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He wakes up and Derek isn’t there.
It’s enough to send him into a spin, half asleep as he is until he looks at the clock, blinks back tears from the neon brightness of the numbers. Five o’clock in the morning. Derek’s first day on the job, he remembers now. Derek’s lucky, he thinks, getting a job relevant to his degree, a history graduate actually getting to do something historical. The archaeological society decided to investigate the telluric currents that ran under the town as a way of finding lost relics from the days before America was colonised and brutalised, and they’re something Derek is an expert on, part of his vast and fractured knowledge.
He should go back to sleep, because he has to wake up again in three hours for his own job. The promotion for Expert was coming up within the month, and while being Visual Champion allowed him the freedom to roam around his home from home as freely as he liked, with little pressure for good sales, being an Expert would do all that plus extra money which would be handy for them both.
Of course, it had been Danny who’d got him on that path, teaching him hacking and software and app developing until he practically walked into his Apple job with open arms. There wasn’t much from back then that hadn’t had Danny’s stamp all over it. He’d really had it bad, they both had. They were just both too self-destructive to last, not that that had stopped Stiles from obsessing and repeatedly trying to fix something beyond broken.
He still knew the exact moment he knew he didn’t love Danny any more, not didn’t love but wasn’t in love with, because he’d always love Danny, too many formative years had been spent by his side. He’d already started something undefined with Derek when it happened, was in a messy place where he acted like he wanted something steady and nothing at all at the same time because secretly he didn’t know what he wanted, because Danny still ran across his mind like a skipping track every time there was nothing else to drown it out.
But it hadn’t been Derek who broke the spell, even though it was Derek who he ended up so in love with, he didn’t even believe he’d ever been in love before, despite all the evidence to the contrary. It had been someone utterly unexpected.
Jackson Whittemore.
***
It was New Year’s Eve two years before.
Stiles decided last minute that the trip to Tahoe was exactly what he needed after a stressful Christmas. Jackson, Scott, Isaac and Erica were the only ones that ended up being free to go, so Scott offered Stiles a spot on the floor of his and Jackson’s room, because that was the wonderful guy he was.
Stiles had expected some resistance but Jackson was surprisingly okay with it, his ice cold exterior having thawed quite a lot during his time away, more comfortable in his skin. Their differences for now put aside, they ventured out to bars, trying and failing to score some appletinis as the culmination of a long-standing joke, Stiles privately wishing Danny was there when midnight rang out across the town, getting drunk as fuck and unwittingly becoming the middleman in Erica and Isaac’s repeating arguments of what Boyd still meant or didn’t mean to her. He got three texts from Derek but only replied to the first, felt shitty for it but couldn’t force himself to put in the effort.
His unsurety about Danny and Derek and life in general meant he fell on the nearest shoulder he found when he clambered into the back of the taxi taking them back to the hotel. Erica and Isaac sat opposite, argument forgotten or at least put aside until the privacy of their own room allowed it to resurge.
“Stilinski, you seem depressed,” Jackson mumbled. “‘Sup?”
“Life sucks,” Stiles muttered back, mainly to himself.
“So does Jackson,” Scott giggled from the other side of Stiles.
Jackson just barked out a laugh. “Only if he’s lucky.”
“I could do with some luck tonight,” Stiles smirked, expecting Jackson to immediately pull back. Instead Jackson smirked back and placed a hand firmly on his leg, spending the rest of the journey back loudly and drunkenly explaining just how much he was going to suck Stiles off when they got back to the hotel. Erica and Isaac’s private feud came to an end while they both threw eyebrows up in Stiles’s direction, who knew exactly what they meant; why are you letting him do this?
Truth was, Stiles didn’t care enough to stop him. If Jackson was going to act the big man with him as a goal instead of a punchline for once, then he would totally let it happen. It’s not like Jackson was unattractive, after all, and it would definitely be amusing to see how far he could let this thing go. They’d already kissed once, at Hallowe’en the last time they’d seen each other, but it had meant nothing since Stiles had kissed everyone in the taxi except the driver that night.
He wasn’t going to push it, no way - it was just going to be a case of going along with whatever Jackson decided to do until he bested him, because Stiles was not a guy you should challenge. The days of high school when no one would look at him twice were long over; his natural charisma meant that his kiss count boasted more straight guys than anything else, because he was the go-to guy when it came to that kind of fooling around. Jackson didn’t know it though, even when Hallowe’en should have made it clear. Rookie mistake.
Okay, so he’d pushed it a little. Jackson had actually been thinking he would have the double bed to himself while Scott slept on the sofa and Stiles on the floor. Scott was more than happy to keep the sofa, sensing something was about to go down and being too hammered to care except to make sure he stayed out of the way. Jackson starfished out across the bed when the five of them entered the room, Erica and Isaac joining them for one last drink while they waited for badly cooked hotel pizza to finish cooking so they could collect it, or more accurately so they could watch the fun since that didn’t require being on this floor.
“You aren’t going to let me share the bed, Whittemore?”
“I paid for this shit. Scott let you stay for free, you get the floor.”
“Whatever,” he laughed back, jumping on the bed regardless and shoving Jackson over. “There’s room for two,” he smiled as angelically as he could manage. Erica choked on her drink, while Isaac was too distracted by Scott, already passed out on the sofa.
“The pizza has to be ready now,” Isaac said, dragging Erica out of the room to go and check. The moment they left, Jackson rolled over so he was spooning Stiles, reaching out his hand and clasping Stiles’s within it.
Stiles hadn’t even got undressed, just climbed into bed with jeans and shirt on, but when Jackson noticed he immediately threw a hand under the covers and began unbuttoning Stiles’s fly. He only put up a mild protest, Jackson saying that there’s no way it would be comfortable to sleep in those.
Soon enough they were shucked down and Stiles could feel Jackson’s bare legs against his own, and the shimmering sensation of his pointlessly expensive silk shirt against his arm as Jackson slowly rubbed his thumb up and down Stiles’s index finger, and soft breath against his neck.
He turned instinctively, not even bothering to fight the thoughts in his head even when Derek flashed across them, how openly he displayed his affection even after Stiles made it clear they were just friends until he was in a better place. The drink was part of the reason, but his total apathy when it came to love was the other part, having been burnt so hard he couldn’t bear the slightest flicker of a flame.
Their lips were a hair’s breadth apart when Erica and Isaac knocked on the door and they pulled apart, Jackson lazily climbing out of bed and across to the door, Stiles not even attempting to hide the way his eyes followed the curve of Jackson’s ass in his underwear, since Jackson would know anyway. When he opened the door, he slid back across the floor like Tom Cruise in Risky Business and fell onto the bed, climbing up the quilt and throwing it over himself, quietly holding Stiles’s hand under the covers as they entered the room.
Erica threw a questioning eyebrow at him when she saw Stiles’s jeans crumpled at the foot of the bed, and made sure they stayed for as short a time as possible, stopping Isaac from waking Scott to give him his pizza. They left mere minutes later, Isaac understanding finally and torn as to how he felt but deciding ultimately to leave them to it.
“$50 if you get further than just kissing,” Erica texted him once she was out of the room, but Stiles didn’t see because knowing there would be no more interruptions, Jackson had slid up beside him once more, and there was definitely something pressing up against his hip. He flipped over so he was facing him, put a finger to his lips before Jackson pulled him in and kissed him deeply, running his tongue across Stiles’s teeth and occasionally snapping at his bottom lip with a confident snarl.
“This shirt is ridiculous,” Stiles laughed softly into Jackson’s chest, undoing the last few buttons on it and running his hands across his shoulders to pull it down his arms, then throwing it at the wall next to them before pressing kisses against his shoulder blades.
“I thought it looked good,” Jackson said.
“Oh, it did,” Stiles whispered. “But it’s really not necessary.”
Jackson fumbled with the buttons on Stiles’s shirt, the black and white check making him squint and miss a couple. At the last one, he slowly and carefully slid his hand lower until the tips of two fingers laid against the band of Stiles’s underwear.
Stiles twitched in his pants involuntarily, semi-hard now. “You sure you want to do this?” he spoke into Jackson’s ear, his lips mouthing the words across the lobe, sending a shudder down Jackson’s body that pushed his hand a little further down until Stiles could feel himself against Jackson’s wrist.
“Yes,” Jackson breathed, running his hand across the front of Stiles’s boxers until he was fully hard and forming a small damp spot in them. “Fuck, take them off.” Stiles eased them off, his foot getting caught as he tried to flick them off his ankle and both of them had to stop from laughing.
“This is ridiculous.”
“In a good way?” Jackson asked.
“In a good way.”
They kissed again, more passionately this time, tongues intertwining as hands began to explore, Stiles finding Jackson’s stomach and then his briefs, not hesitating for a second before snapping up the waistband and allowing his hand inside.
It felt big, surprisingly so because Jackson had always seemed the type to be making up for something in the past. Jackson drew out a small moan at the touch, Stiles running his fingertip around the head in small circular motions that made him rear his head back against the pillow.
“Oh god,” he exhaled sharply, “fuck.”
He grabbed Stiles’s wrist and slowly pulled it away, allowing himself to wrap his fingers around Stiles’s cock and make languid strokes up and down it, reaching over and running his teeth down Stiles’s neck and across his throat until Stiles could feel precum spilling over and moistening Jackson’s grip.
When Jackson bit down on his nipple he couldn’t stop the cry that slid from his throat, and he sat up hurriedly to check Scott, who was snoring low and steady. Stiles noticed the headphones in each ear, and couldn’t help but grin mischievously to himself. They were safe.
Jackson was now running his tongue across his stomach in a way he wouldn’t have expected to be in the least arousing but was making Stiles desperate for him to go lower, so greatly was he turned on. Jackson lifted his head up, a questioning glance on his face. “You don’t have to,” Stiles said, even as he was praying intensely that he would.
After a moment Jackson lowered his head again, and in the gloom Stiles could just about see him slowly and delicately lick at the fingers he’d been jerking Stiles off with, tasting the precum that had accumulated on them. It was so insanely hot that Stiles bucked his hips, putting his cock back against the fingers as encouragement.
The hint was taken, Jackson nervously opening his mouth and slowly testing the waters with his tongue, the barest sensation of touch tantalising Stiles to an unbearable degree. After a minute, he grew more confident and began taking it into his mouth properly, leaving Stiles amazed as to how skilled he was.
Unable to speak while Jackson was working on him, once Jackson came up for air Stiles panted, “is that your first time? Because you are really fucking good, too fucking good if you ask me.”
Jackson let out a small laugh, relief sparkling in his eyes.
“Yeah, I’ve honestly never done anything like this before.”
Stiles pulled him close, wanting to hold him suddenly, feeling a connection between them now that he knew he was Jackson’s first and maybe only male partner. They ended up kissing again, Stiles able to faintly taste the salt and slime of his own precum on his lips, their fingers entwined once more and unbidden, an image of Derek reared up again, Stiles suddenly imagining it was him lay in the bed and not Jackson.
To shake it away, he pushed himself down, finding Jackson’s cock in the darkness under the covers and running a hand down it experimentally before taking it in his mouth and running his tongue down, his mouth following until Jackson’s head was at the back of his throat, sucking deeply until his eyes watered and he was forced to pull off. Instead of coming back out, he found Jackson’s balls and began massaging them between his fingers, giving them slow kisses with his lips and running his tongue down the crease below them.
“I want to fuck you,” he said from under the covers, enjoying feeling the sudden tightness of Jackson’s thighs around him as he got defensive.
“Maybe not, maybe not this time,” he whispered. “That’s a bit too much.”
“This time?” Stiles repeated.
“I don’t think I want to have sex during my first time with a guy,” Jackson replied noncommittally. Stiles decided not to press the subject, preferring to press himself against Jackson’s hips and suck small hickeys at his waistline.
They went on for a while slowly taking turns at blowing each other, taking time out to make out in between, sometimes gently with a hand placed on the other's cheek, other times straddling each other and pushing each other down into the mattress, teeth nipping at skin and lips swelling and drying out.
“I can’t believe how fucking hot you are,” Jackson said, pushing the words into Stiles’s cheek, who sat up and gazed over at him.
“You think I’m hot?” he asked, genuinely surprised.
“Yeah,” Jackson frowned as if it was obvious. “I thought you’d have figured that out from Hallowe’en.”
“Why Hallowe’en?”
“I made sure I got to kiss you. I thought you’d noticed,” Jackson answered.
Stiles took a moment to process all this new information he had trouble fitting in to his previous impression of Jackson. Privileged pretty boy douchebag and this guy he was speaking to now were two different people, but Stiles realised he was still judging Jackson off behaviour from years ago that he’d long since stopped using as a crutch.
“I didn’t notice -- and if you’re waiting for me to say you’re hot, you can forget it. You already know.”
Jackson huffed out a laugh and planted a kiss on him, long and slow and romantic but for the wandering hand slowly creeping round his ass. Stiles batted it away with a laugh before allowing him to place it back there, enjoying the way Jackson pulled him in closer together, the touch of flesh on flesh so powerful Stiles didn’t want the night to ever be over.
“So say I’d come up to you at Hallowe’en and said ‘hey Jackson, let’s go get a hotel and bang’, would you have gone for it?” he asked, genuinely interested at how deep these feelings ran since he was currently questioning his own.
Jackson stopped, his hand moving up to the small of Stiles’s back. “Yeah, I probably would,” he admitted, “but then I’d say yes to pretty much anything right now since saying no would probably stop the best blowjob I’ve ever had in my life.”
Stiles snorted. “I better get back to it then, I wouldn’t want to drop in your estimations.”
“Trust me, that’s pretty impossible.”
Stiles went back down on him anyway, for the simple reason that Jackson had a really great dick. He enjoyed the feel of it, the taste of it, and he wanted badly to make him cum but since they’d already been going nearly two hours and neither of them had come close, he was resigned to the fact they were both too drunk to manage it.
They swapped a couple more times, Stiles getting increasingly convinced that he too was getting the best blowjob of his life when a thought intruded his enjoyment, not dissipating it but nestling within it comfortably like a chick returning to the nest.
This is nice, it said, I like this. I want this to carry on.
“Jackson?” Stiles said, waiting for him to remove his head from under the covers before he continued. “What is this?”
“Pretty sure it’s two guys fooling around in a bed.”
“I mean,” he said, faltering at the casualness of the reply, “is this just a one night thing? Cause you said you would have at Hallowe’en and I was just wondering, is that all it is? Or would you want it to happen again?”
Jackson looked right into his eyes for a moment, and Stiles couldn’t help but picture Derek and feel terrible that he was entertaining this idea when he knew how Derek felt. But Derek wasn’t here, and being with Derek was complicated and constricting and he still didn’t know if he was ready for that sort of commitment, as awful as it made him feel. There’d be none of that with Jackson. They could just be two guys who hung out and had sex, nothing more or less than that, and that was an attractive proposition.
Sure, he wasn’t incredibly fond of Jackson like he was Derek, he couldn’t imagine spending every day with jackson like he could Derek, they’d probably drive each other up the wall if they spent more than a few hours together. But a few hours was all he needed right now…
“I don’t get chance to come back to Beacon Hills often, but when I did we could hook up, go for some drinks then head back to mine or a hotel. I don’t think I want this to just be a one night thing,” Jackson finally answered, quietly, not because of Scott but because he was scared of his own answer.
“I don’t think I do either,” Stiles admitted, resting his head on Jackson’s chest as he absently stroked him off under the covers, but he could feel Jackson was slowly losing his erection much like he was. They yawned simultaneously and laughed quietly together.
“We should call this a night,” Jackson said, and Stiles nodded his agreement.
They fished around for their underwear and got re-dressed, Jackson typically managing it effortlessly while Stiles struggled not to fall out of the bed getting his right leg in. They lay down together, Jackson spooning Stiles just like he had when they’d first had a moment alone, hands overlapping and linked like chainmail.
Stiles had uneasy sleep, his dreams plagued by a sensation of wrongness, like everything was just slightly out of place and eventually it woke up as the sun was painting thin yellow lines across the walls of the room. Jackson had rolled over while they were sleeping, facing away from him, and as he rose to get a glass of water it started to dawn on him just what a big mistake he’d made.
***
He was on autopilot as he showered and got dressed for work, absentmindedly pulling on a blue crew neck and black jeans, his mind still back in New Years Day, and he could barely concentrate on the road as he drove to the mall.
He played it over in his head, moving past the re-enactment of that night he’d made as he jerked off before climbing out of bed, instead focusing on the aftermath, the way no one would look each other in the eye the next morning, Erica smirking at her phone as he texted her ‘you owe me $50’, how he sat and waited for Jackson to text him or message him over Facebook to talk about what had happened, the guilt slowly eating away at him.
It had taken him four days to spill the news of what he’d done to Derek, who then refused to speak to him for a week until eventually he drove over to his apartment and cried on his doorstep, telling him that he’d made a terrible mistake, that he loved him and only him and that he didn’t want them to carry on this stupid friends with benefits situation any more. A week later he’d moved in with Derek, and he never left.
Jackson had eventually messaged him after two weeks, telling him they were still very much friends but that it was most definitely a one off that he had no plans to repeat, although maybe in the future he’d reconsider, but right now it was a definite no. Stiles didn’t know if he was relieved or not; a perverse part of him had wanted Jackson to want him, even though it was definitely better this way.
The thing he always took away from that night though was that during the entire thing, he hadn’t thought of Danny once, only Derek. It had never crossed his mind what Danny might think of him hooking up with his best friend, because he didn’t care. He tried to care; he’d spent twenty minutes sat on the bed with a glass of water, alternately sipping and trying to conjure up some sort of feeling towards Danny, but there was none.
Jackson had broken the spell somehow, the power of something illicit forcing his emotions to brave the fire.
He bought Derek a present during his lunch hour, a plush wolf that howls when squeezed for his collection, something he’d inherited from his sister. When Derek arrived at the store at the end of the day, he scooped Stiles up in his arms when he saw the gift, making his colleagues laugh and swoon all at once.
“You’ll make them all jealous,” Stiles laughed, “stop it you goof!”
“I had a good day,” Derek smiled. “What’s this for anyway?” he asked, brandishing the wolf and making it howl, scaring a woman walking past. Stiles stifled his giggles none too brilliantly, so they quickly exited the store.
“To celebrate you having a good day, obviously.”
“What else?”
If there was one thing Derek was annoyingly good at, it was working out when Stiles was feeling guilty.
“I was thinking about the erm, the Jackson thing this morning, and I felt bad so I got you something to say sorry.”
“Which means you got off to it.”
“I resent the implication!” Stiles sputtered. “But possibly, yes.”
“It’s a good job I’ve long since moved past that unfortunate little era in my mind really,” Derek chided. “Someone could easily get a complex otherwise.”
“The wolf says sorry on my behalf,” Stiles said guiltily, making it howl and echo around the car park.
“Jackson texted me yesterday actually, wondered if we fancied meeting up for dinner next week when he and Lydia are in town.” Seeing the look on Stiles’s face, Derek butted in quickly, “Yes, he didn’t message you on purpose because he said you never reply. And I’m already well aware what you think of his ability to reply to messages, let’s not go down that road --”
“-- but if he’d just replied instead of making me think he was totally freaking out and making my horrendous guilt even worse, especially when he just lied and brushed it all under the carpet --”
Derek sighed and rolled his eyes. He’d heard this story a hundred times, and he was sure he’d hear it a hundred times more. The only reason he put up with it is because the story always ends the same way.
Stiles eventually reached that point when they were pulling into the garage below the apartment.
“And that’s how I knew I didn’t want to be like that anymore, that I only wanted to be with you.”
“That’s great, you got to my favourite part. The bit where you remember I exist.”
Stiles waited until they were inside before barrelling into Derek and using the surprise momentum to push him up against the wall. “It looks like it’s time to remind you just how much I know you exist.”
“It looks like,” Derek agreed, pulling off his shirt in one easy motion, scooping him up for a second time and carrying him off to bed, shucking out of his work jeans as he walked. “I still can’t believe Scott didn’t know you did all that for six months after it happened, you know,” Derek laughed as he threw Stiles down and climbed on top of him.
“He was very drunk,” Stiles said defensively. “Anyway, enough about that. All that matters now is me and you.”
“Definitely.”
“Absolutely.”
“Shut up and kiss me, Stiles.”
“Okay.”