Title: Getting Lucky
Fandom: Teen Wolf (series)
Pairing/s: Scott/Jackson (pre-slashy)
Character/s: Scott, Jackson, Stiles
Summary: Scott's missing something important. Jackson gives him an alternative
Word Count: 770
Prompt: LJ fullmoon_ficlet #11- Missing
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf and am making no money; I am doing this for my own fun and entertainment. The fandom belongs to its respective creators and owners who *are* making money off them.
A/N: I have only watched the first 4 eps of this, the very vague mentions of the other characters are being implied from what I've inferred from the show and read through various fanfics plus what I made up, be warned.
A sock, please God let it be clean, flew through the air to land directly on Stiles' face, the owner of said sock completely oblivious to his best friend's flailing due to the unprompted attack. Stiles yanked the sock away, holding it between two fingers as far away from him as possible. "Dude, what's with the flying laundry?"
Scott looked up from his duffle bag that he was currently searching through to see Stiles holding out his sock. "I can't find it. I know I packed it; I always pack it on game day. I can't play without it. I mean, if I do then all the other times I have worn it become meaningless. I have to have it."
"Scott, chill, what are you talking about? What did you lose?" Stiles rolled his eyes at Scott's over reacting. And they say I'm the spastic one.
"My lucky shirt! The one I was wearing at try outs that day, the one I wear under my jersey; I can't play without it. Did you take it out or something?"
"Eww, no! After the last time I went in there and you'd forgotten to clean it out after the game and the smell about knocked me out, I swore never again to touch it. Check your locker. If you're absolutely sure you brought it, maybe you left it in there. But hurry up, we don't have much longer before the game starts and Coach will have both our asses if we're not on the field." Stiles looked up at the clock over the door then back to Scott, sighing even as he offered, "You want me to help you look?"
Scott looked up from the scattered contents of his bag, eyes flickering gold with his agitation as he looked from Stiles up to the clock and back to his bag. Biting his lip, he shook his head. "No, go on ahead, I'm just going to look around one more time and then I'll… I'll just have to play without it."
Stiles hesitated, looking at his friend doubtfully but the sound of Coach's yelling was drifting through the closed doors and he was already on the man's shit list this week…well, every week truthfully. "Alright, but don't wait to long."
Scott just waved him away, pulling open his locker on the off-chance that he had stuck the wayward piece of clothing there, muttering to himself the whole time.
"McCall! What the fuck are you still doing undressed? Game's in five minutes."
A slender hand slammed onto the locker next to Scott's head, making him jump and look up into Jackson's scowling face, absently wondering if he'd been taking lessons from Derek. "I'm looking for my lucky shirt; I've worn it to every game and since we've won every game… I kinda need my shirt."
"Seriously? Dude, you could go out there in your fucking Batman boxers and win; werewolf, remember!" Jackson brought his other arm up, pinning the smaller male between his outstretched arms as he leaned forward, calling on all his years as captain to intimidate the annoying teen. Opening his mouth to start yelling about McCall's stupidity, he paused as he heard the other teen's heartbeat suddenly skyrocket, watched as his tongue darted nervously over his lips even as flashing gold eyes seemed to linger on his own mouth. Well, that certainly changed things.
Grinning wolfishly, his own eyes flashing bright electric blue in response, Jackson leaned down, nuzzling McCall's neck right above his thundering pulse as he let one of his hands drop, gliding briefly over sculpted abs before grabbing the waistband of McCall's shorts and tugging tight enough to bring the other teen onto his toes, cup or no cup. A growl rumbling through his normally smooth voice, he spoke directly against McCall's ear. "Get your gear on, get your ass on the field, and if we win, I can guarantee you'll get lucky…no clothes required." Dropping his free hand down, he groped McCall's padding covered cock, squeezing just shy of uncomfortably hard and prompting a needy whine from the normally mouthy brunette. Releasing him, he stepped back and headed toward the door, adjusting his own semi-hard cock on the way. Jerking open the door, he didn't bother looking back. "Hurry the fuck up; you've got two minutes."
Scott stared at the closing door in shock, before the heavy thunk of its closing jolted him out of his hormone driven daze. Right… adjust his cock into a much more comfortable position, put on pads and jersey, grab his stick, and time to go. Who needed a lucky shirt anyway...