Title: When the Villain Loves the Sidekick
Rating: M
Summary: Jackson wanted nothing more than to control every little thing in Stiles Stilinski's life. Did that make him a villain? He hoped so. Jackson/Stiles. Onesided Stiles/Scott.
Warning: Major OOC-ness, hardcore butt secks, PWSP, stupid-ass angst and shit, sappy romance, and bad humor (again).
Notes: I had to do it. I just had to. 'Nuff said.
Other: I BSed some stuff…like the thing with Jackson's dad. Stfu who gives a crap about specifics? They didn't really delve into Jackson's home life either so I just made shit up. Haha. *shrug* BTW this is set after the season finale. Sort of. I fucked it up so that the whole Jackson-asking-Derek-to-turn-him incident happened like, a few days after he became alpha. XD Oh, also. I abused the time skip. Sorry. ;u; hehehehe. oh, ALLLLSO, sorry for the abrupt ending. i-i ran out of steam. ;-; and in my head Stiles loves Lydia like a big brother, hence the gentleness in his eyes and shit, lols. :B
Dedicated to: xxYaoiFreakxx because she is an awesome person who made me smile like a moron. :)


Jackson used to hate werewolf stories.

His father loved to sit down and tell them, jumping into detail about how the moon "illuminated the paved streets" and how during transformation "every bone cracked and split, and with every shift a howl of anguish left him"—Jackson, as a kid, would tremble beneath his covers as the mental images swarmed in his head. Every full moon he'd keep his baseball bat by the bed and refused to go outside. However, as he got older he found himself more attracted to the stories. He'd play pretend with his friends and he'd always be the werewolf. The idea of having such strength, such power made it difficult to resist.

Of course he was in touch with reality. That was why it took a while for him to realize this was real.

Scott McCaw and Derek Hale were werewolves; real-life living breathing werewolves. They could jump higher, run faster, see better—they were otherworldly. Jackson wanted that power more than anything and yet nobody was willing to indulge him.

Jackson always had a thirst for power. It ranged from being popular to being the captain of the lacrosse team to being a werewolf. The more power the better. Jackson always believed that.

So, Stiles Stilinski was the best power source.

He was awkward, nervous, and easily startled. All Jackson had to do was drop a suggestive hint, touch him a certain way or say a certain something and he would become a babbling mess. It gave Jackson a thrill, to have such power over another person.

Jackson didn't know how else to describe the relationship he shared with Stiles other than predator and his prey. Cat and mouse, if you will…well, if the cat was in heat, that is. See, Jackson soon discovered several endearing traits in the smaller boy over the months he began this twisted game. For example, the way Stiles' expressions were so over-the-top. It was adorable how quickly they changed and how easily he got flustered. Jackson also liked how his voice became high-pitched whenever he got nervous or scared. Jackson also liked how easily he complied with a mere shove or weak threat. His indecisiveness, the way he bit his lip, the way he made sure his handwriting looked a certain way, his unconditional trust and support in his friends, the sweet softness in his eyes when he looked at Lydia—

No. He didn't like the look in his eyes when Stiles looked at Lydia.

At first, it was only a game. A little flirting, suggestive smiles and gazes…he would thrive in the flustered, confused reactions he received from Stiles. A game, he told himself. Stiles, the object of his game. The prize? A twisted sense of control, probably. That was all Jackson wanted, after all. Maybe, he rationalized, the closer he got to McCaw's group the more likely the power he sought would eventually fall in his lap. However, they only saw him as the villain. He knew Scott's secret, he wanted to use that to get what he wanted, he was greedy and selfish and power-hungry—

Maybe it was true. No…Jackson knew it was true. But there was more to him than that.

Soon, he couldn't deny it any more. The truth beneath the so-called games he played with Stiles…yes, they were mere games at first; sick methods of gaining a sense of power. But he finally realized power was no longer the most important thing to him. He didn't need a fancy car or endless amounts of money or a perfect girlfriend…he just needed Stiles.

Jackson wanted nothing more than to control every little thing in Stiles Stilinski's life. Did that make him a villain? He hoped so.

Jackson couldn't help but think about all of this as he faced off with none other than Stiles himself. Of course Stiles, like always, lingered to the side as Scott took center stage, shoulders thrown back and face set into a firm frown. Jackson had been a bit taken aback when he casually ran into the group in the school hallways after not seeing them for god knows how long (he was too dazed by that night to keep count).

"Jackson."

Scott. Why did his voice sound the same every single time they faced each other? Tense, suspicious, weary…as he should be, Jackson supposed. However Jackson's gaze wasn't focused on Scott but on Stiles, who refused to meet the taller blonde's gaze.

"What do you want?" Scott asked. Jackson finally noticed Allison, who was on his arm as always, staring at him with those eyes of hers. At one point Jackson had believed he liked her. Not sexually, of course, but he felt safe around her…like she was special. That was before he got to know Stiles.

Stiles.

His gaze returned to the boy.

"Jackson!" Scott's voice rose. Jackson turned to face him, irritated that he was interrupted. He felt like he could stare at Stiles all day. His own little victim; flustered and easily manipulated. If Jackson ever knew love, this had to be it.

"What?"

"I should be asking you that." Scott stood beside Allison protectively, his lip lifted into a scowl. It isn't her you should be defending, Jackson couldn't help but muse with an amused twitch of his lips. Scott, unfazed, continued; "Haven't you done enough damage?"

Lydia was in the hospital, Kate was dead and so was Peter Hale. Derek was the new Alpha and Allison was a hunter, but Jackson could give a damn about any of that. On the day it all ended, he was with Stiles. Kissing his neck in the science room as the smaller boy gasped out pleas to "hurry up" so they could save Scott from the big, bad wolf. Jackson was pretty grumpy when they ended up at the Hale house, so he was more than willing to throw those bombs at the beast.

He had actually hoped to jump Stiles in the car after it all. But that didn't happen.

Actually, Jackson didn't get to be alone with him after that. Stiles ran off and Jackson didn't see him for a long time….not until now, that is, in the school hallway as if it was just another day. As if they didn't just defeat the Alpha and watch someone die.

Honestly Jackson could care less about that. He no longer yearned to be wolf; being a werewolf meant bringing danger to your loved one. Like Scott with Allison, Jackson feared what would happen with Stiles. Would Jackson hurt him?

No.

He was reminded of the present, of Scott's sharp angry eyes, and he pushed his secret thoughts into the back of his mind.

"Excuse me, McCaw, but who arrived in the nick of time to catch that thing on fire?" Jackson asked smugly as he crossed his arms. Scott stiffened but the anger in his eyes seemed to soften, if just slightly.

"It doesn't change what you did, Jackson."

"Oooh, I'm so scared," Jackson said sarcastically. "I didn't tell him to get you killed. If I wanted you dead I wouldn't have saved your ass."

Scott couldn't argue with his valid point. "Fine, thank you. But stay away from Allison."

As if he cared about her. Once again his eyes turned to Stiles. If only Scott knew he was protecting the wrong person. Allison wasn't the dame the villain has set his lustful gaze on. It was Stiles; sweet, naïve Stiles, who had no idea what love had begun to grow within Jackson from merely watching.

"Deal," Jackson said, smiling at Stiles' knowing grimace.

x

Jackson loved Stiles' moans.

Something about them set him off. They were like tiny individual bombs going off within the pit of his stomach. Every breathless gasp made his head roll, every groan and moan made his stomach tighten in excitement. And when their eyes met Jackson had to restrain himself with every fiber of his being to prevent himself from just ramming himself into that adorable body until they both passed out.

He had originally played with Stiles for power. Now, Stiles was the one taking that away from him.

At this point Jackson didn't care. He pinned Stiles against the locker room walls, the distant shouts of the lacrosse team practice so far away and distant that they barely grazed Jackson's ears. His hips pinned Stiles against the row of lockers, both of his hand resting on either side of the shuddering boy as he kissed the back of his neck, nipping and licking with no self-restraint and tiny mewls (yes, fucking mewls) left the delirious Stiles.

"Jackson stop…" he pleaded weakly, eyelashes fluttering adorably in a sad attempt to stay open. "C-Coach will…ahn….coach will notice we're gone."

"I told coach that you weren't feeling well," he said in a breathy murmur, biting the shell of Stiles ear. He grinned when a sharp "oh!" left the smaller boy. "I told him I'd take you to the nurse."

"You…planned this ambush?" Stiles muttered in dazed annoyance. He groaned when Jackson replied by slamming him tightly against the lockers, his erection poking at his butt in eager touch. Jackson's lips turned gentler as they brushed down his neck, stopping right above his shirt before he sucked.

"Aggh…" Stiles purred.

Jackson smiled at the noise and slid his hands down Stiles' chest, stopping at the top of his jeans. Fingers fumbled with the button but stopped when a different hand stopped it, ceasing Jackson's movement.

"Not here." Jackson was caught off guard by the fear in Stiles' eyes. "Please, not in the locker room. We're civilized people here, not animals."

Jackson smiled. "Right, of course," he chuckled as he rubbed against the smaller boy's butt. Stiles' response was a mere unintelligible groan as he slid down slightly against the lockers, breathless and flushed. Jackson leaned closer to whisper into his ear, "Come to my house after school."

Then he stepped back and offered his hand. "Let's take you to the nurse."

x

Stiles had only gone "all the way" with Jackson twice before. Once was in his room when Jackson went over to attack him with questions about Scott, the second time was in the midst of Jackson's "get-control-via-sexually-harassing-Stiles" game when he cornered Stiles in the showers and things just…happened. Stiles had never been to Jackson's house (well, not inside of it at least) before so he just stood on the porch staring at it in nervous anxiety. And Jackson just watched from his window, smiling like an idiot.

Why did Stiles come? He could have passed the invitation up…unless he was afraid of Jackson. Still, Jackson liked to tell himself that Stiles actually loved Jackson as much as Jackson loved him. This no longer had anything to do with fear or power. Not for Jackson, anyway. Hell, Stiles was the one with the power and control now. Everything he did sent Jackson into a frenzy.

Finally Jackson got bored of watching so he went downstairs, opened the door, and ushered Stiles inside. The jittery boy obeyed and let Jackson rip his coat off before he led him up the stairs. Halfway to his room Stiles nervously asked, "Uh, y-your parents?"

"Not home," Jackson said briskly. They never were.

"Oh…" Stiles gulped. Jackson smiled and pushed him into his bedroom, still smiling as he shut the door behind him using his heel. He approached Stiles and instantly pushed him onto his bed, already kissing his mouth and all over his chin and neck and relishing the moans and yelps that left Stiles.

"Y-You're going too fast, man!" Stiles complained as Jackson bit his shoulder while tugging his shirt off.

"Shut up," Jackson growled as he tossed Stiles' shirt then went for his pants.

"Oh-okay," Stiles squeaked. Jackson tugged his jeans down until they slid by themselves off of his ankles and stared at his blue boxers, moist with Stiles' eager arousal and tight with his obvious erection. Jackson found it endearing when Stiles complained even while feeling it as much as Jackson felt it. Smiling secretly to himself Jackson kissed the fabric, shivering when he heard Stiles' groan of approval. I want him to feel good, so good, I want him to feel the way he makes me feel every fucking day…

He pulled the bothersome fabric down and chuckled when Stiles' arousal sprung free, earning a relived sigh from the boy. Then he promptly chomped on it.

"God damn it, frick fricken…nngh!"

Interesting response. Grinning, Jackson tried not to gag as he attempted to lick the other boy's erection with professional touch. His tongue swirled around the tip, pressed against the slit, slid up and down the side and his lips sucked. Jackson thought the sounds (slurp, suck) were disgusting and so was the taste, but he didn't care. The amazingly beautiful sounds Stiles was making made up for it. He was literally twisting against the bed and thrusting his hips forward, crying out in a way Jackson had never heard before. And he fucking loved it.

"Da…aamn…s-sooo close…" Stiles moaned. "Ah, shit, J-Jackson…mm…I'm gonnna…aah…gonna…"

Jackson pulled away and licked his lips, blinking when white exploded from Stiles. He managed to dodge the spray and frowned at his carpet, now ruined by his lover's cum. Oh well. He could clean it up later. Besides, it wasn't like anybody would notice. His parents never step foot into his room anyway.

He got up and leaned over the flushed, panting boy, who looked half-conscious as he turned to look up at Jackson. Jackson kissed the corner of his mouth then slipped out of his own pants, hands moving to grasp Stiles' hips tightly. Stiles groaned and looked away as Jackson squeezed lube onto his own arousal (he kept a few bottles under his bed for easy access) and grabbed a condom. Smiling he pressed his erection against Stiles' stomach and gently put the packaged condom on Stiles chest. "Put it on me," he demanded.

Stiles' looked horrified. "Wh-What?"

"Put it on me or I won't use it," Jackson said with a wicked smile. Stiles' paled and looked angry, but he sat up all the same. He ripped it open and hesitated, staring down at Jackson before finally slipping it on. The brush of his fingertips was almost enough for the throbbing member, but Jackson managed to hold in the desire to just let it go.

Once it was on all the way he kissed Stiles' forehead. "Good boy. Now lay down."

Stiles obeyed.

"Spread your legs."

"J-Jackass," Stiles hissed as he reluctantly obeyed. Jackson straddled the smaller boy and leaned down to kiss his chest and neck as he slowly eased himself in. He heard the squish of contact and Stiles' groan of discomfort. He shushed him by licking his ear and continued to slip his way inside, smiling when Stiles' continued gasping and groaning in pain.

Then he was inside. "I'm gonna move," he whispered, then pulled himself out and thrust back in.

"Ah!" Stiles yelped.

Jackson angled himself and repeated the motion. After a few more thrusts he hit that spot he was looking for that had Stiles' throwing his head crying out. He remembered the angel and repeated the thrusts, in and out, in and out, in and out, over and over. Stiles' eventually gave in and hugged Jackson tightly, practically weeping as he moaned and shouted with every thrust.

Jackson didn't know how long they had sex, but finally Stiles' groaned long and hard and loud, coming again all over his own stomach. Jackson's thrusts began to slow as his orgasm finally rocked him and he groaned deeply, shivering as he released. Stiles closed his eyes as he gasped for breath, hands covering his eyes as Jackson pulled out gingerly to pull the used condom off and carelessly throw it into the trash can (he missed, but like hell he gave a shit).

He shifted to sit beside Stiles, who hadn't moved. Jackson's breathing slowed and he reached out, hand rubbing against the smaller boy's head, the hard yet soft texture of his hair soothing Jackson's excited mind. Then he heard it. Sobs.

"Stiles?" he asked, leaning closer to the boy. The sobs were louder, more prominent. "Are you alright? Did I hurt you?"

Stiles shook his head.

"What's wrong?"

Stiles took a shaky breath and said something that made Jackson's stomach drop so low he felt he might throw up. "Scott…oh god, I'm so sorry Scott…I'm sorry…"

"Scott?" Jackson whispered.

"Scott…" Stiles sobbed. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?" Jackson whispered, pressing his lips against the hands that covered that beautiful face of his. "Stiles?"

He didn't reply at first. His lips trembled and tears streaked his cheeks, but his eyes were shielded. Finally he whispered, "I thought of Scott. I've always thought about him when I was with you."

"Get out."

Stiles, still crying and ashamed and dirty, pulled his hands away to lift his red eyes to Jackson. The taller male was standing, naked and angry, his jaw set and eyes darkened. For a moment Stiles thought he heard things but then Jackson turned that angry gaze to him and repeated himself; "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE."

"J-Jackson?"

"Get out!" Jackson roared, throwing Stiles' clothes at him. All earlier giddiness was gone, replaced with rage and jealousy and bitterness. Stiles obediently dressed and quietly left the room, head low and tears still gushing from those eyes of his that Jackson loved so much.

Once Stiles was gone, Jackson exploded. He threw things, shouted, cursed, kicked, and even teared up at one point. Finally, exhausted, he collapsed on his knees and leaned against his bed for support, trembling and flushed with rage. Why Scott? Why that selfish prick who had his head so far up his ass all he saw was Allison? Why Scott, who didn't give a damn about Stiles' safety or feelings? Why Scott, why think of Scott while kissing and touching him? Why?

Then it came to him and so did the solution, and an hour later Jackson was at the Hale house, staring right into the eyes of Derek Hale. He was different, stronger, more feral. His eyes were crimson and he held an air of animalistic prowl, those chilling eyes of his glowing in the darkness as they rested firmly on Jackson's. Half-aware of what was happening Jackson was shouting, blinded by his jealousy and his anger. Scott the werewolf, Scott the cute fucking puppy, Scott the douche bag who stole the heart of the only person Jackson truly felt love for. He wanted to become like Scott, to be as powerful and strong, to fight for Stiles. To win back something he never had in the first place.

And then Derek smiled.

And his wish came true.