Before you read I thought I should let you know that Jackson never turned into a werewolf after his little kanima turn. He's just a human. This is just a little taste of the story. I really hope you like it, if so I'll continue, heck, if not I'll still continue anyway. Please review and give me your lovely thoughts.

The image had Stiles standing up, facing the camera. He was in a grey t- shirt so baggy it hung off his left shoulder. He was slightly bent over a granite countertop, on his tippy toes causing his shirt to rise high enough to reveal tight red briefs, that clung to his buttocks and half hard cock, a 'Calvin Klein' logo peeked out in bold white letters. His hair was mussed up giving him a straight from bed look and his lips were curled up into a soft smile. The natural moles that dotted his skin were endearing, adding an extra wave a softness and carefree feeling to the photo.

"Oh no." Stiles groaned, and splayed a hand over his face in embarrassment. "Not this one."

"Well doesn't he look hot?" Kelly exclaimed and the crowd bursted in uproar, screaming their agreement. "This is your most recent shot, right?"

"You guys are too kind." Stiles said, with a bashful smile. He finally took a good look at the photo and turned to Kelly, microphone close to his lips. "Yes, I took this a few days ago in Paris."

"How does it feel to know this photo is currently plastered on billboards and magazines for all to see?" Michael questioned, and Stiles shifted in his seat and gave him a tight smile, and a nervous chuckle. The one he's saved just for interviews. This question isn't new to him. They always ask this one and the answer always the same.

"I've gotten past the whole, I'm half naked phase." Stiles told him. "When you get in front of the camera, a strange confidence floats over you. Trust me, I didn't think I'd make it this far in the business. I never saw myself becoming a model."

"Then who suggested it?" Kelly whispered. "I bet we'd all like to know." Kelly leaned in pretty close and Stiles leaned in even closer. They were so close it looked as if they were exchanging secrets. He has probably told this a billion times, but none the less, in every interview they asked him who got him started.

"Jackson Whittemore."

An image of Jackson and himself appeared on the screen and the crowd awed. Jackson was sitting in the center of a bed, shirtless, glasses on, copy of - of mice and men in hand, he looked all comfy and cozy in a pair of black sweat pants. Stiles was settled in between him, his back to his chest sporting a pair of glasses and sweat pants as well. Paparazzi had caught this one while they were in their hotel room in Paris. How they got it? Stiles will never know.

"Yeah, were cute. I know." Stiles huffed playfully and the crowd laughed mirthfully. "Well he didn't exactly suggest it but it happened all because he invited me to the studio."

"So I heard you'll be working with Jackson, in your next shoot. It's at Beacon Hills California, your home town right?"

"Yeah."

"You don't sound too happy about that." Michael teased, expecting Stiles to smile.

Stiles scratched the back of his neck and looked out into the crowd. "That's because I'm not."

...

Before he took this leap of faith he already pictured himself. He would still be pale and sickly looking from his lack of sun exposure, plus the cloudy London sky would do nothing to help. He'd be telling all his new interesting friends: "I remember I had a best friend back in California, he was werewolf, and so were half of the people I knew. I'm so glad I ran way". He'd laughed at their London jokes and go down to the pub because they did that right? He'd find a nice boy and forget about Derek Hale, and his brooding muscles, thick eyebrows, and adorable teeth. Stiles was a man with a plan. He had so many amazing things to do while in London.

Sitting in the back of an empty coffee shop was not one of those plans.

He went from the man with the plan to the guy who sits alone in deserted coffee shops while the baristas go make out audibly in the bathroom. "Well this sucks." Stiles mumbles to himself as he slowly sips his lukewarm coffee.

He swears there's something floating in it.

"Stilinski?" A deep voice calls out and Stiles is monetarily startled, he jumps up, flailing because no one here in this country was supposed to know his name yet.

His gaze snaps to the door and he's marveled by the person who's standing in it. "Jackson! Fancy seeing you here."

Yup his plans were totally out the window.

Jackson looked different. He looked a whole lot different, in a good way; and he was sprinting Stiles' way. His hair was darker, and a tad bit longer. Long enough to fan across his forehead as an innocent looking fringe. He had semi rimless glasses that were pushed up the bridge of his nose and Stiles saw that there was a silver ring adoring his bottom lip. The fuck? Stiles could hardly prepare himself before Jackson literally threw himself into his arms like a damsel in distress. "I've missed you." He keens, shoving his face in the crook of Stiles' neck.

"Aw I've missed you too buddy." Stiles says, welcoming the embrace for a moment, before double taking and sputtering. "Wait, who are you?" The Jackson he knew was an ass. The one he knew commented on everything he did and acknowledged him only when he needed too. The Jackson Whittemore he knew scowled because everything Stiles did just set his nerves on edge. His smile, his walk, his eating habits, his undying love his Lydia; Jackson didn't do nice with Stiles. So who the hell was this doppelganger?

"Shut the fuck up Stilinski and enjoy the hug." Jackson growls, digging his hands into Stiles' tender flesh threateningly.

"Ha." Stiles snorts. "There's the Jacks I know and love. "

"I see you haven't changed." Jackson says while pulling away. He's smiling and it seems so care free, like this isn't the first time they're talking to each in three years. It strangely feels okay and for the first time ever, Stiles isn't thinking about all the times Jackson had terrorized him in high school. Kanima *cough cough*, the air is comfortable.

"I see you have." Stiles comments back and he can swear that there's a blush on Jackson's cheeks. Nah, it's probably because he just ran, causing an increase of blood flow. Yeah it's totally that.

The conversation starts from there. Surprisingly, they don't talk about Stiles, they talk about Jackson.

Stiles is grateful.

He really didn't want to relive the moment that got him here in London.

"Well I found out I was gay." Jackson sighs, and Stiles chokes on his spit with this one.

"Please tell me you're lying!" Stiles exclaims. He throws his head back and laughs, because this is downright hilarious. "You are lying, right?"

The look on Jackson's face answers his question, and the boy stares at his feet sadly. Stiles tilts his head to the side, viewing the other from a different angle. Stiles was expecting a threat or rebuttal but Jackson actually looked upset. "I'm gay too." Stiles tells him easily. "We can be gay together." He offers, wagging his eyebrows.

Jackson's lips curl at the sides. "Sorry but you aren't my type."

"I kind of have a boyfriend." He admits with a definite blush, reddening his whole face, ears and running down his neck. "His names Noah, I met him at my job."

"That's great! Where do you work?"

"I work anywhere in the world. I'm a model."

...

"How can you be so calm about this Jackson?" Stiles whined from the passenger seat. The engine hummed underneath them and the excessive wind tousled their hair. Jackson shrugged, fingers tapping the steering wheel.

"Just stop being a little bitch Stilinski." Jackson replied and Stiles is appalled. "If you would have just faced the music a long time ago this wouldn't be a problem."

"Dude! This is my fucking car that you're driving."

"And these are my fucking ears that you are talking off."

"Ugh, how am I friends with you?" Stiles let his head fall back onto the fancy leather upholstery. "You're such an asshole." Not to mention you use to be a lizard. Stiles wasn't the one to fuck with lizards.

"Yes but I'm your asshole."

"Don't repeat that." Stiles said, turning to look out the scenery. The trees blurred by as Jackson hits the gas. It felt like they were floating, as they weaved through the cars, receiving more than enough honks. Stiles was pretty sure that they weren't exactly exempt from a speeding ticket.

Stiles heaved a sigh. "I just don't want to face them, just not now."

Jackson doesn't look at him. "It's been 5 years."

Stiles winced because that sounded really bad. Five years of no contact. He completely detached himself from their world. "It's not like anyone missed me."

"Don't even go there, Stiles. That's bullshit and you know it."

"What do you mean that's bullshit?" Stiles asked, practically jumping in his seat. "They are the ones who drove me away."

The wounds were all too fresh to him still. He'd managed to avoid everything Beacon Hills since he was nineteen, he never intended on coming back. He could face the wrath of his father, getting a shot gun pointed at his chest was nothing, right? He could face the fangs of and claws of the pack. He just couldn't face him.

"I know he hurt you." Jackson sighed, frowning at his hands for a moment before looking at him. "But you can't just avoid him your whole life." Stiles rolled his eyes because as quick as a flash Jackson has already switched the conversation from many to only one. "Stiles, you left because of him, not because of everyone else.

...

"You don't mean that."

The words were empty and hollow, yet filled with all the emotion possible. Stiles flinches, bottom lip curling under his teeth. He waits for the recoil, the apology telling him the information he craves to hear but it never comes. He only hears the deafening roar of thunder. Something boils down deep inside his stomach, and he shudders, nostrils flaring, tears rimming his eyes.

"You don't fucking mean that, Derek." He repeats and he gets a leveled stare, eyes burning red. No emotion. Stiles starts breathing hard, yanking at his shirt collar, like the air he needed to breathe was trapped beneath. Just no. "You can't," Stiles starts, exhaling thickly. "I just-,"

Derek couldn't do this could he?

No.

No.

No.

No.

Stiles yanks at his hair furiously, looking desperately at the night. He clenches his eyes shut, collapses to his knees and yells at the sky with all energy and all the breath in his lungs. The sky responds with a crack of white lightning, and had given him the answer unheard. The sickening truth. 'Yes he could, he's the Alpha.'

Stiles drops his head, smashing his forehead against his soft undergrowth of the forest with a muffled thunk; fluids already leaking freely from two areas of his face. But as if on cue, the gods decide to drench the land in angel tears, soaking the territory.

Even as this happens hot, salty tears flood down his cheeks and drip off his chin mixing with the rain, clogged breaths already suffocating him. All that comes from his mouth are deep, gut-wrenching sobs that tore through his chest and convulsed his body.

"Family," is the word he chokes out, because that's what the pack was to him. But all that was being ripped away from him with no mercy. No. This couldn't be happening. Stiles lifts and turns his head to face Derek again hoping to receive an actual answer instead of another steady glare.

But Derek is gone.

Stiles struggles to his feet. His sight spins as his frantic heart beat pounds in his ears. He finally gets to his feet shakily, blindly heading in the direction that he thought Derek fled.

The rain was coming down hard. Cold. Large. Droplets. "Derek why?" He cries out. "I've risked my life for everyone here." He stumbles forwards, clutching a tree to keep him up.

"Derek." He rasps. "You can't kick me out."

He raises his hands over his eyes to act like a visor blocking his face from the assault of the rain. He squints in the darkest view, seeing trees and woods. No person. No one at all. "The pack is all I have. They're my family." He starts to choke on his pain. It's thick in the air, in his lungs, surrounding his body like a heavy dense fog strangling him. "Derek!"

No one is out there. No one hears his plea.

He runs.

..

His breathing was getting shallow and thin, memories flooding back to him at full blast. Jackson was now glancing at him constantly, eyes flicking to the road and then back. "Stiles what's wrong?"

Were the walls supposed to be this close? They were getting closer he fucking swore it. It was now a matter of getting air into his lungs and getting it out. He couldn't freaking breathe. He was feeling dizzy as his heartbeat pounding in his ears. "Pull over."

"Were an hour away from Beacon-," Ha more like 30 minutes in this car.

"I said pull the fuck over!"

Jackson illegally cut across two lanes of traffic and Stiles found himself fumbling out of the car, barely getting to knees before violently dry heaving. It's an awful feeling but it continues for a minute or two.

He slumped and his shoulders sagged. "Jackson I can't do this." Stiles muttered and there was a warm hand rubbing his back.

"All we have to do is get through this photo-shoot and then disappear again." Jackson insisted, carding a hand through his hair. "It's going to be alright. Come on now. You've partied with Rita and Cara. You've flirted with Jennifer Lawrence. You can handle this."

"I hope you're right."

Jackson scoffed, smirking down at him. "Didn't you know I'm always right?"

"Ass." Stiles huffed, letting Jackson help him to his feet. They slowly walked back to car and this time Stiles walked over to the driver's side. "You had your fun."

"Whatever Stilinski." Jackson cranked up the volume on the radio when they hopped in. "If we're going back to that shit hole, we do it in style."

The car would attract a lot of attention in the small town, they better make the best of it.

Stiles floored it and his body lurched forward in gravity defying power. He loved 0 to sixty in 2.5. As they got farther away from civilization, he tested the limits. He felt like Bruce Wayne in this thing! This car was truly something out of a dream. If he went any faster they'd probably end up in space. He deemed this car the 'Space Ship,' code name cosmic. Judge him if you will, be if you could just see the exterior! It was breath taking.

Nothing topped ole fateful though.

He had left his Jeep when he took off. He thought about her every day. As much as he loved horsepower, his jeep had been through thick and thin with him. She's seen him happy, sad, angry and hyper. She's seen his true colors. They had their ups and downs but at the end of the day he loved her. Their reunion was bound to be something special.

To make it easier on Stiles, he and Jackson were staying at Jackson's old house for the week they were in Beacon Hills. Jackson's parents were on vacation, courtesy of Jackson himself. That lifted some weight off his shoulders, he can admit. He didn't really know the deal with his father's house. Before he left the sheriff and Melissa were getting pretty close. Sooooo, maybe they moved in together or maybe one of the members of the pack occupied his room. He didn't know and anything was possible.

Staying at Jackson's was cheaper than a hotel. Not that they needed to worry about something as simple as money. Whatever they needed, they had it covered. But ever since the events of Motel California Stiles didn't like any type of motel or hotel in Beacon Hills, Jacuzzi or no Jacuzzi. They freaked him out.

"Tell me about the time you went to that club." Jackson suddenly demanded. He angled his body towards Stiles and let his hand hang out the car. "You never told me the story."

Stiles chuckled. "I totally invited you to come with me, but you politely declined." Jackson was only doing this to take his mind off of everything else. Yes Jackson did have a heart and Stiles was finally had a place in it.

"Just tell me what happened."

"I'll tell you what I remember."

...

He couldn't tell the difference between his skin and the leather pants that were desperately pinching his thighs. He thanked Jesus that the shirt he was wearing wasn't leather as well. He was grateful for his decision to slip on a cotton neon V-neck. He could feel his palms moisten with anticipation, this club was supposed to be one of the greatest experiences of your life. He's been in a club once in his life, a gay one at that... and it was only because he and Scott were on kanima duty. He didn't get to drink vodka. He didn't get to dance. He got a diet coke from the bartender and stood around as people got paralyzed. That wasn't very fun. He didn't even get to use his fake I.D. He snuck in through the back.

Satisfaction

A Place Where Your Needs Are Never Forgotten

This place was foreign. It was the place to be. It was made for sinners. There was even a god damn dress code. If you weren't deemed hot enough, you got kicked off the line. Stiles really didn't want to get kicked off of a line he spent hours waiting on. He was pretty sure his outfit was Lydia Martin approved. She had bought him these pants as a joke in the beginning of senior year; she didn't think he'd ever wear them.

No one ever thought he had a back bone.

She always hated his sense of style but oh if she could see him now.

Danny had bought him the shirt, complaining that he was quote on quote: hurting his eyes.

Hence the shirt being a birthday present.

Stiles bit his lip as he sees two gigantic men walking down the single file line. They were picking people off like no tomorrow, giving some eager club goers' one simple glance before jutting a wide thumb over their shoulders. Stiles witnesses about eight girls bursting into tears and he's literally dying. He didn't stand a chance.

The two scary men stop to address him. They smile and Stiles flushes all types of red. "You go up to the front." The one with a buzz cut practically purrs and Stiles looks up at him, stunned.

Was he serious?

The other one takes his wrist and there's a quick but faint burning sensation. He's been given the mark and he's frozen. He's idiotically and dumfoundly frozen. "I don't have to pay?" The fee was a whopping 100 bucks per person. Everyone had to pay accept if you worked here of course.

"Just come with us." Mister buzz cut just answers and the silent one grabs his arm to drag him to the front of the line. Stiles knows that all eyes are on him. There are a few protesters but the silent one glares and no one dares to utter another word.

At the front another big male aka, tall, blonde and gorgeous asks for I.D. "Hm, about that," Stiles sputters, gesturing to his pocket less hip section. He only brought the money.

Oh and did he mention he was only nineteen?

He knew he looked young but some of the boys getting into this place look even younger than him. Tonight was all on a whim, he was taking chances while he was in London. No regrets. 'Take a chance.' Scott once told him. Which at the time offended him greatly because he took a chance every time he stepped out his bedroom sophomore year. He was never not taking a chance. The term live a little didn't apply to him since he was trying to live a lot.

He didn't wait in line for three hours for nothing. If they questioned him he'd say he had good genes. When in doubt, lie it out.

"It's okay, I figured you were underage." Blondie, smirks, eyes alight with amusement. The latch on the door is pulled and the heavy steel inches open, tantalizingly. Colored lights and music seeped through and Stiles' jaw drops. "Have fun."

Stiles takes his first steps into the club and he's hit with a wave of different smells. There were so many bodies, dressed in less then what they've entered in; grinding under various lights. The bass has him vibrating, feet tingling, ears ringing.

"Hey stranger!" A woman in nothing but a G-string holding a tray of shots yells at him. "To take the edge off?" He takes one gladly, trying not to stare directly at her chest. He fails and she doesn't seem to mind.

"Thanks." He croaks and knocks it back.

"What's your name, stranger?" She inquires, leering at him with hunger in her eyes.

"Stiles, Stiles Stilinski."

He sees the world in front of him tilt and he knows this will be the best day of his life.

Someone's hand is grabbing his dick and someone else's dick is trying to make its way to his ass through his pants. Stiles wasn't drunk, but he felt drunk. The sway of his body made him pleasurably dizzy. He welcomed anyone and everyone. He embraced as yet another person pulled him close and fondled him so sneakily. He felt hypnotized.

It was so hot. His hair feels damp and probably greasy but someone still laces a hand through it. The hand yanks his head back, exposing his neck and Stiles feels two pairs of lips latch onto the sweaty skin.

As the beat of the music increases, so does the velocity of their sucking.

His pulse is racing, adrenaline pumping. He feels so electrified. His body is rolling into two people, they're bodies sandwich him in and he feels like he's suffocating. Bare breasts are pressed against his chest and his back is against a hot, solid wall of muscle. Faster and faster they move in synchronization with the song losing all control.

Water drops falls from the ceiling like diamonds and they glisten and glitter. They leave scorching cold trails of sparkles as they hit his skin and implode on everyone around him. He welcomes the rain like holy water, cleansing him of his filth. The music is still going and now they're jumping with the beat.

He moans as he gets soaked to the core and a pair of lips capture his own. A tongue slips into his willing mouth and there's teeth nipping harshly at his bottom lip. This must be a different person because, he definitely still feels two pairs of lips on his neck.

There's hands all over him.

They want him.

They can have him.

...

"So you aren't an ass virgin anymore?"

Stiles coughed, nearly swerving off the road. "What guy do you take me for? I'm too classy for that."

"I never said you weren't classy. I was just wondering if anyone ever popped your cherry. I don't want you to end up a forty year old virgin." Jackson's face crunched into a grimace and the thought of that actually happening makes him shudder.

Stiles shifted gears, keeping his hand on the clutch as his drifted to cut a curve. "I'm not going to be 40 year old virgin. " Stiles batted his eyes. "I have you."

"I'm not touching someone who lets people fondle them in a club." Jackson sniffed.

"Plus I don't think Noah would like that." Noah wasn't exactly controlling, he was just possessive and borderline obsessed. Stiles would tell him to ease off if he could actually look Noah in the eye. The man towered over both of them, with huge intimidating muscles and tan skin. He was Russian, had battle scars, and the scary as hell accent. He was a fitness model. He was tagging along just to keep an eye on Jackson. Noah decided to catch a plane, he'd catch up soon enough.

"But it was just in the heat of the moment." Stiles protested. But before Jackson could reply, he flipped the conversation. "I'm surprised Noah didn't take the jet with us."

"He has his reasons but he's coming and he's driving my car from the airport." Jackson sounded really proud saying that. "Which is way better than yours."

"In your dreams White—," Stiles' reply dyed on his lips as they sped passed the now entering Beacon Hills sign.

It just shouldn't be this easy. He's expecting ambushes and wolves flying out of trees to attack. He's got the Godzilla theme music playing in his head. If he died today he wanted to die in this car.

As if Jackson heard his thoughts he says. "You're being dramatic."

"Am I really Mr. Whittemore," Stiles sassed, cutting his eyes at the older boy as they reached a red light. To get to Jackson's old place they've got to pass his house. They probably already caught his scent, they were probably already waiting for him. "Because last time I checked everyone accepted the fact that you left."

Jackson opened his mouth.

"Don't talk!" Stiles snapped, looking away from him. He's annoyed because one, Jackson was an ass before he left, two, he's still an ass and three, the fact that they're coming back together as best friends doesn't mean shit.

"Just because you're nervous don't take your shit out on me." Jackson sounded annoyed that Stiles is taking the attitude route. But eh, he was upset.

Stiles speeded the straightaway and shrugged. "I just don't want to see any of them, at least for the next four hours. Let us get settled."

"It's a small town," Jackson was probably glaring at him but Stiles couldn't tell since Jackson's stupid eyes were blocked by a pair of sunglasses he bought. "I'm surprised I don't see Erica trailing behind us right now."

"You see! Just shut up. You aren't helping."

...

Stiles flew from the car in record time. He didn't care that Jackson was staring at him in a judgmental manner. He was up those stairs and in that house in ten seconds tops. They'd catch his scent then it'd be all over.

"I hope you don't expect me to drag your crap in." Jackson said, carrying his own mini bag through the front door.

"Please." Stiles whined, and it's muffled because he's got his face buried in the couch he collapsed in. "I don't want to go back out side."

"Get your own crap." His quote on quote crap weighed two pounds. It wasn't that serious. Jackson was just being really mean.

Stiles flailed his limps in frustration. "Why?"

The sound of a crisp engine cuts through the air and Stiles groans. There's no way in hell Jackson was getting his things now that Noah's just arrived. Stiles isn't moving from this position. Maybe he could get Noah to get them for him.

"Vere is the odd one," Noah's voice boomed and Stiles groaned again. If you couldn't already tell, Stiles was the odd one. He rolled over on his back to look at the ceiling just as Noah decides to sashay through the door.

"Stiles, privet." Noah greeted and Stiles nods in his direction because he really didn't want to move is arms

"Stiles you should call Elizabeth."

Elizabeth was his agent or handy person or whatever you called them. She handled everything. She was in charge of him. She owned him, literally. After Stiles signed a few documents, he was hers. She was a firecracker, you mess with her, change your name and leave the planet. She was not the one to play with and she gave Stiles specific rules to call her as soon as his jet landed in Cali. He did no such thing. He was screwed.

"Holy shit." He exploded from his position and pulled his cell from his back pocket. He dialed the memorized number and pressed the device against his ear. He should probably get her on speed dial. It'd really make things easier.

She picks up after the second ring.

"Elizabeth Newman speaking." Her bright raspy voice rang in his ears loudly and it chilled his heart. Exaggerated words, yes he knows. But she's the devil he kids you not.

"I'm so sorry," Stiles whispered. "I'm sorry, I totally forgot to call you when the jet landed." She'd have his ass the next time she saw him. She didn't take these kinds of things lightly.

"Stiles," she sounded surprised. "I thought you weren't going to call at all." Immediately she turned on her clipped tones, frigid and cool. One of the many reasons why Stiles thought her true form was the ice queen from Narnia. "Was the flight okay?"

"It was great. The jet is always great." He replied anxiously, she could probably smell his sweat over the god damn phone. He coughed nervously and pulled at his collar. "So when is the crew going to get here?"

"Today, 5 pm." The crew included the designers, other models, photographers and make-up artists etc. They were truly the bread and butter of the whole photo shoot. Stiles was just the open and willing canvas.

"Stiles are you listening?" Um. Nope.

She sounded so calm all the time. She hardly ever yelled. Respect comes from fear she had told him once. "Already Stiles, we're going to play the yes or no game okay?"

Aw. Stiles hated this game. He was always unprepared.

"Is Jackson okay?"

"Yes." Why wouldn't he be?

"Is Noah there now?"

"Yes." Unfortunately.

"Did you sleep since you got off the jet?"

"No." How could he? He wasn't letting Jackson drive as he slept! Plus he couldn't sleep because of nerves.

"Get some rest." Her tone is serious, so Stiles nods even though she can't see him. Or can she? "I'll see you tomorrow Stiles." Wait she's coming too? Oh no. And before Stiles can ask the line goes silent.

"Great." Stiles huffed as he tossed his phone over his shoulder. "That's another thing to deal with."

Jackson and Noah had disappeared upstairs and Stiles didn't want to think about the unthinkable things that are being done to poor ole Jackson. Call Jackson a pitcher but he definitely was the catcher.

He jogged up the stairs, and hooked a right, hoping he ended up in Jackson's old room. He's actually never been in Jackson's house before, it's all new to him. He does miraculously end up in Jackson's room after passing a couple of hallways, there was a some trophies on the shelves and Stiles knew they weren't from some other boy.

He doesn't have any jammies to change into since everything accept his carry-on bag was currently on the way. He stripped down to his under wear and curled himself up in Jackson's sheets, inhaling the faint smell of tide laundry detergent.

He lay there awake, eyes wide open.

His pillow was in the car. He couldn't sleep without his pillow.

...

"Dude we're on the cover of Japanese Vogue!"

"Yup." Jackson replied as if it was normal. Nothing can ever be normal when you're flipping through a magazine that had your face on it. "Amazing."

"Dude!" Stiles squawked ripping the magazine away from the boy to slam it on the coffee table. "Look at us!"

It was just their simple head shots. It was artistically done in dramatic black and white. They were looking up at the camera with neutral faces, it made them look angry but somehow so calm. There was an unknown fire behind their eyes, it made the looker wonder, 'what gave them that spark'.

Not to brag but they looked fantastic.

"We're gorgeous."

"We're not even Japanese." Stiles is just astonished that they went with their picture. There was probably million and trillion of different models they could've chosen for this privilege. But it was them! Two boys from Beacon Hills California!

"Speak for yourself." Jackson scoffed, face dead serious. "I could be, but you'd never know now would you?"

"Oh please."

"Hashi kara tobioriru iku (1)." Jackson said in perfect Japanese.

Stiles blinked owlishly. "The hell did you just call me?"

"You're an idiot." Jackson declared shaking his head.

"So you called me an idiot?"

..

"Dude your eyes are open." A voice told him and he grunted, rolling onto his back

"No, shit." Jackson was standing over him holding his pillow to his chest. "You and Noah done already?"

That got the pillow to his face. "We weren't doing anything. We were talking." Jackson snorted giving him a smirk. "You're welcome for the pillow. I brought your things in as well."

Stiles eyed him in suspicion. "You or Noah."

"Noah."

Stiles flopped the pillow under his head and he was dizzy with a sense of relief. "Tell him thank you."

Jackson went to the other side of the bed to slip under the sheets. Stiles felt two arms encircle him and he let out a tired giggle. "I don't wanna be your sloppy seconds."

"Shut up." Jackson sighed and Stiles felt exhaustion pull at his mind. Maybe now he could get some well-deserved sleep.

Long story short, he doesn't.

...

I hoped you liked it. I put Stiles and Jackson as modelling bros, hope you don't mind. Review your thoughts. If you have any ideas you want to throw at me or if you just wanna say hi. There's a link in my bio to my newly made tumblr.