Stiles was roused out of sleep slowly by the warmth of the sun on his back. It was peaceful, and he felt so comfortable. His eyes fluttered open and tried to make sense of his surroundings. His brows pinched together in confusion. This wasn't his room. This was not his bed, were not his blankets, and his window didn't face the sun in the morning. And the body beneath him was definitely new. He rubbed his eyes and tried to make them focus, tried to get his brain all the way awake and figure out where he was. He looked down at the sleeping form of Jackson Whittemore, completely naked.
Stiles yelped, in a very manly way, and threw himself from the bed, stumbled, and fell to the floor, which he totally planned. Memories of the night before rushed back to him. He went to The Jungle, and drunk Jackson was there, and they danced, and they went to his place, and then... Oh, God.
He rushed to find his clothes and pulled them on as hurriedly as he could. Jackson stirred and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He looked at Stiles, very confused.
"Stilinski? What're you..." his face fell as realization dawned on him. "Aw, fuck." He fell back onto the bed and covered his face with his hands.
Stiles was sure his face was beet red, but he didn't have time to care. He finished getting all of his clothes in order and said, "I'm just gonna go, I guess." He was half way out the door when he stopped and looked back. "Uh, you're car is still at the club."
"It's fine, just go." Jackson didn't look up, just kept rubbing his eyes. "Danny'll take me up there later."
"Right." Stiles hesitated, thought he should say something else, but didn't know what, so he left. He dashed out to his Jeep and got out of there. He was a few blocks down the road when his eyes started to tear up. He pulled over to the side of the street and put his head on the steering wheel and cried.
What the fuck was he thinking? Why did he do that? What the hell does Jackson think about this? What's going to happen now? God, this is so embarrassing. What was he going to tell Scott? Was he going to tell Scott? No, that would probably be a bad idea.
God, he had fucked this up bad.
Jackson sighed and sat up. He would have to deal with this eventually. What the fuck did he do?
He searched for his phone and found it in the pocket of the jeans he wore the night before. He had one missed text from Danny. Good morning ;D. Fucking asshole. He typed out a reply. Get over here. Now.
He got up and threw on some shorts and a t'shirt and went to the couch downstairs to wait. It was ten 'o' clock and his parents weren't home. He felt bad for not seeing them before they went off to do whatever it was they were doing, but he was glad they didn't walk in on him and Stiles to say goodbye. He found a note on the kitchen counter saying they were meeting friends for brunch.
Jackson sat in the living room and turned the TV on but didn't really watch it. He just sat and thought about the previous night. What the hell was he thinking? Obviously he wasn't. He shouldn't have drank so much, then maybe he wouldn't have danced with Stiles and everything could have been avoided. He would swear off alcohol, but he knew that wouldn't last. He hoped alcoholism didn't run in the family. He would have to look in to that.
The TV droned on and on with some crappy imitation of a real cartoon. Kids these days.
Danny was there in less than ten minutes. He walked straight in, not bothering to knock. He stopped pretending to be polite years ago. He was basically family, though, and he was actually encouraged to come over whenever he wanted.
He strode into the living room with a big goofy grin on his face. "So, how was your night?" He jumped into the seat next to Jackson as obnoxiously as he could. Jackson just glared, trying to convey how much of a not-laughing-matter this was. Danny's smirk turned into a look of concern. "What's the matter, grumpy-head? You looked like you were having fun dancing."
"I did a little more than dance with him, Danny."
Danny's jaw dropped. "No way. With Stiles? Really? How far did you go?" Danny was a little too excited about this. He didn't seem to understand how this was a bad situation.
Jackson sighed. "I don't know, I was really drunk. I don't think we, like... y'know. But we were definitely naked this morning."
"He spent the night? Woah, we're getting serious." Jackson glared at him again. "What?"
"Would you take this a little more seriously?"
"Why? It's not a big deal! You got drunk and hooked up with a cute guy, so what?"
"It is a big deal, Danny!"
"Because I'm not gay! Or at least I don't think I am. I just... GAH!" Jackson put his elbows on his knees and shoved his face in his hands in frustration.
"It was one time and you were wasted, that doesn't mean you're gay, and so what if you were?" Danny just looked at him, exasperated. "Was it really that bad?"
Jackson sighed. "No, it's just... It was actually really fun, but... I've never liked guys before, why now? And why of all people did I choose Stilinski? I mean, fucking Stilinski?Really?"
"What's wrong with Stiles? He's a perfectly good candidate for fooling around! I don't even understand why you hate him. Give me a list of cons. Go."
"He's so fucking annoying! He's loud, and he's fidgety, and he never shuts up!"
"Okay, fair enough. Now give me a list of pros." Jackson stayed silent. "Okay, I'll start: he's freaking adorable. Anything to add?" Jackson didn't say anything. "Look, you obviously like something about him."
"He can be funny, I guess. And he's smart. And he's a good guy. He's always helping people, even when they don't deserve it."
"Good! We're making progress! What about him made you want him, specifically last night?"
"I dunno. I was drunk and he was there, and... I dunno, he smelled nice." Danny was silent. Jackson looked up at him. He wore a look of utter confusion. "What? He did! Don't make fun of me I'm being serious!"
Danny shook his head. "Okay, what do you mean he smelled nice?"
"He just... he smelled familiar, like a friend, or family... like he was mine."
Danny looked confused again. "Does anyone else smell like that to you?"
Jackson shrugged. "Well, yeah. I mean, you do. Lydia."
Jackson thought about it. "Derek," he made a face. "McCall," he actually shuddered at the thought.
Danny looked a little less confused. "Alright, well that sounds like a werewolf thing, so I don't know if I can help you with that. We could go ask Derek about it?"
Jackson groaned and shook his head. "God, I hate that guy."
"Well, like it or not, he's your alpha now, and it'll be easier to talk about it with him than Scott." Danny gave him a pointed look and Jackson surrendered.
"Fine. Get in the car."
Stiles stayed in his bed the rest of the morning, watching the ceiling. He couldn't believe how stupid he was. Actually, he could, and that was just depressing. He gave his first time to Jackson. The Jackson Whittemore, king of the super-douches.
Was he still a virgin now? It was only oral, so it shouldn't count, right? No, it totally doesn't count. Does it? Stiles groaned aloud. He'd been doing that a lot. He punched his headboard in frustration. He'd done that a lot, too. His knuckles wished he hadn't.
At one he decided it was finally time to get a shower. He had to scrub all of the Jackson off of him. Why Jackson? Of all the guys in Beacon Hills, why did he have to run into Jackson? And why was Jackson all over him? He was really drunk. Stiles wasn't. Why did he go along with it? The whole night he had the power to say no, and he should have had the sense to do so. Was that considered taking advantage of him? Did he technically just rape Jackson Whittemore? Is that restraining order still in effect? Fuck, if Jackson wanted to he could put him in jail. But it was totally Jackson's fault, too. He instigated the whole thing.
What is practice going to be like from now on? Seeing him change in the locker room? Pack meetings? God, this is awkward. He totally just fucked up the rest of his high school happiness. Every day he'll be reminded of how stupid he was that night.
Jackson probably hates him now. Well, more than he already did. He's probably thinking of ways to enact revenge right now.
Stiles scrubbed at every part of him that Jackson touched, which was pretty much all of him. He tried not to remember how it felt, skin on skin, his tongue all over his body. It was awful. Totally awful. He definitely did not enjoy it. At all. And he certainly wasn't getting hard thinking about it. And he wasn't touching himself, wishing it was Jackson. Definitely not.
God, this is pathetic. After all the trouble this has caused he wants more? He hates Jackson. He bullies him and Scott all the time. He's so stupid. And arrogant. And stubborn. And sexy. No, no he most definitely is not sexy. Stiles refused to think about his awesome abs, or his lips, or his tongue, or his beautiful cock. Refused to think about it. Yep, he totally wasn't thinking about Jackson as he came in the shower.
Stiles felt disgusted with himself.
After his shower he sat at his desk and tried to do his homework, or listen to music, or play video games, anything to help him forget.
The front door of the Hale house swung open before Danny could knock on it. Derek always needed to make a dramatic appearance.
Danny turned to look at Jackson, waiting for him to talk to Derek, but Jackson stared at his ground and shuffled his feet. Danny rolled his eyes and addressed Derek. "Jackson wants to talk to you about something that happened that he's a little confused about." Derek looked at Jackson expectantly. Jackson kept his head down. Danny gave a frustrated sigh and continued to speak for him. "Last night I took him to the club and he got more than a little drunk and he had a one night stand. With Stiles." Derek was obviously shocked but still didn't say anything. "We came to you because he doesn't know why he did what he did, but he does know that Stiles smelled really good to him. Like, werewolf smell good, like he felt comfortable with him because he was part of the pack.
Derek shrugged. "Well, yeah. Stiles is basically part of Scott's pack, and Scott is kind of tied to our pack, and we see each other a lot, so it's only natural that he associated Stiles with being pack. As for the... relations," Derek looked like the topic physically pained him to have to talk about, "if he was already drunk and looking for sex, it makes sense that he chose a pack member over someone non-pack." He shrugged again. "So, was there an actual question? Did I answer it? Can I go back inside and pretend I didn't hear any of this?"
Jackson figured there wasn't much left to talk about that Derek could answer, so he nodded and quickly retreated to Danny's car. He heard Danny give Derek a thanks and an apology for Jackson's behavior. Derek just said, "whatever," and went back inside.
Danny got in the car and looked at Jackson. "Did that help at all?" Jackson just shrugged. "Look, it was one night, you were drunk, and he was a familiar face. You had a little fun, and no harm done, right? And now you can pretend like it never happened."
But Jackson really didn't want to pretend it never happened.
The next day was Hell for Stiles. He felt like the world was fuzzy and out of focus and he had a headache and he just wanted to cry, but he was at school and he couldn't. He thought that maybe if he could just put his head down and try to block everything out all day he could make it, but he wasn't sure he could afford to miss his teachers' lectures. He'll have to get notes on what he didn't pay attention to from Allison. He knew that Scott took piss-poor notes on the rare occasions he bothered.
In the two classes he shared with Jackson, Chemistry and History, he made sure he was the first person in the room and stared at his desk until the end of class. He was on the verge of tears for the entirety of both classes. He knew Jackson was in that same room, probably feeling equally as bad about what happened. But maybe Jackson wasn't sad about it like he was. Maybe he was angry about it. Maybe it was just another one night stand to him and he was perfectly fine with it. Like Stiles was nothing to him.
When the bell dismissed the last class of the day Stiles bolted for the door. He really didn't feel like going to practice. Was he allowed to skip? It's not like coach would miss him. He didn't do much. He was just about to turn around and go home when Scott clapped a hand on his back. Stiles mentally groaned. There was no way Scott would let him skip.
"Hey, buddy. You OK? You seem mopey." Honestly, Stiles was thrilled that Scott actually noticed. He's a great guy but he's kind of a dolt.
"I'm fine, just feeling a little under the weather. Probably just a cold or something," he reassured Scott. He didn't like keeping things from his best friend, but he knew he would flip shit if he told him. Scott hated Jackson even more than he did. It was kind of impressive, really.
Scott seemed satisfied by his answer and didn't press the matter the rest of the way to the locker rooms. Luckily, their lockers weren't in line of sight of Jackson's, so he wasn't tempted to sneak a peek. He just stuck next to Scott while they changed, and kept him talking about some pointless shit he wasn't really interested in. He didn't really know what they were talking about, but it was Scott, so it was probably Allison related.
Stiles felt like his head was going to split in two when Coach blew the whistle instructing them to get on the field. He begrudgingly followed Scott outside into the crisp breeze. His head was still pounding like his brain was trying to break out of his skull. He'd be willing to let it.
He endured the stretches and even the running, but there was no way in Hell he could actually practice today. Surely he would get tackled at some point and he feared that his head would actually explode.
Stiles told Scott that he was going to go home, and not to worry about him. He told Coach Finstock that he was sick and needed to sit this practice out, but he was waved away, which he figured was close enough to permission.
He trundled back to the locker room, undressed, and got in the shower. The almost-scalding water was to die for. Just standing under the water, being warmed from head to toe, he felt a million times better. His headache subsided and he felt like he could breathe so much easier now.
He heard the outside door open and close, and he wondered who came in, but he really just didn't care enough to look, and his shower was so cozy.
"Stiles?" Stiles nearly shit himself when he heard Jackson enter the shower room. Jackson was here to kill him. Or ridicule him. Or something else incredibly awful. He was sure of it.
"Uh, hi," Stiles said nervously, unsure of how to best prolong his life. It was really awkward, standing there in the shower, naked, talking to a clothed Jackson, but Jackson was watching his own feet, which helped.
"I, uh... I just wanted to talk about... y'know... the other night." Jackson looked even more awkward than Stiles. It was kind of adorable. "Look, I'm really sorry about being all over you. I was really drunk and I was having a bad day, and you were there and I took advantage of you, and I'm sorry."
Stiles was taken aback. He was not expecting an apology, and he certainly wasn't expecting Jackson to take the blame for any kind of advantage taking. "No, I... I mean, you were drunk, it's not your fault... I was the sober one, I should have stopped it. If anything, I took advantage of you."
Jackson looked up, and quickly looked down. "I didn't seem to mind," he said with a smirk, gaining back some of that Jackson charm that everyone was used to. "I, uh... I actually had a nice time... with you." Stiles felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Jackson took a step forward and looked up again. "I actually wanted to know if you wanted to try it again sometime?"
Stiles couldn't believe what he was hearing. Jackson Whittemore was coming on to him, and not lightly. And he was very sober. And he was getting closer. And Stiles was moving toward him. And he wanted him.
Stiles stepped out of the shower's spray, and he didn't know if his shiver was from the cool air or the mounting anticipation of Jackson's lips on his again. There they were, warm and soft and inviting, but firm and steady, pulling on his own and covering his mouth with his. Their tongues played together softly but passionately, and Stiles melted into him. He put both hands on the back of Jackson's head, pulling him closer and angling into him and gripping his hair, but ever so gently.
Jackson began kicking his shoes and socks off and he held Stiles' lower back and waist. He flung his shoes far away, not caring where they landed, as long as they stayed somewhat dry. Stiles' hands left his hair and ran under the hem of his jersey and the t-shirt under it, feeling his stomach and chest and back. Jackson raised his hands and took half a step back so Stiles could pull the clothing off of him and toss it next to his shoes.
Jackson shoved Stiles into the wall behind them and pushed into him, the wall ice cold on Stiles' back. He grabbed Stiles' thigh and picked it up to wrap his leg around his waist. Stiles could feel Jackson's cock on his through his shorts and Jackson rocked his hips, thrusting his bulge into him. They were both getting hard and those shorts needed to go.
Stiles pulled them down as far as he could with his hands and used his toe to slide them further, until they fell to the floor and Jackson stepped out of them. Now the only thing between them were his underwear. They were the Under Armour compression kind and they outlined his dick perfectly.
Stiles grabbed at him, squeezing and pulling, and Jackson moaned into his mouth and bucked into his hand. Jackson let go of him and discarded the underwear and was on him again, finally naked, and he pulled him back under the shower head.
They continued kissing furiously and they took each other in hand, stroking and moaning. Their breathing was shallow and needy and they pushed into each other's tight grips, and pumped faster and faster until they both came all over their stomachs.
Stiles let his head fall into Jackson's shoulder and they both gulped for air, bodies shaky. Stiles took Jackson's wrist and dragged his fingers through his cum on Stiles' belly, and put the fingers in his mouth. He licked and sucked seductively, and Jackson gasped and grabbed at his ass with his free hand. Stiles let out a weak huff of laughter and they both smiled and kissed and they stayed like that, unwilling to go back to the real world, wanting to just stay there holding each other forever.