Stiles sat on the bench. Again. This is my life, he thought. Sitting on a bench. He watched as Scott ran exercises up and down the field with the rest of the first line. No matter that Stiles had saved the team's collective asses more than once, he was still on the bench all the time. Stupid Finstock.

After two seasons without Jackson, the team fell into line behind Scott—no camps to divide between the co-captains, no fights between the two. Honestly, it was better this way, Stiles thought. Not to mention quieter without the constant fighting. Though he had missed seeing Jackson. It was just weird without him. The once co-captain of the lacrosse team, was now the captain of the swim team. No "co" about it.

Finstock blew his whistle loud three times to signal in the end of practice and a huddle around the bench. Stiles was a little cold after sitting for the past hour. Not for the first time, he though about leaving the team, but he couldn't just leave Scott to be alone. Someone had to cheer from the bench.

"Listen up, ladies." Finstock glared at Greenberg. "Get cleaned up and tomorrow, have your asses in gear. I'm tired of watching you women on the field. Except you McCall. You're a goddamn matron. Quicker! My dead grandma moves faster than you."

Stiles rolled his eyes. At least this was better than taking P.E. for four years. Probably got less exercise this way, though. He shuffled after the team back to the locker room.

"Stupid Finstock," Scott said, brushing shoulders with Stiles. At least Scott still talked to him though he'd grown more distant this semester. "I'm holding back not to hurt anyone."

"I know buddy. I know."

"Stiles! He's such a jerk!"

"Preaching to the choir. So," Stiles said. "Hang out this weekend? It's been like forever, buddy."

Scott hung his head.

"You haven't give me that look since Allison moved away last summer."

"I'm supposed to go hang out with Isaac." Scott whined, "I promised him the other day I would. He's tired of only hanging with Boyd and Derek all the time. So, I said we could play video games."

"It's okay. No worries. Though I do expect some bro time. At some point. You know, since we are bros."

"Stiles! Don't make me feel bad."

Stiles laughed, pushing open the door of the locker room. "I'm your bro. I'm supposed to make you feel bad about not hanging out with me. All the time."

"I know. Soon okay?"

Scott broke off to go to his locker—of course no longer next to his—and talk more with Isaac. They were practically inseparable these days, though Scott refused to admit it. Stiles had been relegated to the back, as usual. Stiles slowly stripped of his gear, annoyed he had to wear it all and never really go to use it more than once a week. Good thing he hadn't grown too much over the last two years. Still fit into his equipment and didn't have to waste money on new stuff.

Half the team was showered and gone, the other half leaving as Stile got into the showers. He was alone in the locker room, normal for him. He had it timed just right. Not that he was super embarrassed, but he didn't like the guys looking at him like he was just some sort of … nothing.

He turned on the water, hot, and let it wash away the cold sweat from early on the in practice. He lathered up, his fingers lingering on a shallow scar running down his hip from a rogue claw strike from the Great Alpha Pack Madness.

That had been so much fun. Risking his life for his friends—now to have them ignore him now that almost all the danger had passed. Without crazy hunters, without wild omegas or half-mad alpha packs, his friends didn't need him. Well, perhaps "friends" was a strong word, maybe reluctant allies.

He tried to cleanse the bitter away with the scalding water. Wash away the taste of Scott's new-found family and their subsequent pushing a certain Stiles out of their lives. Turning off the water, he dried up. Footsteps echoed in the small locker room.

"Stilinski," Jackson said. God, if it was possible, two years only made Jackson look better, more filled out. Being a werewolf—not a kanima—totally helped his jerk personality too. That and his explosive breakup with Lydia and his subsequent journey of "self-discovery."

"Hey Jackson," Stiles said. "Swim done?"

Jackson nodded, heading to the showers. Stiles slowly packed his bag: he had to do laundry later tonight while doing homework. He sighed, pulling on fresh clothes. The shower squeaked on, rushing water for a few minutes, and then the water turned off.

"Stiles."

He turned around. Jackson was leaning on the concrete, still dripping from the shower.

"Yeah?"

"Heard you and McCall talking. You guys break up or something?"

Stiles closed down a little bit. "Don't wanna talk about it." He shoved his phone into his pocket. Maybe his opinion of Jackson's reform would have to change.

"So, you wanna hang out this weekend?" Jackson said, moving a little closer.

"What?" Stiles said, half stuffing a ratty shirt into his gym bag.

"You aren't doing anything are you."

Jackson looked … friendly. Which … he had been more cordial this past year and a half, but Stiles hadn't seen much of Jackson since he'd left the lacrosse team.

"No. I mean, what do you have in mind?"

"You ever shoot pool?" Jackson said.

"Maybe. Like once or twice when I was a kid." Stiles shouldered his bag. "I mean. We can. Don't you have like pack stuff to do?"

Jackson scoffed. "I'm not part of their little circle. Danny is my pack and so is the swim team. McCall's got the lacrosse team, and Hale has the misfits."

"Right. You still have my number?"

Jackson nodded. "How about tomorrow night, seven o'clock."

"Yeah. Okay. Should work." Stiles offered a tentative smile, and Jackson beamed.

"See you then, Stiles." Jackson patted him on the shoulder as he walked past.

Stiles shrugged, unsure of what had just happened. He tried not to think about it too much on the drive home. Or while he was doing homework. Or when he was folding his clothes. Or when he was trying to fall asleep that night.

Jackson adjusted his button down in the mirror, then ran his fingers gently through his hair one last time. He looked good.

"You won't fuck this up, Jackson. " He gave the mirror a winsome smile, then bit seductively. He grabbed his leather jacket and headed out.

He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Stiles. No way was Jackson going to show up in a run-down Jeep, or allow Stiles to show up in a run-down Jeep. And it wasn't like this would be the first time Stiles was in his car.

The drive over to the sheriff's was short. Stiles was waiting outside, in a plaid shirt—untucked—with a gray undershirt showing. He looked good, his hair grown out made him look so much better. He could run his fingers through that hair all day and night.

Jackson rolled down the passenger window. "Get in loser, we're going shopping."

Stiles laughed, more of a bark, but it was something. He plopped down on the leather seat and gave Jackson a quick smile.

"So, I figured," Stiles began as Jackson shifted the car into gear. "That if we are going to a pool hall, that we should have some pool hall beverages. You know. I even got some special stuff for you. Scott never hangs out, so … I figured why not. You know?"

Jackson shrugged. "Sounds good to me. Drinking and pool have gone together for years. It's in all the movies."

"Exactly! That's what I was thinking. So where is this place anyway?" Stiles fidgeted with his hands. Jackson liked listening to the crazy heartbeat next to him.

"It's at the edge of town. It's not seedy." Jackson grinned. "And they know me pretty well, so they won't be paying too much attention to us."

Stiles nodded. "Danny gonna be there?"

Jackson shook his head. "He's going out tonight. I didn't want to go to Jungle, so I didn't."

Stiles pursed his lips. "Fair enough."

Soon enough, a break in the trees revealed a old lodge-type building. Sam's Pool Hall blinked in red neon lights. Jackson pulled in, parking in his usual spot and killed the engine. He got out, grabbing his cue stick, and pulled on his clothes. Taking a deep breath, he walked inside. Stiles was right behind him.

Jackson pulled out a fifty from his pocket, handing it to the man at the door. That would get them a good three hours of play time. Not that he thought he needed more than an hour to get what he wanted, but hey, spare time never hurt for plans.

Seeing that his normal table was free, he made a bee-line for it. The table was in the back corner, just behind the bar, and almost out of sight of the rest of hall. It was secluded enough where he didn't feel stared at, and open enough that he could catch sight of everything happening around the hall.

"Do you want to pick your cue?" Jackson asked.

Stiles shook his head. "I have no idea. Whatever works?"

Jackson smiled. "I'll get one for you, then." He didn't mind. It was different than it had been with Lydia—always she was the damsel in distress (and totally faked). Stiles actually had no clue what he was doing. It didn't matter. The point was to get him alone, in a friendly way.

Jackson plucked a nearby cue off the wall, examined and replaced it. He did this several times, trying to find one of the better ones for Stiles. He knew how much it sucked playing with a bad cue. Though he was going to win anyway, why not have Stiles learn correctly?

"Here," Jackson said, handing the stick to Stiles. "Test it out."

Stiles shrugged. He looked uncomfortable.

"No need to be stressed. Relax, man."

Stiles offered him a small smile, and shook out his limbs. Jackson set up the table, placing the balls exactly how the should be set up, hefting and weighing each as he placed it in the triangle. He rolled them back and forth and settled them in alignment with the marks on the edge of the green. He grinned at Stiles across the table.

"I'll let you break," Jackson said. "If you want."

"Uh. You sure? I'm not really good at this whole pool thing. Don't know what I'm doing."

"You'll be fine." Jackson put his cue together, rolling it between his forefinger and thumb. Still straight as an arrow. He pulled out chalk and caressed the tip with it. "Trust me."

Stiles was watching his fingers, watching his every movement. Good. Stiles was interested enough it seemed. Though he couldn't smell arousal, he could pay attention to the way Stiles watched his fingers. He was everyone's type after all.

"Okay." Stiles picked up the cue ball. "Just put it anywhere?"

"Here." Jackson pointed to the small target on the green, then placed his hand over Stiles' and leading it to the right spot. "And then … hit."

Stiles shrugged a few times, like he was psyching himself up. Jackson watched the intense animation, letting hunger seeping into his cool façade. Stiles had become hot somewhere between sophomore and junior year, and now that they were going to graduate soon, Jackson wanted to at least have a taste, if not more. No, he definitely wanted more. He'd been single far too long—no girl ever stuck for more than a week, until he gave up entirely on them. Lydia had been special, but the explosive break-up they had just … he couldn't return to her just as much as she couldn't return to him.

Stiles practiced a few times, letting the stick glide between the meaty area of his hand. His form wasn't bad, but it wasn't that great. Probably due to all the movies he's seen over the years.

"Let me help?" Jackson said.

Stiles nodded. Jackson stood right behind Stiles, speaking clearly. He positioned the cue and told Stiles to aim for the center of the ball when breaking, striking it to hit the triangle with enough force to scatter the balls.

Stiles lined his cue with the ball, and struck. A crack split the air as the neat triangle spilled out, haphazard around the green. No balls fell into any pockets.

Jackson patted Stiles on the back once. "Not bad. Clean break."

He lowered his stick, bending over letting his shirt hitch up to reveal just enough pale skin right next to Stiles. He knew how he looked, and he knew what he wanted. Peering over the cue, Jackson took aim at the 12 near the side pocket, and thump, it fell in. He rose slowly.

"So not fair." Stiles whined. "You're gonna kick my ass. Why did I agree to hang out?"

"Because you have nothing better to do?" Jackson smiled. He told the truth, even if it hurt. "Besides, you have the remedy in your pocket."

Stiles muttered something Jackson didn't care to listen to. Instead he focused on the game, landing in the 9, 14, and 11. Jackson deliberately set Stiles up for an easy shot—without it looking forced. After all, if he couldn't keep Stiles playing more than a few games … it would be an exercise in futility. Stiles landed in two: the 1 and 7, before missing on the 5. Jackson knocked another two leaving him just the 15 and the 8 left. Stiles missed his shot, and Jackson hit in the last stripe and knocked the 8 around the table, but didn't make it in. Stiles concentrated and hit in two more before he scratched. Jackson called the end right, and made the 8.

"Time for a little liquid refreshment before the next game?" Jackson asked.

"Yeah. I guess so. They won't care?"

Jackson shrugged. "You're with me. They don't give a shit as to what I do. I pay them a lot. They ignore what I do as long as I don't make an ass of myself."

Stiles snorted, but pulled out two flasks from somewhere. Sometimes, he was like Mary Poppins with all the crap he carried around. The one with the wolf's head, he gave to Jackson.

They clinked flasks and he took a swing. His must have had vodka and wolfsbane: it tasted like shit, but for the third time since he'd been turned, he could feel the alcohol and it felt damn good.

They played another game, followed by another, Stiles beginning to win a few when Jackson scratched on the 8 ball, but he did win outright once. After each game, they took a small swig and after the seventh game, Jackson was feeling a bit drunk. Stiles was laughing and had loosened up, and did he ever look so good? Jackson couldn't control himself after the latest drink.

"What's so funny?" Jackson said.

"Nothing. I just … didn't think you were fun, but you are. So much more so than Scott. All he does is whine about how Allison left or how wonderful it is to hang out with Isaac."

"Lahey is a mess." Jackson tugged his shirt down.

"Agreed." And Stiles was laughing again.

Jackson smiled and took a look around. No one in the hall was paying them the slightest attention. All the patrons knew Jackson, knew his father, and knew he liked to be left alone. Occasionally, as grace, he'd pay for people's games. It was only polite after all.

With no one watching, Jackson smirked at Stiles, cupped his shoulder for a longer moment the necessary and said, "I'm going to pick out a song on the jukebox."

Stiles nodded, fiddling with his cue, unsure. Jackson put on "I Love Rock and Roll" and strolled back to his table. Stiles had set up another game, but Jackson left his cue leaning against the wall. He held out his hand as Joan Jett sang "and dance with me," Jackson mouthing the words. Stiles looked a bit confused, but he smelled nearly as gone as Jackson felt.

"Okay," Stiles said.

Jackson grabbed Stiles' waist and began dancing in a sensual way. Stiles grabbed a hold of his shoulders, and held on, seemingly as eager. It felt good to have the contact, to be grinding to the music, though no one else danced.

Jackson didn't pull Stiles in closer, didn't cling, but simply made sure that Stiles knew Jackson was interested in a least the dancing. Too soon, the song ended. Jackson, out of habit, checked the time.

"Table time is up."

"What? How long have we been here?" Stiles still hadn't let go of Jackson.

"About three hours." Jackson, starting to feel more clear headed, packed up his cue stick and slung it over his shoulder, Stiles still attached. "Doesn't mean I have to take you home yet. It's barely after ten."

Stiles smiled, almost wicked. "Ooh, tell me more," was whispered in his ear.

Jackson laughed and pulled Stiles back through the hall and out into the fresh air. He threw his cue into his car's trunk, but didn't get in.

"Come on." Jackson beckoned Stiles, moving toward the side of the building. The other boy followed, and as soon as he stepped out of the harsh yellow-sulphur glow of the light, he pulled Stiles in.

"Jackson," Stiles breathed.

Jackson's hands were firm around Stiles' ass. "Yeah?"

"I had no idea."

Jackson laughed. "You still have no idea." He tugged Stiles in more. He liked the crushing feeling. Stiles soon got the hint and pressed him hard against the wall. Jackson, in full control of his shifts, clawed blunt nails across Stiles' back, mouthing at his ear.

Stiles moved his head back. Jackson looked into those brown eyes and grinned. He reached up and pulled Stiles in for a kiss, his hand full of thick brown hair. Stiles tasted liked cheap vodka and pizza, and arousal. It had been such a long time, but Jackson mimicked the way Stiles kissed, adding his own variations to the theme. He flicked his tongue into Stiles' mouth and sucked until he tasted Stiles' tongue, felt the firm muscle in his mouth.

All the while, Stiles maneuvered minutely against him, still crushing him against the wood of the hall. Through the thick press of jeans, Jackson still managed to feel his partner's erection, and knew he would have that effect on the poor attention starved Stiles. Good thing no one else paid Stiles attention.

Jackson broke the kiss to nibble on Stiles' earlobe, catching it between his teeth and gently scraped down. Stiles shuddered in his arms and Jackson smiled. It was so easy to turn someone else on—something he thoroughly enjoyed doing.

"Want to take this somewhere else?" he whispered. "Dance club, my place, your place."

"Here." Stiles mumbled, trying to grab more of Jackson. Here was just fine with him. Jackson flipped them so that Stiles was against the wall.

"Yeah?" he said.

"Yeah." Stiles looked more drunk, and smelled like sex and booze.

Jackson shoved himself against Stiles, shifting his hips to drag his own hard dick into Stiles'. All the while he kissed Stiles violently, and sighed into the open mouth as Stiles raked nails across his back. So he had listened. It felt so good.

Grinding a few more times, Jackson slowly backed off, not cutting the touch completely, but began to undo his zipper. Catching on, Stiles fingers deftly pushed Jackson's out of the way and slowly unzipped. Pushing him back, Stiles sank to his knees. In moments, a hot wet mouth covered him, and he hissed out the last of his air at the pleasure.

It took Jackson by surprise at how firm and yet malleable Stiles lips were, how skilled and how much different it was than all the other people that had blown him. The flitters and the strength. He grabbed a fistful of Stiles' hair and held on. He could feel his orgasm build.

"I'm gonna—" he cried out. Stiles took more as his dick twitched and shot. Jackson felt his body relax, his muscles rubberize for a moment. He heard a plop and felt cold air. He tucked himself back in and zipped up, but didn't move. Stiles slowly stood up, his eyes huge.

Jackson pushed him back, more gently than before, against the wall. He slowly unzipped Stiles' pants and took the surprising length into his hands and thumbed along the tip and shaft, leaning in to bite at his earlobe. If it were possible, Stiles seemed to get thicker and harder in his hand. Stiles breathed heavier, but didn't make much other noise. But the hitched breaths were exquisite. After hearing the screaming and moaning for years, this was much hotter. He continued stroking, his hand gripping tighter and moving faster until Stiles squeezed his shoulders hard—"Ohumgonnaohmgah!" and Jackson moved slight to let the come shoot out away from him, but he fingered the few drops left, collecting him in his hand and tasting the bitter liquid before pressing his thumb to Stiles' lip.

Jackson let his hand drop to continue a little clean up before he tucked Stiles back into his underwear and zipped his jeans. He pressed his slick fingers to Stiles' mouth again, watching as Stiles licked his own come off.

Jackson smirked and kissed Stiles three time before heading back to the car. He'd call tonight successful. Stiles said little on the way back to his house, though his heart rate told a minor freakout. By the time Jackson got there it was almost eleven thirty.

"So," he said. "Want to hang out again another time?"

Stiles turned too sharply. "Uh, sure. Yeah. I mean, sounds good to me."

Jackson gave Stiles is second most winning smile. "Good. How about if you don't call me, I'll see you in the locker room."

Stiles made a strangled noise and nodded. He waved from the front porch, before disappearing into the dark house. Jackson kept his smile the entire drive home.

Holding the controller in his left hand, Stiles talked to Scott on his cell phone. Scott hadn't show up, so Stiles dialed to be cancelled on. Again. It shouldn't have surprised him, but somehow it always did.

"Man," Stiles said. "Again? Seriously? Scott, you're killing me bro."

"I'm sorry, Stiles. It's just … know you. Isaac needed some company today, you know. He was missing his brother and his dad. Like crying."

"Scott, I haven't seen you, like at all, outside of school in weeks. Shit ain't right!"

Scott sighed on the other side.

"Oh my god. Are you and Isaac …? Is this like Allison?"

"What!? No, what? What are you talking about?"

"Oh my god, it is! Scott! You are like falling for Isaac, does he know this?" Stiles set down the controller. If Scott was going to leave him for another man, it might as well be for romantic interests. At least it explained everything that happened over the last couple months.

"Stiles! Don't make this a big deal. Come on, please?"

"It's not a big deal, Scott. You could have just told me, you know. And what's with the not making out with me then?"

"Sorry, not gonna happen. Ever. I guess I should have told you. Do you forgive me?"

"This time. But you fucking owe me, buddy. Like road trip big time. Like amusement park big time."

"Whoa. I'm that in shit?"

"Yes, Scott. You are. Now go scurry off to your boyfriend's house."

"He's not my boyfriend. Yet."

"Ha. That's my Scott. Go get 'em."

"You're really okay with this?"

Stiles shrugged. "It's chill. No biggie. I mean, Isaac's scared the shit out of me before, but he's a cool enough guy. Though he may get all weird being baby-sat by Derek."

"You know that Derek changed a lot. Isaac's finally getting a lot better with him around. And with me."

"Yeah, yeah. You're too cute together."

"Are you gonna be okay Stiles?"

Stiles paced the living room, unsure if he wanted to turn off his PS3. After all, he could still get some undead killing in if he wanted.

"Yeah. Maybe I'll call Jackson to hang out."

"I still can't believe you hung out with him," Scott said. "Willingly."

"Hey, I was lonely, and he wanted to hang out. You and Derek and Isaac aren't the only people who've changed. He wasn't a huge dick." Though he had a nice one, Stiles thought.

"Are you dating Jackson?" Scott seemed confused and surprised.

"No? Probably not. But it doesn't matter. Anyway, go play tonsil hockey with your boyfriend. I don't mind at all, now that I know what you've been up to."

Scott groaned. "Fine. As long as you are okay."

"I'll live. Remember? Amusement park, buddy. Roller coasters."

"I'll have to make time. And soon, if you're considering hanging out with Jackson again."

"Ha. Bye Scott." Stiles hung up the call and glanced briefly at the display on his phone. It had been almost four days since he'd hung out with Jackson. He hadn't seen Jackson after practice at all this week, but if he didn't call—which he wanted to—he would probably have to endure an awkward conversation come Friday.

Stiles thumbed to Jackson's contact, and hit text. No need to actually call, right?

From Stiles: Hey. Wanna come over and hang out? Order in, video games/movie?

He paced around the room, unsure of what he was doing. Would Jackson respond? Say no? His dad was going to be at the station all night—what with Manny having a new baby and all. Such a cute baby too. All head and wrinkly little hands. Should he call his dad? Say something?

Stiles shook his head. His phone buzzed as he was about to get water. He almost dropped the glass and broke it, but thanks to years of flailing, he managed to hold on.

From Jackson: Sure, but NOT watching the notebook! I'll grab pizza on the way. what do you like on it? Sausage? ;)

From Stiles: Very mature. garlic and bacon, dont judge! it's really good! from bh pizza?

From Jackson: duh. btw, make sure you've showered. thnx! ;)

From Stiles: … yeah. see you in what, 20?

From Jackson: yup. barring anything stupid McCall or Hale manage to do.

From Stiles: looool see you soon.

Stiles left the console running. How had Jackson known he hadn't showered after practice today? He shook his head and ran up to the bathroom, shucking his clothes and putting on some loud music. Showers and music went together. Always. He was about to jump in when the music cut and his phone rang. Great. Always awkward to answer the phone naked.

"Yo, daddy-o. What's up?"

"You taking a shower?"

"About to. What's the news?"

"Just reminding you about the shift. And don't worry. Melissa dropped off a salad—no croutons and only light dressing—so don't be worried. She said Scott was coming over?"

"Yeah, with a change of plans." In case he had to cover for his best pal, he couldn't exactly tell the truth.

His dad waited a moment. "That being?"

"Jackson'll be joining."

More silence. "Oookay?"

"Just wanted to let you know."

"Right. Okay, well, don't destroy property. Now go shower, I can almost smell you from here."

"Yeah, yeah. Hygiene. I get it."

His dad laughed until Stiles cut him off with an angry press of the red button. He did not smell bad. The shower was steamy and hot, and Stiles scrubbed down quickly, soaping up to get rid of any scent Jackson probably didn't want on him, not that he could exactly ask what that might entail.

Clean and dry, Stiles threw on some comfortable jeans and a ironic tee. Gotta keep up with the lulz, he thought.

The doorbell rang. That was probably Jackson. Stiles grabbed his phone and pocketed it before answering the door—checking the peep hole first. Ever since that banshee showed up, Stiles made sure to look first, open later.

Jackson stood there, looking somewhat impatient holding two pizza boxes. "Just open the door already."

Stiles blushed and did as Jackson said, letting him in. "I always check first."

"Miranda?" Jackson flicked his aviators off and tucked them in the pocket of his button down. He was always well-dressed. Stiles felt his mouth go a little dry. Jackson looked downright irresistable.

Stiles nodded.

Jackson shrugged. "Don't blame you then. Brought the food."

"What do you want to drink? Movie or video game?" Stiles vaguely gestured to the TV.

"Whatever you're having will be fine." Jackson looked at Stiles, pointing at the pizza.

"Oh, uh, put them on the coffee table. I'm just gonna have some soda." Seriously, why did he feel so brain dead?

Jackson pursed his lips then tilted his head. "Okay."

Stiles poured two glasses, with ice—his mother always said add ice unless someone asked for no ice—, and grabbed some napkins and plates before heading back to the living room. Jackson was sprawled on half the couch, his sunglasses carefully placed on an end table. He was staring at the controller and the TV, like he couldn't decide whether or not he wanted to play.

"You play?" Stiles said dropping the plates and napkins. He set his soda on the table and handed Jackson his.

"Sometimes. Danny likes playing on occasion so I know my way around a controller."

Stiles smiled and sat down. "TV while we eat?"

"Sure." Jackson opened one box, found it was the garlic/bacon and gave Stiles three slices, taking one for himself, and the opened the other. Pepperoni and mushroom. Jackson to two and offered one to Stiles.

"No thanks. Mushrooms and me? Not good friends." He laughed. Not his best, but … it would have to do.

"Suit yourself." Jackson leaned back, all casual grace.

Stiles swallowed and changed the setting to play something on TV. He settled for a CSI rerun, thinking of it more as background than actual entertainment. And if conversation got too stiff, well, it was a good enough show could step in as filler.

Stiles sat on the edge of the couch, eating the delicious pizza and sipping at his soda. He tried not to feel awkward, but that was his modus operandi. Jackson eyed him eating, like it was fascinating, and Stiles tried to slow down consciously.

"So, Scott ditch you again?" Jackson asked.

Stiles slumped his shoulders. "Yeah. For Isaac."

"Those two should just come out of the closet and mack down on each other."

"Right?" Stiles said. "Finally, someone agrees with me."

Jackson laughed. "You're all tense, Stiles. Relax. I'm not going to attack you."

Stiles took a deep breath. "I'm just not sure, you know, what's going on?"

Jackson rolled his eyes. "We're eating pizza, watching a lame rerun of CSI."

"You know what I mean," Stiles muttered.

"Yeah. I do," Jackson waved to his ears. "Werewolf hearing."

"So, what is going on. Between us." Stiles chomped on some pizza.

Jackson said nothing, but he didn't look pissed. "What do you want it to be?"

"I don't know. I'm not good at all this stuff."

Jackson snorted, covering his mirth somewhat with drinking.

"Well, it's true." Stiles rubbed his fingers on a napkin. "I mean, I'm cool with you know friends. Friends with benefits. More, maybe, if that won't freak you out."

"We don't have to put a label on it at all," Jackson said.

Stiles thought for a moment, but couldn't come up with anything to add, so he remained silent. He polished the whole pizza himself (save for the one piece Jackson conceded was "not bad"), and Jackson ate all of his and they agreed to play Resident Evil 5. Nothing like killing a bunch of zombies right?

"Jackass!" Jackson said, pushing Stiles with his shoulder. "That was totally my kill. I called it."

"Ha! I don't care. All these zombies are mine!"

"Yeah, right." Jackson mashed the buttons harder. For a moment, Stiles thought he might snap the controller in half. When they reached a pausing point, Stiles let the game do it's thing and turned it off, leaving the splash screen rotating through colors.

"All done with the zombies, Stiles?" Jackson sat the controller down. His gaze trailed down Stiles—it was all he could do not to just jump Jackson, the appreciation so present.

Stiles nodded, his throat a little dry. "I could totally settle for a movie. You said the Notebook was a no-go."

"You wouldn't believe how many times Lydia made me watch that." Jackson looked pained.

"Oh." Stiles didn't say anything else, remained frozen between relaxing back and reaching forward. Jackson looked awful, but he shook his head and gave one of his dazzling smiles, like he'd seen when Jackson had been talking to Allison.

"Sorry. Just, well, you know."

"Yeah." Stiles scrubbed his hair. "Figured my chances with her were so shot, you know, with you. Moved on."

"Is that why you like me, Stiles. Because I was with her?" His voice sounded sharp to Stiles.

"No? I mean, not really. I don't know?" he said, totally at a loss. "You're you. And she's her, and god what I heard from the break up …. Man, she's a bitch."

Jackson chuckled. "You have no idea."

"No, I do! Like I've seen her be all vulnerable, and the next second, she's got you by the balls and is like trying to rip your head off while laughing. Laughing. I think I dodged the crazy train with that one."

"Yes!" Jackson nodded. "When Allison was still here, she got pissed at me, when Lydia was the one that broke it off. While going crazy, I'll add. God. Finally."

Stiles was happy. Jackson was beaming, like finally someone understood what he was talking about. Stiles crept forward on the couch. "I do get. And if it makes you feel any better, I didn't believe what she said about you. Just so you know." His voice was soft and he was telling the truth. Jackson would hear it in his voice.

Stiles watched the mirth slowly face to contentment in Jackson's eyes. Soon he was resting a a hand on Jackson's knee, their legs almost touching. Jackson offered him another smile, genuine and dazzling, then spread his legs wider to allow Stiles to crawl in.

Not hesitant, Stiles did exactly that, drawing himself forward until his chest was flush with Jackson's. Blue eyes were almost black in the shadow Stiles created. He leaned forward, letting his lips brush lightly against Jackson's. Soon strong hands were gently insistent on pulling him down more. Jackson opened his mouth, hot breath on Stiles' cheek.

Taking the cue, Stiles brought his hand up to run through the back of Jackson's immaculate hair. He parted his lips slightly, mouthing at the perfectness in front of him. Jackson sighed, and Stiles could feel him relaxing under his touch. It made him feel good, powerful.

Stiles hardened at the prolonged kiss, but didn't grind or press himself against Jackson. Didn't want to break the magic of the moment. Jackson pulled back for a breath, and so Stiles sat back on his haunches, eyeing Jackson's slight dishevelment. He still looked too put-together.

"Movie?" Jackson said, his voice thicker. "I mean—"

"Yeah." Stiles reached back for the PS3 control. "Got all the major ones: Netflix, Amazon, Hulu, pretty sure I can get iTunes as well."

Jackson smirked. "We'll have to go with one of my original favorites, then. The Fast and the Furious."

Stiles laughed. That was so the opposite of the Notebook. "So, something manly with hot, manly men driving manly, hot cars?"

"Hey, it's a good movie!" Jackson pouted a little.

"I'm sure it is, I haven't seen it." Stiles thumbed through until he found the movie and queued it up. He sat back putting the controller on the table next to the empty pizza boxes. This would probably be a pretty lame movie, but if it made Jackson happy … well, it's not like he had anything better to do anyway.

"Popcorn before we start?" Stiles asked.

Jackson shook his head. "Bathroom though."

Stiles laughed. "Down the hall to the right. I'll meet you back here."

The captain of the swim team rolled his eyes, but got up anyway and padded along to Stiles' directions. Meanwhile, Stiles ran upstairs and emptied his bladder as fast as he could, washing his hands afterward—Jackson did say showered, so clean was good, right? He gave himself a firm nod of 'you can do this' before he went back downstairs to the couch. His movie date was already seated. Turning slightly, Stiles caught blue eyes and a smile. He almost melted. It was like seeing a totally different Jackson, like the jerk of sophomore year was gone for good.

Stiles went to sit down next to Jackson, but instead was pulled in to sit in front of Jackson, with werewolf arms all tied about his middle. He slunk down, enough for Jackson to rest his head on his shoulder.

"You know, I have to press play, right?"

Jackson grumbled for a moment, releasing Stiles. He quickly hit play and slouched back into Jackson's arms. He was like a furnace, all heat and Stiles felt gross when he started to sweat from it, but Jackson didn't seem to mind.

All throughout the movie, they shifted: his head in Jackson's lap, his feet resting on Jackson's legs, laying down chest across Jackson, or Jackson leaning against him, Jackson's back across his legs, or Jackson's head on his stomach. At the end of the movie, Stiles was sprawled half on top of Jackson, hands running through his hair.

"So," Jackson said. "What did you think?"

"I totally ship Brian and Dominic." Stiles stretched. "Vin Diesel is pretty hot."

"So is Paul Walker," Jackson retorted.

Stiles laughed. "Yes. He is damn fine too." Stiles spidered his fingers up Jackson's side, feeling the firm muscles underneath the button up. After watching racing cars and hot men for over an hour, he was feeling excitable.

"What the hell is shipping? And you never answered my question." Jackson arched an eyebrow.

"Shipping? It's when you want to characters to be together. Like relation-ship." Stiles laughed. "And yeah. It was better than I thought it was going to be."

"Humph."

Stiles laughed. "So, is there anything I should be telling my dad about you? Perhaps your illegal street racing at night?"

"No. I don't do such things." Jackson pulled some fake air on, and Stiles laughed.

"What's funny?" Jackson said.

"You—" Stiles tried to catch his breath. "Are no good at lying. Like just as bad as me."

Jackson remained stiff for another moment, then suddenly burst out laughing. Stiles giggled along and the both ended up piled on the floor, still laughing. Stiles thought that was Jackson on his arm—something was. But he was still laughing.

"Okay, fine," Jackson admitted. "But I don't do it anymore. Much." And then he was laughing again, which in turn made Stiles start up again.

"What's so funny?" a voice Stiles knew he should recognize.

Stiles bolted upright, and saw his dad set his keys down. "Dad?" Oh shit. Good thing he and Jackson were just laughing and not completely undressed. That would have been an awkward moment, requiring a rather unpleasant conversation.

"Hello, Jackson. Just came home for a little bit. Scott already leave?" The sheriff took off his jacket and wrapped it around a chair. "Any pizza left for a hungry old man?"

"Dad! No pizza, it's not on your diet. And no, uh, we ate it. Growing boys or something." Stiles waved frantically, hoping his dad wouldn't question any further. Right? Dads had to be good at ignoring awkward child moments. Like this one. Oh god, he wasn't going to was he?

The sheriff sighed. "I suppose so. Anything left to eat? I'm going to grab some papers and then I'm heading back down to the station. Oh, and Jackson? Make sure to get your car into the driveway if your staying over. I don't want to have to give you a parking ticket off duty."

Jackson nodded, but was otherwise completely still.

Slowly they detangled their limbs, and managed to get up onto the couch. Stiles grabbed the remote for the console and flicked through the options for a minute.

"Wanna watch another movie or …?" he said.

"Uh TV?" Jackson nodded his head in the sheriff's direction.

"Right." Stiles turned off the PS3, and switched over to cable. "Anything you want to see?"

Jackson grabbed the remote and switched the channel to Fox to watch some Family Guy. Stiles sat a little bit away from Jackson, not touching, but not entirely too far.

He whispered low, so the werewolf could hear him, "I normal sit close to Scott so he'd think it was weird if we were sitting far apart."

Jackson shrugged, obviously not caring about the awkward situation at hand. Instead the blonde laughed at the antics of Stewie and Brian. Stiles clutched a pillow and settled back, content enough to watch the show until his dad left. He was just happy Jackson hadn't bolted the moment his dad came through the door. That said something. Though how he hadn't heard the cruiser pull into the driveway …. Stiles shivered.

Soon grumbling from the study and the swish of a jacket accompanied, "I'm off to the station, Stiles."

He looked up, and waved. "Night, Dad. Be careful."

The sheriff snorted. "Right. Gotta beware the mighty paper cut."

"Don't underestimate them. They can take years to heal, and can often be infected and—"

"Alright, alright." His dad held his hands in surrender. "Good to see you boys as friends. Jackson."

"Sheriff."

Stiles sighed and melted toward Jackson as soon as the front door shut. "Sorry."

Jackson shrugged. "Not a big deal." He snaked an arm around Stiles.

"Did you hear him?" Stiles asked.

"I was preoccupied." Jackson said.

Stiles snuggled into the warmth. "Do you want to …?"

"Do I want to what?"

"I don't know. Turn this off, head up to my bedroom—so glad I got that full-sized bed—maybe?"

Jackson pulled him closer. Biting on an earlobe, he whispered, "And what's so bad about here?"

"Nothing," Stiles stammered. "Beds are pretty awesome though."

Teeth moved down his throat, gently. Stiles closed his eyes, concentrating on the sensation of lips and teeth and tongue playing on his overly sensitive skin and hands dragging along his scalp. Cool air struck the wet streak, causing him to shiver closer to Jackson, for warmth. Lips knocked against his, and he parted to let Jackson in. He pressed himself more into Jackson, more into the taste of pizza and found that mushroom—second hand—wasn't so terrible.

Remembering he hand hands and arms, Stiles rubbed up and down Jackson's torso and shoulders and down those arms and back up to cup his head. Jackson breathed deep through his nose, their mouths locked and their tongues clashing. Stiles sucked in as much as he could, breathing in the clean, masculine scent of perfectly applied cologne.

Jackson leaned up into Stiles, hands suddenly pressing his lower back, shoving him down into Jackson's groin, where he could feel hardness even through jeans. Stiles really wanted to be wearing less clothing. He tugged at Jackson, trying to get him to stand up, to move, to do something, but Jackson remained still—though still eager enough.

Stiles pulled away to look into Jackson's eyes. "Bed?"

Jackson smirked. "Not yet." He pulled him close again.

Content enough, though wanting more, he resigned himself to a heavy-duty make out session with Jackson. This was hotter in its own way that the shifty blow-job and hand-job the other night, if only because he had to restrain himself from pressing for too much more. Stiles wanted the extra touching, but the press of his body against Jackson's was … nothing short of amazing.

Stiles let himself explore Jackson's mouth, while hands roamed up and down his back, clenching and unclenching against his shirt. Rocking his hips forward, Stiles pushed himself more into Jackson than he already was.

Jackson was then, somehow on top of him. It took a moment for his body to catch up with a moment of vertigo before he realized the situation. Jackson weighed a lot more than he looked, but the heaviness was unexpectedly hot. He thought he couldn't get harder, but he'd been proven wrong, just now. Jackson broke of the kiss to pull at the collar of Stiles' shirt, exposing his collarbone.

He had a moment to wonder what the hell was going on, why he no longer had lips to occupy his mouth when he sucked in a breath and that hot wetness sucking along his collarbone and the teeth. Oh god. Jackson was slowly rolling his hips, grinding against his erection, and Stiles wanted it faster more brutal, but Jackson was methodical—even in a sexual haze he knew that.

Cool air rushed against the sides of his body and a brief flare up of pain on his nose informed him that he had somehow lost his shirt. And the feel son hot skin against his own—well apparently so had Jackson. Werewolf super speed came in handy, it looked like.

Reveling in the new sensation of skin-to-skin contact, Stiles fumbled toward Jackson's mouth, and when he found it, he opened up trying to suck Jackson into his mouth—though it wasn't working well. Rough hands trailed up his newly exposed skin. Stiles writhed under the touch his nerves dancing and sparking. Jackson was no longer pressing against him, and those hands circled around his nipples, pebbling the skin. Stiles arched under the touch, his skin so incredibly hot. He kissed Jackson harder, if that was at all possible.

Stiles closed his eyes. He couldn't see much with them open, and this way, the kiss was more intense. He bucked his hips upward, mashed up into Jacksons firm body. He breathed hard through his nostrils. A lava swirled around in his gut, and no way, he wasn't not without …. He clamped down on the feeling, but then Jackson was crushing against him just as hard. Teeth and lips moved from his mouth to bite at his ears and throat and collarbone and shoulder and "oma! imma ohgodjacksonfuck!" Wet heat splashed in his underwear.

A pleasant haze filled him and he felt utterly relaxed. Jackson thrust against his crotch one more time and shuddered, moaning into Stiles ear. A collapsed Jackson lay on top of him, and Stiles couldn't find anything to complain about. Though Jackson was solid, the weight felt so good, and so he just breathed in Jackson and his cologne.

"Fuck," Jackson said.

"Mmhmm," Stiles agreed with the sentiment.

Jackson started shuddering, hot breath steaming up Stiles' neck. He almost freaked out, but then understood that Jackson was laughing. "Something funny?"

"Never thought, you know," Jackson said, his hands caressing Stiles side. "That you and me, would ever end up like this. Turned into fourteen year olds."

"It was hot." Stiles trailed his hands along Jackson's shoulders.

Jackson laughed again. "Yeah."

Stiles took a huge breath. "So, wanna stay the night? My dad practically invited you to. Wouldn't want to go against the sheriff."

Jackson smiled against Stiles' bare shoulder. "I'd like that. Shower though."

"Totally," Stiles agreed. "Come on."

"Gonna grab my bag first. Change of clothes, you know. For the morning." He winked.

After awkward shuffling up the stairs with wet boxer briefs, Stiles slipped out of his dirty clothes and threw them into the hamper. Two showers a day would be bad for his skin, but hey, he'd survived worse before. He turned on the water to scalding and once it was at the right temperature, he turned it down. He pulled back the curtain and looked out to the hallway. Jackson was leaning against the door jamb, shirtless. Stiles was naked. He felt self-conscious about his nudity, but he took a breath and waved Jackson in.

"No sense in wasting all this water," he said.

Jackson grinned, dropping his jeans and boxers. He closed the door behind him, stalking toward Stiles. Who found the whole predator thing kinda hot. He stepped into the streaming water. Jackson wasn't that far behind. Arms clung to him, as the beating water was taken by Jackson's back. Stiles grabbed the washcloth and passed it to Jackson to get wet. He didn't expect to be sudsed down, but he found that Jackson was slowly rubbing the cloth in circles along his back all the way down to his feet and around to his chest, and cleaning his flaccid front, the sticky feeling now gone. A finger lingered on the scar on his hip for just a moment.

Stiles grabbed Jackson's hand and took the cloth from him to return the favor. They switched positions, now Stiles having the water cascade down his back.

Stiles rinsed out the cloth and re-sudsed it. He massaged Jackson's perfect back in slow movements, running the wet fabric down the broad shoulders down to magic hands. He pressed up against Jackson's back to work his chest. Once they were both rinsed off, Stiles dripped out into the hallway, cursing that he forgot to get towels. He tossed a big, fluffy towel to Jackson, his already wrapped around his waist.

Once dry, Stiles dropped his towel and padded off to his bedroom with a look over his shoulder, hoping that Jackson would follow. Stiles checked his phone—no messages, nothing from Scott. It was just after ten. On a Sunday. And there was school tomorrow. Fuck. Stiles flopped on his bed. Jackson shuffled through the open door, still in his all-together. Unable to help himself, Stiles took in the vision before him. Jackson was almost too perfect. Almost. He could understand a lot of the others thinking he was cold, but when he smiled, it was like Jackson became a whole other person. One who had warmth and caring. It was awesome.

"Gonna come keep me warm?" Stiles asked, sprawled on the comforter. He was no longer ashamed to be naked in front of Jackson, strangely enough.

"By this chiseled block of ice?" Jackson said.

Stiles scrambled under the covers. "Come on, join me ice man."

Jackson rolled his eyes, but he moved toward the bed. He sat on the outside, looking down at Stiles. "You sure?"

"Of course, get here you goof." Stiles tugged at the covers. "Don't want you to catch cold do we?"

"What will your dad say?" Jackson smiled, crawling into the sheets as well. "Won't he come here, guns blazing to protect the virtue of his only son?"

Stiles guffawed. "Hardly. Scott stays over enough."

"We'll be naked," Jackson stated. Obviously, Stiles thought.

"Like he's going to check. He'll just be happy I have more friends than just Mr. Flakes A Lot."

Jackson chuckled. "Yeah, okay."

"What about your parents?"

Jackson shrugged, moving closer to Stiles. "I don't stay at home a lot. They are used to me being in and out."

Stiles smiled, inching closer to Jackson. "I hope you're not a bed hog."

Jackson glared. "That's only because you are."

"My secret is out!" Stiles giggled.

Jackson shoved at him. "Stilinski, if I freeze my ass off, I'm so going to kick yours."

"You won't. I promise to behave." Stiles grabbed at Jackson's shoulders, trying to pull the werewolf to him. Jackson resisted for a moment.

"I'm the big spoon, just so you know," he said.

Stiles exhaled, relaxing. He didn't care either way. Most often he just spooned his pillows, so this would be a totally new experience for him. "Fine by me." Stiles flipped over and scooted back toward Jackson.

A strong arm gripped around the top side, then a hand weaved through his hair. Stiles relaxed and pushed back. He could feel Jackson's hard nipples pressing against his back and pubic hair bristled against his butt. Jackson said nothing. Stiles synchronized his breathing to the rise and fall of Jackson's chest. The changing pressure against his skin was wonderful. Stiles sighed, happy.

"You okay?" Jackson mumbled.

"Good. Just thinking about school tomorrow." It could be awesome, or totally awkward.

"Don't think about school. You've got the most popular guy in your bed right now."

Stiles chuckled. "I do. I just … don't want it to be weird tomorrow. Like you know?"

He felt Jackson shrug. "It won't be. Want a ride to school? Would that make it less weird?"

"You sure? Don't want me to tarnish your rep."

"Already happened. You're the second smartest person in our class. And a fuck ton nicer than the Ice Queen."

"Damn right," Stiles muttered.

Lips kissed his neck and shoulder. "Night."

"Goodnight." Stiles intertwined his fingers with Jackson's spread over his chest. He felt safe, and relaxed deeply into the snugglefest. Not realizing how tired he was, Stiles fell asleep to the calm, steady rhythm of Jackson's breathing.

As he promised, Jackson drove Stiles to school. It wasn't even as if it were a big deal, either. No one said anything when the sheriff's son stepped out of his car. Of course, very few people said much to him any way. Being at the top of the food chain had it's perks: not having big losery people talk to him about his life choices or who he was or wasn't dating. No, they spent that time talking to each other. And he choose not to hear it. Thank you, Ice Queen.

Stiles darted away with a shy grin. Apparently he had to go to his locker—and probably gossip with McCall.

For the first two periods, all Jackson could think about was the night before. How different it was to be in someone else's home, where the sounds and smells and feelings were all different How everything felt wrong, like it screamed "not home" to him every time he looked around. But at the same time it was exhilarating and new and interesting. Until McCall shoved him into a locker for no reason between second and third period.

"Don't you dare hurt a hair on his head," McCall whispered, his eyes glowing yellow for a moment.

Jackson smirked. Seriously, he was an idiot. "McCall, I'm pretty sure it was me in his bed last night. Not you. So don't go worrying about him. He's not your boyfriend."

"Ugh," McCall growled. "He's my best friend. You don't hurt him!"

Jackson snorted. "Really, no? I think that's how he and I started hanging out. You decided to switch teams and get yourself a real boyfriend. Now, calmly put me down and we can be civilized about this."

McCall took off the arm crushing his chest, but still crowded his space.

"Seriously, looks like a lover's spat. Like you're jealous, but, really McCall, what is it? You're not doing anything with him. So how can you be jealous?"

"I'm not jealous," he said. "I'm worried about him getting hurt."

"I'm pretty sure Stiles likes it rough, McCall. And who am I to deny him what he likes."

"Damn it!"

Jackson cupped McCall's face and patted it. "Now, if you please. I have class to get to. Unlike you, I care about my grades. Have to get into Stanford. Follow family footsteps and all."

McCall growled but let him pass. "Remember what I said."

"Oh, how could I forget?" Jackson said, waving off the comment.

He shook his head. Seriously, that kid was deranged. One minute he's ignoring his best friend for a booty call, the next shoving Jackson into lockers for actually making time for the said best friend. What the actual fuck?

From Jackson: come sit by me in lunch. btw, mccall is an ass ;)

From Stiles: uh… what did he do? and okay. :)

From Jackson: I'll tell you at lunch.

Once lunch rolled around, Jackson sat at his table with Danny, looking around for Stiles but didn't see him anywhere. A few other people from the swim team sat at the table, but Jackson ensured there was a seat available for Stiles. He spotted the object of his desires walk over and offer a little wave.

Noticing McCall, Jackson stiffened when Stiles bent to say something. Of course he was going to eavesdrop if he could, but damn it if Stiles didn't know how to keep his voice down. Guess he'd been dealing with werewolves for a long time now and knew what he was doing.

After a moment, Stiles sat next to Jackson. Danny quirked his eyebrow, but said nothing. The rest of swim team gave him a look, but went back to their conversations about … whatever hormones they were having. Disgusting. If he weren't captain he'd probably be getting an earful of nasty words—sometimes the swim team was just too incestuous.

"So," Stiles said. "I heard you and Scott had a few words this morning. Something about lockers and him being an ass."

"He's very protective." Jackson popped a tater tot into his mouth. "And possessive."

Stiles chocked on some apple he was eating. "Oh my god. Yes. He has been giving me evil eyes all day long and bugging me in class about how you'd hurt me or something. I may have mentioned biting and he may or may not have seen hickeys."

"Yes, well, maybe he had his boyfriend had a fight."

Stiles poked Jackson in the ribs. "He's still my best friend. I told him to back off on the growly." He turned to glance at McCall. Lahey had just sat down next to him with a few other guys from the lacrosse team. Both looked over at Jackson, ignoring Stiles for the moment.

"It's like they think I've stolen you or something," Jackson muttered.

"Probably because they do," Danny said. "What. It's not like I can't hear you two."

"Right," Stiles said. Jackson watched him start playing with his food—like he was embarrassed.

"So, whats the story?" Danny asked.

"Jackson?" Stiles sounded like he didn't exactly want to tell the story, and well fuck him he'd have to say something.

Jackson took a deep breath. "Well, McCall was being an ass, like usual, and so I asked if Stiles wanted to hang out, and so we did." And that was the end of the story, as far as he was concerned.

Danny smirked. "Okay."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "And hung out a lot."

"I bet," Danny said. "So, you gonna be a Scott McCall, Jackson and ignore your best friend?"

Jackson gave him a withering glare. "Do I look like a total reject? No. You're coming to the barbecue this Sunday. And so are you Stiles."

"Uh, okay." Stiles had someone managed to finish off his entire tray. Jackson blinked a few times. Even he never ate that fast, and he was a werewolf.

"I don't want to third-wheel it dude." Danny arched his eyebrow.

Jackson gave him his most open, sincere face. "Bernie is brining his cousin. His very hot older cousin."

"So I'll see you there, the usual time?" Danny asked.

Jackson ignored McCall and Lahey's fervent discussion of him and Stiles, and finished up his food. Stiles fidgeted with his pencil and made small talk with one of the young guys on the team. He grabbed his backpack and nodded to Stiles, then clapped Danny on the shoulder. There were still a few minutes until the bell rang, but Jackson wanted some privacy.

Stiles followed him out to the hallway and then walked next to him. "Where are we going?"

"Outside. Don't really feeling like listening to McCall and Lahey discuss us. Or stare. Got kinda annoying."

"Oh." Stiles reached out and took his hand, and Jackson let him. Though he wasn't a huge fan of PDAs he knew Stiles was, and if it really mattered? No big deal.

After a brief walk through the school, they took one of the exits and Jackson pulled Stiles down to the base of a tree shading a few tables with benches. He wrapped his arms around Stiles, and set his chin on his shoulder.

"You don't mind just sitting out here, you and me, do you?" Stiles asked. "I mean, you're pretty popular."

"Are you kidding? Most of those losers just stare and start smelling all gross. You, you smell good. And I like the quiet sometimes. Besides, I know that you'll get embarrassed if I start making out with you in public."

Stiles spasmed. "I so would not!"

Jackson smiled, pressing his mouth at Stiles' exposed neck and then gently bitting down to his shoulder. "You sure?"

"Mmmm. What?"

He chuckled into the graphic tee he remembered Stiles putting on that morning, and the glorious pale skin beneath. Jackson pulled Stiles closer, exhaling softly. The best feeling was one of close contact, sexual or sensual.

Hands covered his, gripping tight. "Why'd you stop back there?" His voice was husky and deep.

"It's not always about sex, Stiles. Amazing as the sex has been."

Stiles turned his head, his mouth searching for Jackson's. So their lips met for the first time since that early morning kiss, and he couldn't help himself. He pulled Stiles closer, drawing into the kiss as much as he could, tasting the bits of lunch left over.

Stiles was the one to pull back. "So it's not all about sex?"

Jackson listened to the heartbeat next to his. "No. If I didn't like you as a person, you wouldn't be here right now."

"So you do like me."

"Your point, Stilinski?" Jackson said.

"Don't have one. Can we totally be the whole boyfriend thing on campus?"

"Pretty sure that's what everyone thinks anyway," Jackson murmured, gripping Stiles' earlobe with his canines. "So, no big deal."

"And you mean it? The Sunday thing?"

Jackson bit down harder. "Yeah." Stiles shivered.

"Okay, okay. Believing you now." He giggled. "Hope you dad doesn't come after me."

Jackson shrugged. "Don't care. He's a dickwad half the time. And my mom isn't much better most days. It'll basically just be the swim team plus Danny and you. You like Danny right?"

"Danny's awesome."

"But you like me more, don't you."

"Mmhmm." Stiles scooted back a little. "Much more."

"That's right," Jackson said. He mouthed around Stiles' ear until he turned to face him, mouth open and ready.

Jackson pressed against it, thrusting his tongue forward into Stiles' waiting mouth and was rewarded with suction. Jackson exhaled slowly through his nose and breathed deep. It wasn't the most heady scent, but he smelled clean and friendly. Jackson let his hands roam freely up Stiles' chest, let them grasp and clench all while keeping him in a tight grip. At this moment, he didn't want to let go.

A distant ringing noise jarred his senses of the heat and slick wetness that was Stiles' mouth and then Jackson remembered—school. Shit. He slowed the kiss, and stoped moving his hands, eventually relinquishing the vise grip he'd had for the past ten minutes. Stiles looked dazed, and Jackson offered one of his real smiles. He stood up, bringing Stiles with him.

"I'd suggest getting to class," he said. "But I can see the appeal of ditching every now and then."

Stiles shook—an entire body flail. "Oh, um, right. See you after school?"

"Yeah, dumb ass, I'm your ride." Jackson put an arm around Stiles, leading him down the hall. "This time, you can get a tour of the Whittemore Estate before your introduction this Sunday."

"Estate, Jackson? Hardly. I've seen the house. It's not that big."

"Mmm." Jackson kissed his jawline. "But it is big enough."

Stiles laughed. "Oh, well I know you're plenty big enough."

Jackson grinned. "I'll see you after school." He pulled Stiles in for a sloppy kiss before sauntering into his class. A few girls looked at him askance, a few more like they'd heard terrible news about their grandmother, and one with red hair that looked pissed. One he didn't care about anymore. And then there was another angry face, one with short blonde curls. McCall's boyfriend.

"So, Jackson," a tight, prim voice said. "Doing well for yourself."

"Though anyone would be better than you," he sneered, "I've now got the cream of the crop. Personality and brains. What's your problem, Lahey?"

"Nothing," the other werewolf said. Apparently his words calmed Lahey, like the spar between him and Lydia made him less angry. Probably wanting to defend Stiles or something.

"Brains? I'll be the valedictorian, thank you very much."

Jackson raised an eyebrow. "Salutatorian, and much, much nicer. That counts for more."

Lydia sniffed, sat down and stared straight ahead. Though she had technically saved him from a life of enslavement, he had paid that debt back.

The bell rang and Jackson sat down.

"Now that we're in class, I hope you'll keep your bickering to a minimum," a substitute teacher said.

Jackson tuned out most of the rest of the lecture, having heard the material before. Instead, he sent a few texts to Stiles. Mundane, every day texts. Things Jackson never thought he'd really send, but it seemed important. Stiles was easy, flexible, low maintenance. Jackson could relax around him—exactly as he'd thought. Now, if he could just make sure that Stiles would be going to Stanford too. He would need a roommate. And if hot sex came with said roommate, that meant a better college experience.

From Jackson: noticed your acceptance letters yesterday. you should think strongly about stanford. here's a copy of my letter. just saying. [image attached]

From Stiles: already sent my reply to say im going. pull strings to get us the same room. ;)

From Jackson: consider it done.

Controlling his smile was impossible, so he flashed his brilliant teeth to everyone within range until the last bell rang and he had a handful of Stiles' hair and the taste of victory and comfort in his mouth.