#stacksonweek2020

He nearly spat out his drink, and the glass clattered to the bar noisily in front of him, drawing the attention of the concerned bartender and a few patrons nearby. He waved them off, dabbing at the spill that had splashed onto the front of his shirt with a bar napkin, before he looked back over, and couldn’t make eye contact anymore. He flushed scarlet, embarrassed at the extra attention, and stared at the wall before tipping the glass to his lips and downing his drink in a few solid, full gulps. He signaled for another in answer to the bartender’s unspoken inquiry as she raised an eyebrow and motioned to his glass.

An hour went by in seemingly seconds as Stiles’ thoughts raced. It was obvious he didn’t want to reconnect, or he would’ve said something. Or maybe it was just the crowd he was with, and he didn’t want to draw attention to anything. What if he’d already left? Stiles couldn’t see the group of men clearly from where he was sitting, and a few of them had been in and out, though he was pretty sure he knew which one was him... he frowned. He’d lost sight of him. A dull ache started to form in his stomach that was unrelated to the buzz from his third drink.

“You know, all the ways I pictured we might run into each other, and this wasn’t one of them,” the smooth voice purred in his ear, and Stiles sat bolt upright, spinning around to face him. Jackson fucking Whittemore, in all his three-piece suited glory, grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

Stiles froze for a moment, his mouth hanging open, before Jackson’s words sunk in. He looked across the restaurant and noticed that the remainder of Jackson’s table of companions was filtering out the door, and he turned back with a sly smirk on his face. “Too shy to introduce me to your fancy buddies over there? What are you guys anyway, stock brokers?” He raised an eyebrow, looking Jackson up and down.

Jackson didn’t miss the roving eyes, though his shirt was still buttoned up tight and his tie in place, unlike Stiles. He looked the other man up and down himself, before taking a swig of his beer. “We should maybe reintroduce ourselves, considering it’s been awhile. Jackson Whittemore, Esquire.” He held out a hand to shake, a proud smile on his face that put butterflies in Stiles’ stomach.

He gripped it tightly and shook, growing goosebumps on his arm in the process, before pulling out his badge and flipping it open. “Agent Stilinski. FBI.” Jackson’s eyes widened in surprise, and Stiles smirked. “Yeah, I know, I was the hot gossip at our five-year reunion. Which you missed, by the way.” He pointed accusingly at Jackson, his finger poking him in the chest. Jackson didn’t shy away from the contact, leaning over the bar next to Stiles and resting his drink on a coaster.

“Yeah, I missed it. Law school beat the shit out of me. I don’t know why I ever decided to follow in my dad’s footsteps.” He shrugged. “But it’s been a pretty good life so far. And uh, the academy’s done good things for you.” He raised an eyebrow, admiring the way Stiles’ form had filled out since high school. And Stiles knew, he’d definitely grown into the gangly limbs and awkward proportions since he was a teenager.

Not that it hadn’t been a struggle. He’d spent his first few weeks at the academy feeling like he was going to die, but the physical training had gradually honed him into a toned, lean version of himself that he never thought he’d see in his younger years. Regardless, Jackson’s obvious attention to it had him flushing slightly.

The unspoken tension filled the air before Stiles took a deep sip of his drink, setting it down carefully. “You never kept in touch,” he pointed out. It was casual, but his tone implied something deeper. Jackson stared at him, noticed the way Stiles’ eyes wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Didn’t deserve to,” he retorted, which drew a look of surprise from Stiles. “What? I was an absolute ass in high school, dude. And probably even more of an ass in undergrad.” He shuddered. “I’ve grown up a lot. Obviously you have too. But I wanted to be... different, when I eventually got around to reconnecting with everyone, especially you.”

Especially you. And weren’t those pretty words to come from an equally pretty mouth. “Yeah, you were an ass in high school,” Stiles acknowledged, though the response from Jackson was a look of more guilt than he’d been intending to inflict. “But you made up for it.”

The implication turned back time to groping hands, shuttered up in Jackson’s bathroom during a party, mouths and limbs and hardness, heat and release— The blush was equal in both their cheeks. It wasn’t a single occurrence, they had quite the history over the last few years of high school.

“I remember,” Jackson muttered, the barest hint of a smile playing on the edges of his lips. “I didn’t know what I was doing then, though. And I was a dick to you about it. You know, when things got more... involved.”

When feelings got involved. Right.

Stiles shrugged it off. Long since passed, and long since forgotten. His attention instead turned to the earlier part of what Jackson had said. “So you know what you’re doing now?” he inquired, and his amber eyes were peering up at Jackson through those thick lashes that always set him off when they were younger, and god damn were those memories coursing through their veins and making them both feel alive, thrumming to the accelerating tattoo that their pulses set.

Jackson gripped Stiles’ tie, pulling him forward forcefully to capture his lips, ignoring the wandering eyes from the bartender and other patrons, who probably thought they were moving a little fast for a first time meet. He felt Stiles gasp quietly underneath him, the heat pooling in his gut as Stiles’ tongue flicked out gently to trace his bottom lip. They separated, breathing heavily, before Jackson pulled him by his tie a little further, to lean over in Stiles’ ear once more. “Want to find out?”

Stiles dug into his wallet, slapped a fifty on the counter and downed the rest of his drink. “Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, and Jackson followed him out the door before pressing him against the brick wall, humming into his mouth as their tongues danced. “Easy, tiger,” Stiles chided gently, grinning as Jackson nipped down the side of his jaw to his neck.

“Got a lot to make up for,” Jackson muttered against his skin, sucking a deep bruise into Stiles’ collarbone as he shoved the offending fabric of his dress shirt aside. His hand slipped into his pocket and came back with his car keys, clicking the remote. A black Range Rover beeped from the isolated corner of the parking lot, and Stiles looked before rolling his eyes.

“The Rover doesn’t surprise me, Mr. Porsche,” he teased, laughing as he danced away from Jackson’s needy hands and lips, making for the rear passenger side door. “Esquire over here flashing what he can afford.” There was no venom in his words, only joking praise.

“Why are you getting in the back?” Jackson asked, confusion knitting his brows.

“Because so are you,” Stiles retorted, and the mischievous grin spread across his face as he opened the door and hopped in. The grin that brought the memories surging back as Jackson hopped in the backseat from the other side, their mouths clashing urgently as Stiles tugged on Jackson’s jacket, discarding it into the front seat with little regard.

It wasn’t long until their shirts were open, and Jackson was pressing their chests flush together, relishing in the keen that came out of Stiles at the feel of skin on skin. He nipped down Stiles’ neck to drag his tongue along his clavicle, biting down sharply.

Stiles yelped, but felt himself stiffen completely, because yes, this was what he missed. The way Jackson never treated him like he was breakable, trusted him to handle it, and it was something he’d been missing for a long time. He didn’t get around much with his busy life and his federal job, and he felt like a tightly coiled spring finally given the freedom to release.

The way Jackson grabbed his hips bruisingly, like Stiles’d fall through to the center of the earth if he loosened his grip, lit something in him, and he pushed Jackson’s shirt off his shoulder, admiring the tribal tattoo design he found there. He sank his teeth into it, satisfied with the way Jackson threw his head back and moaned at the contact.

“Stiles,” he interrupted, but Stiles paid no mind, kissing his way down Jackson’s hairless chest as he pawed at his hardness through the front of his suit pants. “As much as I’d love to fuck you in my backseat, I think we need a bed.”

Stiles came up for air, after kissing down Jackson’s abdomen. He shrugged his shoulders, nipping at Jackson’s lower lip lightly. “Fine then, Whittemore. Take me home and take me to bed.”

The door slammed behind them minutes later, after Jackson had broken nearly every traffic law in the state. He yanked at Stiles’ shirt impatiently, pulling it off of his arms before their mouths were back in contact, shrugging off his own shirt as their clothing fluttered, forgotten, to the floor. Searing heat and the clash of rushed, hurried teeth filled Stiles’ consciousness, as Jackson’s hands roamed down his sides and slipped underneath his waistband, palming Stiles’ ass impatiently.

“Fucker,” Stiles growled into his mouth as he arched his back into the touch. Jackson reached down and grabbed him around the waist, hauling him up until Stiles’ legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. He threw the other man unceremoniously on the bed after shoving into the bedroom, and Stiles collapsed in a pile of limbs before turning onto his back, sighing gently. “Your mattress is comfy,” he complimented, a stupid grin slapped across his face as he shimmied out of his pants.

“My law school roommate in Boulder ditched the last month of rent. I changed the locks and stole his furniture.” Jackson’s belt whipped off lightning quick as he shoved his own pants and underwear to the floor, his cock springing free of its cloth prison. He hissed as it met the cool air, and Stiles licked his lips as they collapsed back together, hands and mouths fumbling deliciously.

After a few moments, Stiles scrambled down the bed to swallow him to the hilt in one fluid motion. Jackson hissed as Stiles’ tongue flicked out around the base of his shaft as he took him into the back of his throat. “Jesus fuck, your mouth, Stilinski. Missed it so much.”

Stiles pulled up and off of Jackson’s shaft with a wet pop, before smacking it lightly against his cheek. “Guess you’ll just have to make up for lost time then.” He ran his tongue from base to tip, swirling it around the head before delving back down, and Jackson pulled his own hair to keep from yelling to loudly at how fucking incredible it felt.

Stiles hummed around his shaft, bobbing to the base and back to the tip to swirl his tongue in the way he knew drove Jackson nuts. The humming sent deep vibrations through Jackson’s flesh and he let out a ragged, broken moan.

The taste and feel of him bombarded Stiles with memories of the first time he’d ever sucked Jackson’s dick, denial radiating through the other boy even as he’d twitched in anticipation, letting out a rough breath as Stiles finally took him in his mouth.

“Do you like it?”

“Shut up and keep going.”

Jackson was growing impatient, and he finally pulled himself out of Stiles’ mouth, reaching down to throw the other man further up on the bed, stomach down, receiving a yelp of protest which quickly died on Stiles’ lips as Jackson kissed down his back to his ass, biting sharply into his left cheek. His breath ghosted over Stiles’ hole, and okay, yes, this was a thing that they’d never done together before that Stiles was 120% on board with.

“Are you seriously going to ahhhhh fucking shit Christ Jesus,” Stiles babbled as Jackson’s tongue flicked out and laved at his rim like a man starved, both hands palming Stiles’ ass and spreading his cheeks and yeah, okay, Jackson had picked up some tricks since high school. Yup.

His sensitive hole was twitching under the ministrations of Jackson’s tongue, and Jackson hummed as he pressed his tongue inside the taut ring of muscle, eliciting a sharp sound from Stiles that he wanted more of. A finger joined his tongue, then two as Stiles relaxed under his efforts.

“God, I can’t believe I’ve never opened you up like this before,” Jackson panted. “You’re so warm and open, so good for me.” His praise was radiating through Stiles’ bones as he pressed his hips back.

“I need you,” Stiles groaned. “Need to feel you again. It’s been— god, too long, not enough, just— just do it.”

Jackson nodded, moving to obey and flicking open the bottle of lube he’d nabbed from his bedside table, spreading it over himself quickly before pressing into Stiles, slowly but persistently.

Stiles’ eyes screwed tight as he breathed in and out sharply, the burn of Jackson’s breach stretching him in a way he hadn’t been in a long time. “Fucking holy hell, forgot how thick you were,” he breathed, pressing his face into the pillow desperately as he rolled his hips back to take Jackson further.

Jackson paused, for a brief moment, to give Stiles time to adjust. That action alone sent a shock through Stiles’ body. Jackson had never been about how Stiles felt, their clandestine hookups throughout high school had always been about Jackson getting off, but this— this was different, and Stiles felt it, felt the consideration and respect.

He responded by pressing his hips back into Jackson, hissing as the burn reignited but slowly began to dissipate. “Move,” he commanded, and Jackson obeyed.

And this, this was what Jackson had missed the most. “God, the way you look spread out around my dick,” he groaned, fucking into Stiles with earnest, staring down at the way Stiles’ hole gripped his girth each time he slid out.

“Shit, Jacks,” Stiles grunted, slamming his hips backwards to meet Jackson’s thrusts, all earlier thoughts of tenderness abandoned. “God, I forgot how good you felt in me. It’s been so long. Always so fucking hard and rough with me. Fuck.”

Jackson’s hand cracked down onto Stiles’ ass, drawing a yelp and leaving an angry red handprint. He spanked him again, twice more, three more times, causing Stiles to let out a long, sharp series of moans. “Fucking take it,” Jackson bit out, pummeling into him rapidly.

Stiles’ talk devolved into senseless syllables and nonsensical babbling as he felt the pleasure coiling in his gut. “Mmmm, f-f-fuuuuck, I’m gonna— I’m close, I—”

Jackson halted, reaching down with both arms and flipping Stiles over onto his back in one smooth motion, bending his head to bite roughly on Stiles’ bottom lip as he pushed back in, holding him around his waist with his legs in the air as he jackhammered in at a punishing pace. “Want to see it,” he panted against Stiles’ lips. “Want to see you let go, see how taken apart you are when you come.”

Stiles came with a shout, spurting copiously all over his chest, his eyes screwed shut and fists tangled in the sheets. Jackson followed him over the brink, moaning loudly as he shoved to the hilt and spilled himself inside Stiles.

Collapsing on the bed next to him, they both laid for a few moments, Stiles’ head lolling over onto Jackson’s shoulder. Their breathing was still heavy, though their pulses began to slow after having finally reached their peaks.

“So,” Jackson began, running his finger through the mess on Stiles’ abdomen and popping it into his mouth before pulling it out with a pop. Stiles’ eyes followed him, blown wide and dark. “Made up for lost time?”

Stiles nodded, grinning wildly as he ran his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. “It’s a start.”

A start. Jackson nodded, breaking eye contact as a smile spread across his face.

----------------------------------------

He traced his fingertips around Jackson’s abdominal muscles absentmindedly, leaning his head into the crook of the other man’s neck. Jackson’s eyes were lightly closed, satisfied after their round the next morning. They were resting quietly, the morning light filtering in through the taupe curtains and spilling warm rays of sunshine across their mostly still forms.

“Would things have been different?” Stiles asked quietly, prompting a soft, questioning hum from Jackson, who kept his eyes closed, but rubbed circles into Stiles’ shoulder with his thumb. “If you weren’t a dick in high school, I mean.” The implication behind it left Stiles feeling vulnerable, and he swallowed it down thickly.

“Maybe,” Jackson admitted, turning to press his lips gently into Stiles’ hair. “I can’t change who I was then. I wish it could’ve gone differently, though.” The unspoken differences echoed in the silence, and Stiles pictured what life could’ve been like, in another world.

“What about now?” he asked, voice uncertain. There was no indication that Jackson had wanted this to continue, that it was more than just a rekindling of an old flame, destined to wither and snuff out as it had before.

Jackson was silent for a moment too long before responding, and it twisted Stiles’ stomach up in knots. “What about it?”

“Is it too late?” Stiles asked. He was unable to form the words, unable to ask directly for fear of putting himself too far out there. Something about this just felt like the universe was pointing them in the right direction for once, and he needed to know now if it was never going to happen.

“Do you want it to be?” Jackson asked.

He blinked, the answer clear as day. “No.”

A small smile played at the corner of Jackson’s lips as he looked down at Stiles. “Then it’s not too late.”

The sun’s rays splayed out gently across their skin as Jackson pulled him closer.

“Wow, that had to be hard,” Stiles offers obviously surprised.

“Yeah, it was,” Jackson nods, absolutely serious.

“And what did you do?” Stiles asks warily, biting his lip.

“Well, I was a mess. My parents didn’t get it, my best friend didn’t get it and even I didn’t totally get it. Because I knew I could actually finish it, and pass the bar and find a job… but also, in the back of my mind, I knew I couldn’t go on if I didn’t have a passion for it, you know… but for a while there I really thought I was stupid for not seeing it sooner… for wasting two fucking years of my life before I saw it. And I thought something was wrong with me… some people would call it a crisis, I suppose…” Jackson shrugs. “In the end, I left… stayed in France for a while… then I was backpacking through Europe… and decided to study economics and most probably start my own business in the future.”

“But that’s not what happened…” Stiles shakes his head.

“No... My boss… he changed all that. Somehow he trusted me, he recruited me and I realized this is what I was supposed to do.”

“You found your destiny,” Stiles declares. “Wow… that’s so cool.”

Jackson smiles. “I guess, it’s cool, yeah.”

“What about you? Is your call being a journalist?”

“I think so, yeah.” Stiles nods. “When I was a teenager, I thought I wanted to be a writer…”

“Really? Jackson raises his eyebrows.

“Yep. I have a lot of imagination in case you haven’t noticed—”

“Oh, I’ve noticed,” Jackson smirks.

“But writing is not a career… you have to be lucky to actually make money with it.”

“So, you just forgot about it?” Jackson furrows his brow.

“As employment? Yeah, I did… but I still, I write… just a hobby… plus, it’s not like I have a lot of free time… and anyway, I love my job… I don’t write fiction but I write about things that matter—our reality— and that’s important… Hopefully, I make a difference showing what’s going on out there and you know, every day is different and I never get bored. I guess not many people get to say that… although of course, you’re not one of those.”

Jackson gets that and he believes him, but something tells that probably those are all things that help him cope with the fact that he’s not doing what would have been his first choice.

“I mean,” Stiles continues, “unless, you got so used to traveling and kicking strangers who follow you…” Stiles gestures with his hand. “In that case, maybe you should have become a lawyer after all.”

“God, no,” Jackson smiles, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t change what I do for anything. And you know, if I hadn’t kicked you, we wouldn’t be here right now…”

“That’s most probably true,” Stiles smirks.

“It is,” Jackson bites his lip. “And believe me, I’ve told you stuff that…” Jackson snorts, smiling, “few people know about me.”

And that is honesty right there. It’s true he’s not been on a date in a long time but still, now that he thinks about it, he can’t remember a date where he talked as much about himself as he has tonight. Obviously, there’s something about this guy that makes it easy to talk and just be himself in a way that doesn’t really come natural to him. Thank god Lydia won’t find out what they talked about because if she did, she would be teasing him about it endlessly.

“Well, I hope that means that you wanna see me again… even if I’m only really good at English and I’ve asked more questions that you probably wanted in your lifetime.”

Jackson drinks some more wine and licks his lips. “Yeah, but I’ll just text you next time. I hope it’s not too disappointing.”

Stiles smiles. “I admit it. I could get used to your fingers sliding inside my pocket, but I think I can deal with it. And you know, since it’s been established that your so called-plan for Christmas Day absolutely sucks, I think you should come over to my place and have lunch with my father and me. I’ll be cooking, not him, so it’s safe to say that you won’t die of starvation.”

“Wait—Your father and you?” Jackson raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah, he’s coming to visit for a few days. But don’t worry, if it bothers you that he knows that we are… you know…” Stiles waves his arms.

“Dating?” Jackson tries hard not to smirk. Stiles can be really ridiculous.

“Yeah. If that bothers you, you can come as a friend. I’m not trying to con you into anything… it’s just Christmas lunch… between friends. Well, family and friends… two friends.” Stiles closes his eyes for a moment, waving his arms. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think that me meeting your father is the best idea you’ve ever had… especially after just one date.”

“On the contrary, everybody likes my father. There’s even the risk that you could like him more than me…” Stiles smiles. “And hell, I just don’t want you to be alone. Besides, I’m sure anything is better than whatever you are going to eat at home after working out like a maniac.”

Jackson rolls his eyes dramatically but finally nods. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll go… but don’t do that. Don’t lie to him. As I said before, what’s the point of lying?” It feels stupid to do that. If the father is half as smart as Stiles is, he will see the way his son looks at Jackson and will know the truth anyway.

“Okay. I won’t.” Stiles shakes his head.

“So, are you gonna order any dessert or what? They are pretty good at this place.”

“Are you kidding? I never say no to dessert… especially cake… chocolate cake or apple cake… any cake, really...”

The way Stiles’ face illuminates at the idea of cake is too cute… maybe even beautiful. Jackson can’t help but grin. Somehow Stiles’ eagerness is contagious and he wants some cake too… and the thing is he never has cake. Too many calories.

“Shut up, you’ll be as old as I am in four months—Wait,” Stiles furrows his brow, “where are you?” Because he’s just realized that the wall behind Jackson doesn’t look like his room and Jackson is obviously on his phone, not on his laptop.

“The stairs. Near the library. Don’t worry, there’s nobody around… everybody is having dinner or studying, I guess.”

“Of course—You were at the library… and you interrupted your studying to call me?” Stiles frowns. “You shouldn’t—”

“I said I’d call you, didn’t I?

“Yes, but I could have waited until tonight.”

“Yeah, and you would have opened it without me.”

“Not true,” Stiles says defensively.

“Whatever. Now we won’t need to find out… just open it already.” Jackson smiles.

“Fine. But just so you know, if you’ve spent too much, I’m taking it back to the store.”

“You aren’t returning shit, and that’s final,” Jackson says with conviction.

Stiles rips off the paper with no delicacy at all and he finds a white box with the ‘Diesel’ logo at the top.

“Fuck,” Stiles shakes his head. “Jackson—”

“Stiles, open-the-fucking-box,” Jackson says, leaning closer to the phone, like if that is going to make any difference.

“Yeah, I’m working on it!” Stiles gets up, leaves the box on the bed and leans over to open it.

“Shit,” it’s all Jackson can hear from Stiles, who is still standing with his back facing the laptop as he takes it out of the box with both hands.

“You like it?” Jackson says, unable to wait any longer in uncertainty.

“You’re insane, okay?” Stiles shakes his head, licking his lips.

“That means you like it?” Jackson raises both eyebrows.

“No, that means… you can’t do this. That’s what I mean.”

“Okay, I’ll take that as a ‘yes’...” Jackson tries not to smirk but gives up after a few seconds. “Put it on, then.”

Stiles is not sure he should, because if he does, he’ll love it and then, there’s no way he’ll have the will the take it back to wherever this gorgeous thing came from.

“Look, if it’s the right size,” and Jackson knows Stiles’s size perfectly, “you’re not taking it back or whatever else is going through your mind. So, just try it on.”

Stiles shakes his head but he puts on the brown leather jacket and unsurprisingly, it fits Stiles’s chest, arms and waist perfectly.

The jacket has a round neckline with a snap-button tab on the neck, long sleeves with padded shoulders, zipped cuffs, chest pockets, side zip pockets, an inside pocket, and a zip-up front.

“Okay, are you going to say anything?”

And there it is, that thing in Jackson’s voice that always gets to Stiles and he feels actually badly for not being more enthusiastic from the start. Besides, he knows very well that it’s not been easy to get this to him since he couldn’t buy it personally and had to get his mother involved.

“Fine, it’s beautiful, okay? It’s perfect, and I love it. Of course, I love it, but—”

“You look seriously hot.” Jackson nods. “Just go and check it out in the mirror because you look amazing. I don’t know why I didn’t get you one before.”

“Because you can’t do that. Normal people don’t—”

“Yes, I can—And I have. And you need to learn to accept gifts more gracefully from now on. Especially from me.”

Stiles snorts. “You’re the only one who—”

“Is your boyfriend and is allowed to get you any present he wants?” Jackson raises his eyebrows. Jackson knows perfectly well that Stiles remembers when he told him the same thing and he can’t possibly dispute his own argument. “In that case, yeah, that’s me,” Jackson nods again.

Stiles doesn’t say anything. He just slides his hand along the sleeve checking out the texture of the leather and opens and closes the zip pockets, before he finally zips the front.

“So, you think I look hot?” Stiles bites his lower lip, obviously not convinced.

“Very hot,” Jackson stresses both words, smiling.

“Shit, why did you get me this?” Jackson looks back at the screen, unzipping the jacket and sitting down at the desk again.

“Why? Jackson rolls his eyes dramatically. “You know why. You’re the one who forbade me to go and told me to stay here studying. You knew I’d get you something even if I wasn’t there.”

“I wished you were here… but you don’t need to be. I’m just talking to you. And... you know what I mean—This thing must cost a fortune. How did you even involve your mother in this?” Stiles frowns.

“Okay, firstly, you’re not, and I repeat: not allowed to google that jacket, so don’t even think about it. Secondly, yes, it’s not cheap, but nothing of quality is, and if it makes you feel better, it’s not too expensive either… this is something that you can use for years and I can afford it, as you know... And thirdly, when I asked her, she didn’t hesitate—she wanted to do me the favor, not to mention how much she loves to go shopping, so maybe this proves that she’s finally accepted you… which I’ll take as progress and growth of your relationship. Plus, you only turn twenty once… I think that gives me a certain reason to indulge... or whatever...”

If there’s a quality that Jackson has is that he always knows how to prove his points and defend all his actions, no matter how selfish or irrational they might seem to other people. Jackson can be insecure and might be sometimes afraid of not achieving his goals, but when it comes to defending his ideas, he’s the most fearless and confident person Stiles knows. He’s definitely going to be a good lawyer. Stiles has no doubt about it.

“I hate that you always know how to make a compelling argument,” Stiles admits. “And I hate even more that you always convince me of your bullshit.”

Jackson snorts a laugh, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I’m good, but I’m not that good, Stilinski—You just know I’m right… as usual.”

Stiles bites his lip and runs a hand through his long hair to move it out of his face and behind his ear.

“Umm… no, I wouldn’t say that… but yeah, I love it… and I love you, and you know that.”

“I do.” Jackson smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s that look in his eyes that Stiles can recognize too easily know. Days like today it’s even harder not being able to reach out to touch, and feel, and hold each other. It’s bittersweet.