otg2012 asked you: Hi.. Just in case.. Stackson: for different fics: "I've always been into you" / "I don't wanna keep this a secret anymore" / "It's time, I want us to have children" / "they are never gonna get it".

Word Count: 1081

Or: One time Jackson surprised Stiles, one time Stiles surprised Jackson, one time they surprised each other, and one time they surprised the pack.

Stiles shows up in London after they both graduate. He insists that he's not there to see Jackson, that going to London was a coincidence, because why the hell would he want to see that dumbass? In fact the truth is, Lydia gave him the plane tickets out of desperation. She'd been planning to go (also not to see Jackson. She was going to take a tour of Oxford). Things hadn't quite worked out.

In fact he doesn't even run into Jackson for the first week, and when he does, it's because Jackson tracks him down.

Stiles is in line to buy fish in chips because it seems like the right thing to do in London when you're on the run from…

Anyway, he's standing in line, about to hand over what he hopes is the proper amount of pounds to the cashier. The door to the shop swings open, and behind him he hears, "Stiles."

He recognizes the voice; of course he does. You don't forget the person who tormented you all through middle school and the first two years of high school. You don't forget the one who dates the girl of your dreams.

(Jackson is too pretty to forget. Stiles pretends this isn't another reason to remember him.)

The thing is, Stiles doesn't recognize the tone in Jackson's voice. He sounds oddly relieved, even pleased to see him, and when Stiles turns to look, Jackson is grinning lazily.

Maybe London was really good to him.

Maybe Jackson has a new girlfriend and doesn't care what Stiles thinks of Lydia.


Stiles is still wary. "Hey, Jackson," he says, watching as the boy approaches. "How's it going?"

"Good," he says pleasantly. "What are you doing here?"

"Just vacationing," he answered, turning back and handing the cashier some money.

She gave him his change and food and immediately turns to the next customer.

Stiles tries not to be affronted.

"I smelled you," Jackson says conversationally. "Didn't think it was you at first. Just my imagination."

"Do you imagine smelling me often?" Stiles jokes, tearing a piece of his fish off and popping it in his mouth.

Jackson stares at him for a long second, lips pursed. "Maybe," he says. "It gets lonely here."

"Lonely enough that you miss me?" he asks incredulously.

He shrugs and tilts his head toward the door. "Do you want to take a walk? I promise not to beat you up."

"Not even for old time's sake?" he wonders, following Jackson without complaint.

"Try the vinegar," Jackson says. "It's good on your chips."

Doubtfully, he does. He's pleasantly surprised. Not just by the taste, but also by Jackson holding the door for him.

"You coming?" he asks.

"Yeah," Stiles agrees.

They walk through the crowded London streets, each of them alert. Stiles doesn't ask if Jackson heard the lie in his heartbeat when he said he was just vacationing. He's not interested in rehashing the supernatural baddie that sent him running here. He's not sure Jackson is the one he'd want to vent to, anyway.

"There's lots of nice things to do here," Jackson says, breaking their companionable silence about a block away from the fish and chips shop. "I could take you around, if you'd like?"

Stiles really isn't sure if he should trust him. But then again, if he can't handle a possibly mentally disturbed werewolf after all this time, he deserves whatever is coming to him. "Okay," he says, and Jackson grins.

They go on an adventure, sort of. In reality, he just takes him around to a bunch of popular tourist destinations—the London Eye, Big Ben, and even Buckingham Palace.

While they stand outside the Palace, Stiles looks over at Jackson with a frown. "You've been weirdly nice today."

He shrugs. "Seemed like the way to be."

"Why?" he asks, exasperated.

Jackson just shrugs. "Why not?"

"You hate me."

"Nah," he says, and then looks over at Stiles. "You know, I've been a jerk in the past. I regret that. You lose everything and realize how much you screwed it up, you know?"

Stiles sighs. He gets that. Especially right now. He nods and gestures for Jackson to continue.

"I shouldn't have been that way," Jackson says, smiling. "I want you to like me."

"Why?" he asks. It doesn't really make sense.

He shrugs again, jams his hands in his pocket. "I was always jealous of how much attention you paid to Lydia."

Stiles frowns at him and shakes his head. "That's a bit non-sequitur, but okay, I'll bite. Why were you jealous? Wouldn't 'annoyed' or 'furious' work better?"

"I've always been into you," he replies. "So jealous seems right."

He gapes, because surely that can't be right. Jackson Whittemore was on his hate list, and he was pretty sure the feeling was mutual.

Apparently not.

Which, really, it's flattering, because Jackson is gorgeous. Prettier than Derek on his best day, really. He'd overheard Jackson jokingly say that he was everyone's type on several occasions—usually directed at Danny.

But Jackson is a douche.

But he apologized.

But you have a long and horrible history!

But this is the present.

Stiles doesn't really know what to think. "I'm gonna need a minute."

"No problem," Jackson says, as though this is exactly what he expected. "It is getting kind of late, though. Where are you staying? Little boys that smell like werewolves shouldn't wander alone after dark."

"You couldn't have been more creepy if you were Peter," Stiles says, leaning back cautiously. "I actually don't have enough money for a hotel. Kind of on the run."

"Well anyone with a decent amount of determination would be able to find you," Jackson says. "You'll have to stay with me and my parents. Don't worry; I won't try anything."

"But your dad hates me!"

He grins at him. "Only because you were my unrequited gay love. Come on."

"He thinks I kidnapped you," Stiles lamented.

"You did."

"It was for your own good," he snaps, jabbing Jackson's side.

He jumps away, laughing. "Okay, okay. Sure. Don't worry. They'll think I'm reliving the glory days."

"With your unrequited gay love? I don't know how I feel about this."

"Relax. I'll pull a cot out for you." Jackson grabbed his arm and hauled him in the direction of the metro. "We need to make good time, before the ghosties come out."

"Damn, London changed you," he complains. "You weren't always so weird."

"You like it."

A little bit.

A/N: Because prompts are prompts, not instructions on how to build a table.

Basically I'm saying I can build the table how I want.

Which is why this is all one fic.

There won't be any mpreg, which may or may not satisfy you.