Title: Up Close and Personal
Season: Two
Episode: Six || Frenemy
Pairing: Stiles x Jackson || StAckson
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Teen Wolf.

Note ||

"Did you see where he went?" Stiles asked after apologizing once more. He hadn't meant to scare Scott, though he thought it was a tiny bit sad the other didn't hear him coming. He was a werewolf after all. Plus his best friend. Shouldn't Scott be able to pick up on his scent without even trying. They'd been glued at the hip since they were in five. Scott should know Stiles from a white gold needle in a stack of silver needles.

Scott shook his head, "I lost him."

"What?" Stiles' eyes widened as he jerked around to face his were-friend. "You couldn't catch his scent?" His brows furrowed, lips puckering slightly.

Scott shook his head once more. "I don't think he had one."

Or maybe you just need to have your nose checked. Stiles thought. Cause Stiles was pretty sure he had a scent. Hell! Stiles had a scent - pungent, more like a stench really - but Scott hadn't been able to sense it either. He groaned softly. Stiles heaved a small sigh. "All right, any clue where he's going?"

"To kill someone." Scott replied.

Stiles' eyes narrowed. His sarcastic side was beginning to rise. "Ah! That explained the claws and the fangs and all that." He rolled his eyes. Really Scott? "Good. makes perfect sense now." Cause he didn't already know that part?

Scott gave his ADHD friend a deadpanned look. This was getting them no where.

"What?" Stiles feigned innocence. "Scott, come on." He exasperated. "I'm 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone, okay?" He wasn't the were! "Sarcasm is my only defense." He bounced on his feet, his hands unconsciously making somewhat wild gestures.

Scott shook his head. "Just help me find it!" His shoulders tensed.

"Not it. Jackson." Stiles corrected

Scott heaved a sigh and rolled his shoulders. "Yeah, I know. I know." His voice softening.

"All right," Stiles started, "but does he know that?" He shifted, he couldn't stay still - it wasn't in his DNA. "Did anybody else see him back at your house?" They were grasping for straws, they really were.

Scott frowned and shook his head. "I mean, I don't think so, but he already passed Derek's test anyway." Why the hell was his teenage life so incredibly messed up?

"Yeah, but that's just the thing." Stiles licked his lips. "How did he pass the test?"

Scott's shoulders moved upward as he shrugged, his whole body shaking negatively. "I don't know."

"Maybe it's like an either-or thing." Stiles shifted once more, going up on his toes as he looked around the corner of the brick building.

Scott frowned and turned to face Stiles. Either-or?

"I mean, Derek said that a snake can't be poisoned by its own venom, right?" Stiles started, trying to explain the jumbled reasoning his mind easily processed. "When's the Kanima not the Kanima?"

Scott's brows furrowed as he thought. "When it's Jackson." His eyes widened slightly.

. . .

Stiles groaned. "Why won't you do it?" He glared at his supposed best friend. But he was really starting to re-think that term. He really was. Hell! At this moment he was considering Isaac and Erica to be better friends. He really, really was.

"No you!" Scott argued. "I had to put him in there!"

Stiles scoffed. "You act like you carried him!" He huffed. "He dragged him! Besides you are a werewolf - it's not like it actually exhausted you." Hadn't he told Scott he was 147 pounds of fragile bones?

"Nope," Scott popped the p. He wanted to have some fun.

Stiles growled - albeit it sounded nothing like his actual animalistic friend. Yeah, Stiles had decided - Scott wasn't his best friend, not anymore. "I will not do this!"

"Then we might as well just let him go," Scott's lips twitched as he tried to hide the smirk that wanted to take over his supple lips.

You see, Scott wasn't as blind to the world around him as he pretended to be. Example? Stiles' infatuation with one Jackson Whittemore. Scott had known for a long time that Lydia Martin was a cover. A front of sorts to hide the fact that Stiles batted for the same team. No, Scott didn't care. Stiles was his best friend. His bro! They had a legit bromance!

Stiles groaned. "Seriously?"

"Yep," Scott taunted.

Stiles glared. "Not cool!"

Scott laughed as he walked away . . . leaving Stiles to his own devices.

.TW

Stiles huffed as he opened the back of the Police van used for transporting prisoners. His left hand clenched tightly around a pair of denim jeans.

Yeah, for those of you coming in late . . . Apparently when you go from full on Lizard-zilla then back to human form . . . You're pretty naked. Like really naked. Like really, really naked. Like unbelievably naked.

Stiles heaved a small sigh. Buck up and for the love stop monologuing! You're going to need to see a therapist before highschool is over! He clenched the pants in his hand tighter. Stiles chewed on his lower lip at he stared at the out-cold vertical male.

He was alone. That much Stiles knew. He knew it completely and without the help supernatural werewolf. Beat that Scott! Ha! Werewolves weren't everything. Back on point! So Stiles was alone - Scott was with Allison, again, no doubt the real reason Stiles was having to do this. Stiles was refusing to dig into the catty smirk Scott had given him while say 'have fun' before leaving.

Now, under normal circumstances, Stiles didn't like being alone; however, in cases like this. Stiles loved it.

He didn't have to worry about his heart skipping. His temperature rising. His cheeks tinging a deep red. His hormones changing - arousal taking over - and every wolf in a ten mile radius would be able to smell him. He didn't have to worry about stuttering or mumbling over words - he talked a lot, but he didn't stutter that bad- unless . . . Stiles didn't have to worry about trying to look cool - though he never seemed to be on the cool list anyway.

Stiles left his facade at the back entrance of the van and shuffled inside. His heart began to race. His cheeks flushed. His eyes dilated - blown wide barely any iris showing. His temperature rose. His hands went clammy. His lower regions said hello.

Yeah, this was why Stiles didn't like werewolves. Unfortunately though, it was beginning to look like he had a thing for lizards.

Cause his life wasn't already shitty enough? He had to lie to his dad about what he was really doing. He had a slightly homicidal werewolf issue - Derek aka Sourwolf. His best friend turned into a raging werewolf with a blood lust problem every full moon. Stiles had three hormonal - baby - werewolves to deal with - Isaac aka Puppy (he was freaking adorable with those puppy eyes!), Erica aka She-Wolf (be serious . . . she was!), and lastly Vernon (cause his last name is Boyd) aka Werebear (look at him!). Oh! Let's not forget to add in his sexual preference!

Stiles groaned. He needed to stop with the monologuing. Yeah, he'd forgotten his meds. Sue him. Wait! No! Don't sue! Stiles rolled his eyes. Idiot! You're monologuing alone - NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU!

His life sucked. And not in the good way! Like the man out cold in the van on his knees before him kind of way. Stiles licked his lower lip and stared at the man - cause no boy was hung like that! - on the ground, still out cold.

It was hard to focus this close to the object of his affections.

Yes! You heard right. Lydia Martin was no longer the object of one Gienim "Stiles" Stilinski's affections. That token now belonged to a certain Jackson Whittemore.

Stiles groaned out loud. Jackson would have him castrated. He stalked for a moment in his full on eye-fucking. The color drained from his face. He liked his dick where it was. Stiles shook his head. He's out cold, now is the only time to ogle without getting pummeled!

And ogle he did.

Stiles' breath hitched. Smooth, creamy skin - unmarred in every direction. He licked his lips. What Stiles would give to taste the jock's skin was utterly sinful. Corded muscles could be seen beneath the firm defined skin. Did Stiles ever mention he had a thing for shoulder blades? No? Well, he did. He really did.

Stiles shifted in his quite suddenly uncomfortable jeans. He might need to rethink skinny jeans.

Jackson's lips were another obsession. Okay! Maybe Stiles just had an obsession with Jackson. Stiles shrugged at his inner monologuing. His lips. They were darker than a regular petal pink - Stiles had had a lot of time to really think about this. And just a tad bit on the underside of being plump. Bow shaped too. They'd look perfect while eating a strawberry . . . Among other things.

His neck! Stiles gulped. What he'd give to lick Jackson. Or, as his current fetish had led him . . . To collar, Jackson. His cock twitched. Oh! His body liked the idea of a collar on Jackson. He licked his lips once more. It was smooth and long. He bit his lower lip to keep from leaning down and licking a wet column up the other's neck.

His breathing hitched as he knelt down. His eyes turned hooded as he breathed in deeply. Euphoria by Calvin Klein mixed with leather and fresh rain. Damn! Stiles hadn't expected him to smell that good. His knees jello'd, making it hard for him to stay up straight on them.

A small whimper lodged in his throat. This was dangerous, very dangerous. You cannot molest him! Stile shook his head and tried to focus on the task. He unfolded the pants and slowly began to pull them on, one leg at a time.

Stiles groaned. Fuck! His skin was as smooth as Stiles had dreamed. Smoother, even. He lowered his head and clenched his eyes, taking all of his will power and trying to use it to keep him from exploring the unconscious male below him. So smooth. His body shuddered, a squeak falling from his lips. HAIRLESS! Jackson Whittemore's legs were hairless.

His body started to convulse. Stiles' head lowered. He had to be the only guy turned on by hairless male legs. Sad, this was seriously sad. Jeez! I need to get laid.

The rational side of his brain told him: Jackson's legs are hairless because he is the Swim Team Captain. The kinky side of his brain told him: scales were hotter than fur. His brains were working against him.

Stiles swallowed hard. Sweet Mother . . . His brain went off-line as he came eye to crotch with Jackson. His mouth went dry, tongue turning to sand paper. His eyes dilated further. Temperature reaching hospital worthy lengths. A sweat broke out on his forehead - images of Jackson's tongue flicking out to catch it causing him to shudder. Focus Stiles!

Moan.

Stiles' eyes widened. That moan wasn't from him. His dark brown orbs moved upward. Jackson. A shriek lodged in the back of his throat as he quickly put the other's pants on before moving him into an upright position. A hum settled in his body as he clicked the handcuffs and ankle-cuffs in place. Yeah, Stiles sorta liked bondage too. . .

He was hopeless.

.TW

Jackson frowned as he came to. He was uncomfortable - that was the first thing he noticed. The second? His wrists and ankles were linked together by chains. A growl clawed from his throat.

Two people came to mind.

"STILES!" He yelled out. "MCCALL!" He snarled. "I'M GONNA KILL YOU!"

.TW

Stiles whined. "I still can't believe you made me change his clothes!" He huffed while trying to glare at his friend. "Do you realize the mental trauma you have put me through?"

Scott chuckled. "Don-"

Both of their eyes widened as they turned back towards the van where they could hear Jackson yelling. Both heaved a sigh and looked in the opposite direction - ignoring the issue for a moment. Like they hadn't kidnapped an actual human being and were currently not holding him against his will aka chained to a seat in the back of a police transport van.

"He needs to eat," Scott murmured after a few moments of silence.

Stiles jerked around to glare at the werewolf. "You've got to be kidding me?"

"Nope." Scott grinned.

Stiles groaned. "Scott!" He harped loudly. "Seriously!" He huffed and began to stomp back to his jeep. This was beginning to get ridiculous.

"Get me a sandwich too!"

Stiles snorted. "Not on your life buddy," he muttered - knowing full well that Scott would still be able to hear him.

.TW

"Let me go!" Jackson growled as he glared at the geeky teen crawling into the back of the steel plated van. "Now Stiles.

Stiles swallowed his tongue and bit his lower lip. A dominate Jackson was whimpering submissive worthy. "Being that close to your junk wasn't the highlight of my day." Stiles snapped. Play the part Stiles! Don't let him realize.

Jackson smirked. "I'm everyone's type." He leaned back, even cuffed and chained to his seat - Jackson still had complete control. His shoulders thickened as he straightened out. His dark blue eyes danced. Jackson had always wondered, what Stiles straight? Cause there were times where you could actually question it. Like the time he yelled out 'am I attractive to gay guys'. Or the time he point-blank asked Danny if he thought he was good looking.

Stiles' eyes widened. His brain shut down as he watched the jock flex his biceps. He had a thing for biceps too. He shook his head. "What?" His brows furrowed. What had Jackson said, Stiles had surely missed something judging by the smile on Jackson's face.

"I'm everyone's type." He repeated, at complete ease. The right side of his lips hitched upward. Got'em.

Stiles stuttered. "N - not my type!" He shook his head. Trying to deny everything.

"Why are you blushing?"

Stiles' brows furrowed. Well shit. How was he supposed to explain that! "I am not! It's the middle of heat. I'm simply hot."

"The middle of heat?" Jackson smirked. "Summer heat? Or Your heat?"

Stiles' jaw dropped. WHAT! He spluttered a few times. How did he answer that? "I'm not an animal!" Lizard boy!

Jackson leaned forward. "You sure Stiles?"

Stiles leaned forward. Whether out of habit or the fact that he really wanted to taste those slightly pouting supple lips - he will never know. He jumped as something hit the back of the van. He could dimly make out Scott's hand - his mind was sort of clouded at the moment. He fumbled as he shot forward and lurched out of the van. Stiles' eyes were wide while his cheeks were tinged a deep red - he'd almost kissed Jackson.

.TW

"Again?" Stiles growled. Sure, he wasn't as scary sounding at Scott was - after he learned how to growl. A slow smirk crawled across his lips.

Scott glared. "Stop thinking about the time that I growled like a cat!"

Stiles chuckled. "Sorry can't really help it." He shook his head and tried to focus - unfortunately it had been a little while since he had last taken his Adderall. "Why do I have to go in there and try and explain to him that he has scales, yellow slanted eyes, lizard breath, a long tail, and likes to kill under the watchful eyes of the stars?"

Scott's jaw dropped before he shook his head. "You always have a way with words."

"It's your turn!" Stiles grumbled, cheeks tinging red. His heart did a little pitter-patter move as he remembered exactly what had almost happened during the last encounter. He couldn't chance it again. Jackson would never let him live it down. He'd probably just kill him. Stiles groaned.

Scott smiled. "Dude, just go." His smile widened. "We both know you're the one that wants to be in a closed in area with a shirtless Jackson."

"Wha?" Stiles spluttered.

Scott rolled his eyes. "Dude! Seriously? I knew it a while back. Though I am glad our bromance never went further than our friend bromance. Cause I don't like you that way." It was Scott's turn to ramble. "But I will give you prop's. It took me a little while to figure out." Scott eyed his best friend. Ears tweaking at the heart stutter known special to Stiles when every Jackson was involved.

"What?" Stiles' voice hitched, a higher pitch than he would ever admit too. He was a man, and therefore never sounded girly. Never. He swallowed hard. Had he really been that obvious? He had to have been. Scott never noticed anything. EVER!

Scott chuckled. "Give it up." He tapped his ear. "You're heart tells the truth whether your lips choose to or not."

"Alright, who are you and where did you leave Scott's body." Stiles asked. Sarcasm filling him, this was impossible.

Scott faked a glare. "Just go!" He grinned widely - invisible tail wagging in utter delight. "I'm going to go visit Allison."

"Whatever," Stiles huffed while stalking towards the van. He muttered to himself the entire way. This was so not fair. "Little werewolf twerp." He growled. "We'll see how cute you are when I shove a pinch of wolfsbane in your food." He cackled softly as images of a writhing Scott filled his mind. He smirked evilly as he pictured the physically stronger werewolf reduced to a weakling. Ha!

Now, of course Stiles would never let Scott die. He wouldn't. They were best friends. Bros. But he could watch him suffer for a little while. Just a little while. Mere seconds.

Stiles huffed once more as he yanked the van door open and heaved himself inside. "Enjoy the sandwich?" He smirked as Jackson tried to yank on the chains - a wild gesture. "Why Jackson, are you trying to hug me?"

"Strangle Stilinski. Strangle." Jackson growled.

Stiles snorted. "I'm to lovable." He grinned widely. "Alright, so . . . would you like to know why you are locked in here?"

"Finally admitting that I'm your type?" Jackson sneered.

Stiles did his best to fight the deep red flare that wanted to cover his cheeks. "No!" He heaved a deep sigh and dived in head first. No time like the present.

Jackson frowned as he listened to the geeky idiot. He was a lizard? Really? With a tail? And werewolves. Scott was one of them - apparently. He blinked slightly, Stiles was staring at him expectantly - he'd missed something. Jackson hid his smirked before replying. "I know you must be tired of doing it doggie style with McCall . . ." Jackson leaned back, suggestively spreading his legs. "Why not try the Steve Irwin way?" He leaned his head back against the metal behind him, his eyelids lowering. "Come slithering my way."

Stiles' eyes widened zoning in on the one place he wanted more than an ice-pop in the middle of July. Wha . . . His brain was no longer computing correctly.

Jackson smirked. "Come on Stiles." All he had to do was get the geek close enough and then he would be free of this stupid van. Really a Lizard?

"Is it considered bestiality if the animal isn't warm blooded?" Stiles smirked, finally catching up and stunning the jock across from him. Hey! If Jackson wanted to play, then far be it from Stiles not to indulge the other.

Jackson stalled. His dark icy blue orbs swept over the geeky teen. He watched as Stiles' adams-apple bobbed nervously. A slow smirk slid across his supple lips. "Should we find out?"

.TW

Stiles had had trouble focusing the rest of the day. Should we find out? He couldn't get it off his brain. The pitter-patter of Stiles heart skipped a couple beats as he made his way back to the van. He had told Scott he wouldn't be able to talk to Jackson . . . A lie.

Scott had smirked and made a show of sniffing the air before chuckling.

Stiles's cheeks had turned a bright cherry red. A truly unfavorable color if Stiles was being truthful. And he was.

But, here he was. Staring at the back of the can in the middle of the night - after having to sneak out of the house. How the hell did Derek make second story windows look so easy? Werewolf, Idiot. Stiles shook his head. He bit his lower lip.

Should we find out?

It had plagued his mind. On repeat.

That was Allison's car - which meant the two were preoccupied. Therefore, sneaking into the van would be the easiest thing possible.

Should we find out?

Stiles groaned. YES! Yes, they should. Squaring his shoulders, Stiles walked towards the van only to freeze. The doo was open. He raced forward. His eyes were wide in fear, heart racing. Stiles wrapped his fingers around the door handle. His breathing hitched as the air in his lungs solidified.

Jackson was gone.

.TW

Stiles bit his lower lip and flinched as his father yelled at him once more.

"What were you thinking?"

Stiles spluttered. "It was a joke!" He made a wild hand gesture while pushing up his shoulders. "How was I supposed to know he didn't have a sense of humor?"

John Stilinski heaved a small sigh and shook his head. Disappointment shone brightly in his expressive eyes.

"Da-"

"Don't." John cut him off.

Stiles lower his head. His shoulders sagged. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Just be glad he's not pressing charges."

Stiles' head shot up. "What?" Jackson wasn't pressing charges?

"Yeah, I don't know why. And I wasn't going to be stupid and ask. But as of right now - Jackson Whittemore isn't pressing charges." John heaved a long sigh and shook his head. "His father said under the circumstances - the emotional trauma of being held captive - he wanted a 2 day waver for Jackson to decide."

Stiles swallowed, so there was still a chance that Jackson would press charges. He held in a snort. A chance. Not that was a lie - Jackson was going to press charges.

"Go home." John shook his head and opened the door to his office. "And I mean it - actually go home."

Stiles grimaced and nodded. "I will."

"Sure," John scoffed.

Stiles swallowed. "You can trust me. I'll go straight home and stay there." I'll do my best dad.

"I'm not so sure about that Stiles." John's voice was soft. The lines around his eyes intensified. "I want to believe you . . "

The silent, but I can't, was tacked on. Stiles swallowed once more. "You can, I'll show you."

"Okay," John shook his head and pulled Stiles in for a hug. "Be at home when I get there son."

Stiles wrapped his arms tightly around his father. "I will."

"Good."

Stiles bit his lower lip, his head hung lower as he walked out of his father's office at the back of the police station. He'd really messed up this time. "Ah!" Stiles shrieked as he was pulled out of his musings and against a hard wall. He froze.

Jackson.

"Hello Stiles." Jackson smirked as he caged Stiles between him and the wall.

Stiles clamped his jaw shut and flattened himself up against the wall.

Jackson chuckled while lessening the distance between the two. He eased a leg in between Stiles' parted ones. Brushing up closer.

Stiles jumped slight and bit his lower lip to keep from moaning. Cause he really wanted to moan. Badly. Could he blame Jackson if one slipped pass?

Jackson chuckled and barely thrusted his hips forward.

Tease. Stiles gasped. His hands shot up to grasp at the police jacket Jackson wore. His eyes widened. Public! They were still in public. A whimper lodged in the back of Stiles' throat as he stared up at Jackson. His hand moved to Jackson's chest - ready to push him away.

"I told your dad I would think about not pressing charges." The smirk on his lips grew as he breathed in deeply, breathing the shorter in. Woods and oranges. Strange mingling scents - but they worked for the geek.

It was silent but painfully obvious. Stiles struggled to swallow before stuttering, "I - if?" The hands that he had placed on Jackson's chest to push him away with - and he really meant to push the taller away, he did. His brain and hand movements just weren't connecting with each other at the moment. His hands curled inward, clutching at the plain white t-shirt - most likely a shirt borrowed from a deputy.

"Well, you see, I didn't tell him that part." Jackson leaned down and let his nose run along the thudding vein in Stiles' neck.

The smooth shirt crinkled under his curled fists. Public! Stiles had to remind himself to keep from throwing himself at the jock while begging to be fucked. Bad Stiles! I wonder if Jackson likes bad bo- He groaned from berating himself. NOT THE TIME!

"It's not fair," Jackson whispered.

Stiles' brows furrowed. His mind was taking a little longer than necessary to connect everything together. "W - what isn't?" His cheeks colored at the girly hitch in his voice. Cause he was not a girl! He was a man! Reduced to a withering mess with Jackson's lips this close to his own neck.

"I was handcuffed," Jackson whispered, ghosting his lips over the sensitive creamy skin as he spoke. "But you haven't been."

Stiles' eyes widened. Jaw dropped, a shivering tremor slithered through his lanky body. Did Jackson just make a reference to handcuffing him while having his wicked ways with him?

Jackson hissed, much like the lizard he was. He chuckled as the body in front of him shivered. He let his tongue peek out and tease a small column of the mole covered boy. "Well?"

Dark doe mocha orbs dilated, pupils undecided of letting light in or out. His breathing hitched, heart stuttering - if he wasn't careful a condition could arise.

"Stiles?" Jackson hummed while nipping at the pale expanse of skin.

Stiles shivered, a slight whimper falling from his lips as Jackson's knee expertly drove him insane. His hands shot up to wrap around Jackson's neck - searching for purchase and revenge. His slender fingers wove into the smooth silky tress of dirty blonde hair - Stiles yanked.

Jackson smirked and nipped hard while snapping his hips forward. "Well?"

"Anything," Stiles murmured against Jackson's ear. "You can do anything." His lips pulled back into a smirk of their own as he felt Jackson freeze under his hands. He moaned softly while grinding against the jock's strong thigh.

Jackson chuckled. "Good answer." He pulled back. Liquid dark blue clashed with heated mocha as he gazed down at Stiles. "Let's go."

"Where?" Stiles' lips pulled into a purse. He liked where they were perfectly fine.

Jackson smirked. "My house." His eyes darkened. "I want you cuffed to my bed."

"Wha . . .?" Stiles shook his head. His mind had yet to completely reconnect.

Jackson chuckled and pulled Stiles closer. He wrapped an arm around Stiles' shoulders while shuffling them out of the back door. "Scott said he would cover."

"Really?" Stiles squeaked out as he let the other direct him towards the gleaming Porsche.

XxwithxoutaxwordxX|| Until Next Time Lovelies