lips, unconvinced. “I don't know, I mean... why take the
chance? If you didn't like it the first time, why try it again? Can't we just
stick to things we know you like?”
“Oh, so you never want to try anything new ever again?”
“I didn't say that, I just—fine, fine, if you want to give the collar another
go, then we'll give it another go, but this time we are making it super loose,”
“Mmm, sounds good,” Jackson mumbled, looking at a page in his notebook. “Look
what I just found,” He turned the notebook to face Stiles. It was a list of
rules, the one Jackson had made up when they'd first begun to have sex.
“You kept it?” Stiles asked, reaching out and taking the notebook from Jackson.
“At first I wanted to have it for reference, and then I forgot about it,”
Jackson confessed.
Stiles smiled, going over the list. “'Rule number one, no one can know,'” He
read. “Whoops, think we may have broken that one a few times,”
Jackson rolled his eyes. “I think we may have broken all of them a few dozen
times,”
“Well, let's see...” Stiles scrolled down the list, reading out the rules.
“'Rule two, no emotions. No feelings, and no attachment,'” He grinned at
Jackson. “Whoops again,” He said. Jackson shook his head, smiling slightly.
“'Rule three, no talking about it—' yeah we screwed that one up like
immediately. 'Rule four, ignore each other at school.' Totally failed. 'Rule
five, keep it in the Arcade,'” Stiles looked up, glancing around his room.
“This does not look like the Arcade,”
“Alright, I get it,” Jackson said, snatching the notebook away from Stiles. “My
rules were stupid and useless,”
“We stuck to the last one pretty well,” Stiles pointed out. “'No hickeys,
Stiles only rule.' You never give me hickeys,”
“So one rule out of six wasn't broken, amazing,” Jackson muttered, tossing the
notebook aside.
“Hey,” Stiles said, sliding off the bed and kneeling beside Jackson. “You made
those rules to establish boundaries, and they were what you needed at the time.
You moved beyond them, is all. We both did, and it doesn't mean they were
stupid or useless.” He kissed Jackson's cheek, and then picked up the notebook.
“Just that we don't need them anymore,”
Stiles placed the notebook in the “throw away” pile, and then took a seat next
to Jackson, sliding his arm around his waist. Jackson turned his head towards
him and their lips met in a soft kiss. Jackson's fingers played with the hem of
Stiles' shirt as they kissed, and Stiles held him close and touched him gently.
When they pulled back, Jackson smiled slightly, mumbling about how he should
probably finish what he started with the papers. He began sorting through them
again, and Stiles leaned back and watched him, listening as Jackson made idle
chit chat about their plans for the break.
Life, Stiles knew, would never be perfect. There would always be problems and
struggles, always a battle to be overcome and a terrible evil to fight. He
accepted that, but he no longer feared it, no longer felt the need to agonize
over the future and worry about what was coming.
Whatever horror came his way, whether it was a demonic creature from hell or
the SATs, Stiles knew that he could face it for one simple reason: he would not
have to do so alone.
And that made all the difference.
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