#stacksonweek2021

Jackson snorts and almost playfully bumps him with his shoulder. “Not my fault you left the front door unlocked, Stilinski.” 

Fuck this. “I’m leaving.” Stiles stalks back towards the front door, yanking his jacket off the hook and grabbing his shoes. Whipping the open the door, the teen groans loudly, dropping his head back, “you’ve got to be kidding me!” 

“What are you bitching about now?” The wolf steps beside him and looks outside, his eyes widen drastically. “Holy shit!”

The lake has officially overflown since they’ve shown up and the driveway is at least three inches deep with water. Jackson’s care looks like it’s barely  capable of surviving if it gets too high. Stiles almost cares enough to wonder if they should move it. This fucking storm! Now he’s stuck here with nowhere to go. Yes, he has a jeep, but the road out is no doubt a muddy mess that even Roscoe can’t navigate. 

Closing the door and putting his clothes back where they were, Stiles whines, “why would she pick today to do this?” Thinking about the weather his dad forced him to watch this morning. Most cities were calling in downed power lines and massive branches flying through the streets. 

She knew this storm was coming. So much so that Lydia even reminded him to wear his boots rather than his sneakers. “I guess I better call Scott, tell him not to come. No use in him getting stuck in the woods like this.” Sures, having his best friend here would make this exceptionally better. But Stiles doesn’t want to break up any fights between a stir crazy Jackson and Isaac. Fishing in his pocket, Stiles pulls out his phone and smashes the call button in annoyance. 

“Stiles, hey. I’m sorry I did-” Scott answers on the second ring only to be cut off by Stiles.

“I don’t care if you and Isaac were fucking,” Jackson chuckles at his jab. “Don’t come to Lydia’s. The lake flooded and now Jackson and I can’t leave.” 

“Okay,” Scott draws out the word and if Stiles wasn’t mistaken sounds a little confused. Jackson’s brows knit together at the response too. Okay, so it did sound weird then. “I’m sorry you’re stuck there, dude. But maybe this will be a good thing?”

Is he serious? “How the fuck is it supposed to be a good thing to be stuck in a goddamn house with someone who hates my guts?” Stiles’ hand slaps his thigh in exasperation. Not to mention the asshole in question was hotter than hell fire and makes it incredibly hard to be in the same room with him. Not thinking about that when Jackson can smell his chemosignals. 

“Well,” Scott drawls, “you did say you had a crush on him.” Stiles blanches and goes stalk still, forgetting how to fucking breathe. Jackson snorts beside him. Stiles is going to kill Scott. “Oh my god! He’s right next to you, isn’t he?”

“I hate you so much right now.” Stiles makes a point to stare at the floor and not at the shuffling wolf beside him. “Well, thanks for getting me killed. Great best friend job, truly. See ya probably never, Scotty.” He promptly hangs up before Scott can answer. 

“So,” Jackson purrs and Stiles can’t help but turn and face the wolf. His arms are crossed from where he leans against the wall, one foot propped behind him. Jackson’s face holds that stupid, sexy, douchbag smirk, “you like me?”

He’s not even going to entertain that. Stiles squints at him with his mouth slightly parted. It only makes Jackson chuckle. “I need a drink,” Stiles uses every ounce of self control not to literally run away and back into the kitchen. Sifting through the drawers until he finds the corkscrew, Stiles grabs a bottle. Once the cork is out- that actually had already been opened- Stiles could give fuck all about a glass. He takes a sip directly from the bottle, regretting it at the extensive bitter taste of wolfsbane.

Clearly that one’s for Jackson. He’s courteous enough to slide the wine across the island when Jackson is back in the room. The wolf stares at him as his lips wrap around the mouthpiece and drinks from it, not giving a damn to wipe it after Stiles’ drank first. The other boy just watches before his brain recovers and he opens his own bottle. Setting the cork and opener aside, Stiles grabs the wine and leaves the wolf in the kitchen to go sit in the living room where Lydia keeps the playstation. 

Plopping on the couch, Stiles lets himself sink into the cushion and takes several swigs. Actually rather enjoying the slight burn and the warmth that quickly settles in his belly. He can very easily just sit here and watch tv like Jackson doesn’t even exist. Stiles can go to literally anywhere else to be away from the wolf if need be. He cannot believe that Jackson found out he likes him. 

Fucking Scott.

It takes a few minutes for Jackson to join him. Stiles already has Supernatural playing and has killed a good third of his wine before the wolf is sitting next to him. Like right next to him. One nervous leg bounce and their thighs or knees will touch. Seriously? Lydia has two couches, a chaise lounge, and two armchairs in her living room. So why is he so close?

Scratch that initial thought. There’s like six other rooms in this big ass house that Jackson could’ve gone to. Why here? Stiles drinks more. 

Jackson takes another small sip, looking like he’s barely drank anything from his own bottle before saying, “I have a secret to tell you.” 

He fights the eyeroll only just, “what information could you possibly have that I would care about?” Amber eyes stay glued to the flat screen.

“I don’t hate you, Stiles.”

“Oh?” He asks with mock interest. Even though there’s something tickling at his heart that Jackson didn’t call him ‘idiot’ or ‘Stilinski’. He can’t allow himself to fall for the wolf’s tricks. He won’t let the rug get yanked out from under him. 

“Quite the opposite actually.” 

Stiles snorts and turns to make some smart ass retort. But his ‘yeah right’ gets stuck on his tongue finding Jackson’s face mere inches from his own. He gulps. Clearing his throat, Stiles takes a big sip before putting his bottle on the small table beside him. Too fuzzy and warm to process this, Stiles scooches until he’s pressing against the armrest. 

Jackson also places his bottle on the coffee table before sliding closer. Forcing Stiles to half turn into the couch while the wolf puts an arm on either side of him, completely encasing Stiles. “I like you,” he presses further, “a lot.” Jackson leans in until their noses brush, “tell me if you want me to stop.” 

Blame the wine. Blame his hormones for not wanting him to stop. Hell, blame everyone and everything, Stiles included. But he does have a massive crush on Jackson. Even though he knows damn well that he shouldn’t. The guy’s a prick. He has no problem letting people know that he’s better than them. Making damn sure to flaunt his money too. As if that makes him hotter or something. It doesn’t. 

No, it’s the icy blue eyes that make Stiles want to learn their secrets and harvest the knowledge. The wolf’s stupid jaw that’s perfect and Stiles just wants to bite it. He;s seen Jackson naked numerous times- thank you locker room shower’s forgotten concept of privacy. But god damn, when Jackson smiles- not his asshole smirk, but genuine smile- Stiles’ lungs and knees forget how to function. Despite his actions earlier, the teen is actually pretty happy to be stuck here. 

Only acting as though he hates Jackson because he was simply following the wolf’s lead. His eyes flick to Jackson’s bottle of wine- its contents too hard to see in the dark green glass from this distance- and back to hooded baby blues. There’s only two reasons Stiles can believe that this is actually happening right now.

Jackson’s drunk. Because Stiles doesn’t understand the extent in which wolfsbane affects werewolf's tolerance. Which would mean the ex-kanima has no idea what he’s doing and should go sleep it off. Stiles hopes it’s this because the latter is just too painful. 

Jackson’s fucking with him. Surely he doesn’t have actual feelings for Stiles. Maybe the wolf found out he’s bi and wanted to tease him about it. Although, something tells him that Danny would murder Jackson if he ever found out. Still. This is Stiles. Lowest on the lacrosse totem pole and not the wolf’s best friend. Is Jackson that cruel though?

Beautiful, parted pink lips get closer, so Stiles whispers, “you’re just drunk,” and turns his head away, hoping that’s the case here. Waiting for the joke to play out.

“I’m really not.” Jackson reaches over to grab his drink. There’s maybe three sips missing when he dangles the bottle for proof. “See?” The wolf puts it back, returning with a smirk and a cocked brow, “now will you let me kiss you?” Jackson chuckles, it’s a breathy sound, but doesn’t make to move closer. Leaving it to Stiles.

He’s not falling for that trap. The prove-to-me-you-want-it-so-I-can-kick-you-down trap by making Stiles lean in. “So you’re fucking with me then?” He should’ve known better. 

The other boy looks confused and a little offended. Jackson leans back farther, still sitting close, but no longer in Stiles’ personal space. He actually wants him to come back, but how could he ever tell the wolf that when this is just a game? “Why would I fuck with you about this?” Jackson’s voice is soft and full of so much emotion that Stiles almost believes him. 

“Uh, because that’s what you do?” Stiles gestures wildly like it should have been obvious. “You’ve made it perfectly clear that we’re not even friends. You were literally my bully when we were kids. I don’t- and i-it only got worse when I developed a crush on Lydia. Which I get, she was your girlfr-”

“What’s not why I was a dick.” The wolf cuts him off with a shake of his head. Stiles squints an eye at him, mouth still hanging open from the word that didn’t finish. “I was jealous.” 

“Why the fuck would you be jealous of me?” Stiles scoffs and Jackson ducks his head with a chuckle. “Lydia never even looked at me while you were together.” 

Jackson flashes a bemused grin when he looks back, “I was jealous of Lydia, you idiot.” The name usually bitten out comes with a tone that suggests it’s meant to be a term of endearment. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry that I wasn’t fawning over you like your little fan club, okay? My bad. You’re right, you’re incredibly hot and I should’ve stroked your ego by putting you some fucking pedestal-” Jackson swallows whatever other words and the surprised squeak from Stiles’ lips. He stares bug eyed at the wolf’s closed eyes. Jackson presses closer, his hand cupping the other boy’s cheeks while his tongue slides against Stiles’ bottom lip. Entrance isn’t given, he can’t really, Stiles is too shocked to do so. 

The wolf pulls away, still holding Stiles’ face, “I didn’t care that you thought she was attractive.” Jackson drops a hand and lifts his hips, pulling one of Stiles’ legs until the human gets the massage and- for some fucking reason- lays on the couch. The wolf’s hips immediately settle into the space created and Stiles can feel just how much Jackson wants this. Him. “I wanted to be the one you had a crush on because of the massive one I have on you.”

That’s a lot to process. If Jackson liked him then- “why did you make my life hell?” 

Jackson’s free hand falls to Stiles’ hip, rubbing softly and the other props himself on the armrest behind Stiles’ head. “I didn’t know how to handle the fact that I suddenly like guys. Well, a guy.” The wolf sighs, “Lydia knew and agreed to keep my secret as long as I needed her to. I’m sorry I treated you like that.”

Stiles has never seen him act so soft. Having Derek as an Alpha and a proper back must really be working for Jackson. It makes him charming in a way that his jerk persona never could. Being emotionally balanced and all that. 

“I’m going to ask you one more time. And I’ll know if you’re lying. So don’t do me any favors and don’t hide from me either.” The warning is evident. Don’t say it and not mean it. And don’t mean it but not day it. Otherwise he’ll walk. “Will you please, let me fucking kiss you?” 

Stiles fists his fingers in the wolf’s shirt- half expecting Jackson to snap at wrinkling his expensive clothes- to push him away or pull him closer, the other boy really doesn’t know. Until his arm moves of its own volition and Jackson’s mouth gets drawn to him. 

The wolf chuckles against his lips, “finally.” The hand on his hip grips tighter and the other comes back to his jaw. Jackson tilts his head up to deepen the kiss. Jackson kisses like he wants to swallow Stiles whole. Maybe he does. Maybe Stiles would let him. Panting he pulls away again, and the other teen bites back a whine. “I have one more question and then I promise I’ll shut up.”

The human playfully rolls his eyes, “what is it?”

“Be with me.” Jackson states. Stiles cocks his head to the side with a chuckle, that wasn’t really a question. But his heart skips a beat nonetheless at the implication of the wolf’s words. “Will you be my boyfriend?” 

Stiles is nodding before the request is completely out of Jackson’s beautiful face. “Fuck yeah, dude.” The wolf breathes out a laugh at the ridiculousness. “Now just kiss me. Please?” 

“Whatever you want,” Jackson grins and presses his body in further, claiming Stiles’ lips as his own. 

“Well, technically, I didn’t lie… Didn’t you see me crash against that huge guy? I fell on my ass… I was—”

Stiles snorts. “Yeah, your werewolf ass was super affected—For god’s sake, that guy couldn’t hurt you even if he tried and you obviously did it on purpose.” Stiles opens his arms wide.

“And what if I did?” Jackson shrugs.

“What if?” Stiles waves both arms. “Firstly, you could have hurt the guy, and secondly, I’ve never asked for the co-captain of the team to rescue me… it’s the coach’s decision who plays and who doesn’t, okay? Not yours!”.

“Stiles…” Jackson sighs. “You deserve to play and the coach is obviously too blind… or too stupid to see it, so it was time somebody did something about it.”

“Shit… no…" Stiles shakes his head. "Fuck no… you can’t do that. And you won’t do it again.” Stiles shakes his head. “Promise me you won’t.”

Jackson snorts. “In what imaginary world do I have to promise you shit?—How long have you known me?” Jackson raises his eyebrows. “I do, and will always do, whatever I want—If you want to order someone around, go find your best friend, okay?” Jackson says stubbornly.

“God, you’re an asshole,” Stiles shakes his head.

“Stilinski, you only played for half an hour and we were winning… I figured the team could survive that much without me.”

“Yeah, you had it all figured out, didn’t you?” Stiles says matter-of-factly, licking his lips.

“Not everything… but yeah, I was hoping that you wouldn’t blow it,” Jackson admits.

“You’re exasperating,” Stiles snorts.

“I’m exasperating? Really?” Jackson raises his eyebrows. “You’re the one who is complaining here. Everything I did was to provide you with a win-win situation?”

“You’re in for Jackson!” The coach says, clapping his hands. “Come on! Show me you can move faster than the lifeless corpse of my dead grandmother! That shouldn’t be so hard!”

As Stiles puts on the helmet and enters the field, he still has time to look at Jackson for a split second and there it is—that smirk on his face suddenly evaporates any confusion he was feeling a minute ago. The fucker obviously orchestrated this whole charade and now he has to play.

He gets to fucking play. He wants to kill the guy as much as he wants to ask what the hell he's doing, but right now there’s nothing he can do about it.

Scott comes running to welcome him to the field, patting his shoulder repeatedly, and somehow, it works as a wake-up call. Stiles looks around… he sees the players, the lights, the scoreboard, the students watching from the bleachers, and he knows that the only thing to do is to focus and try somehow not it fuck it up. They are winning and have the advantage but there are still thirty minutes left and anything could happen.

He can feel something that seems like a renewed energy going through his body… not that he hadn’t experienced happiness since their rescue… but this is different—a different kind of fun.

As unexpected and weird as it feels to be there, he’s ready to make the most of it.