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Shit Fuck Shit

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Jackson looked down at the drink in front of him, hoping she wouldn’t see. Why was she even here anyway? It was a club, for well, dudes. “What the fuck,” He mumbled at his drink.

Jackson had been home a month, his parents realizing that Jackson was miserable in London. No number of Skype conversations with Danny fixed the loneliness that Jackson was facing. He was the new kid, the freak, the American. His popularity from home did not transfer across the pond, and he needed out. On top of his lack of social life, he was an omega and no packs in London wanted the ex-Kanima when he met with them. The wolf inside him craved a pack, and Jackson started to spiral. By the end of the equivalent of his junior year, Jackson was a machine, moving from school to lacrosse practice to homework to Skyping Danny to sleep. Rinse wash and repeat.

Danny was dancing and enjoying himself. It was what he needed after his break up with Ethan, and Jackson had told the Hawaiian that there was no way that he wasn’t bankrolling the post-break up party. He knew his best friend, new fake IDs, and a night at The Jungle was just what Danny needed.

So why the hell was Lydia here?

He panicked. No, not panicked. Jackson Whittemore did not panic. He looked around, concerned. He didn’t really want a complete stranger to scare Lydia off with, and there was no way he could get Danny to detach himself from the guy he was grinding with. Lydia wouldn’t believe them being together either.

Shit. Fuck. Shit.

He made eye contact with a pair of warm brown eyes that were glaring. What the… “Stilinski?”

He scooped up his drink and took it to the over side of the bar, saddling up to the person he was sure wouldn’t be caught dead with him in a club. Much less a gay club.
“What are you doing here?” He half-shouted at the scowling Stiles. If he could just get Lydia to think that they were here and not fighting and just here to support Danny, he would be home free.

“Nothing that’s your business,” Stiles frowned at the lacrosse co-captain.

Jackson reached into his pocket, “What are you doing?” Stiles said, fighting over the roaring crowd. “Here’s a twenty,” Jackson stuffed the bill into the taller teen’s chest pocket of his plaid shirt. “Hang out with me, so Lydia will leave me alone. Not that she doesn’t like spending time with you or whatever but I don’t want to talk to her at all, and maybe being with you will help that?” He bit his lip, embarrassed by all the words that had stumbled out of his mouth. Apparently he was feeling chatty tonight.

“I’m not taking your money,” Stiles ground out, pulling the bill back out of his pocket, fumbling along the way. “You can’t buy me off because you can’t face the fact that you and Lydia had a crappy breakup.”

Jackson pulled another twenty out and held it up in front of the brunet’s face. “A tank of gas for your Jeep that you love so much?” He asked with more insistence. “Please, Stiles, I’ll owe you a favor too. I’ll put in a good word with the cheerleading team or Coach or… anything. Please.” By the end, Jackson was pleading as Lydia made her way closer to the bar. Oh God, do something. His body acted before he could think it through, and his eyes closed.

Stiles’s lips were soft. Thin, yes, but soft. The other teen made a startled noise into the kiss and pulled back. “What the hell, Jackson! You said talk to you, not kiss you!”

“Sorry,” Jackson mumbled. “You’re a good kisser, Stilinski. Lots of practice with your hand or your pal Scott?” He chuckled, not realizing in the dim light that Stiles’s face had turned red.

“For your information, Jackson, my first kiss was earlier in the school year with Heather from preschool and then Lydia kissed me out of a panic attack. Raw talent, not practice.” He leaned in and surprised Jackson by reconnecting their lips.

Their noses bumped a little, but was quickly adjusted by both boys. Jackson moved his lips just a little to continue the kiss, a hand coming up to hold the mole speckled jaw line. He felt Stiles’s hand slide to his waist, resting above Jackson’s hip, holding their bodies at a consistent distance.

Stiles was the one to poke his tongue against Jackson’s lip gently, and Jackson happily opened his mouth just a little to allow the kiss deepen.

“Excuse me!” Someone loud pulled him out of the moment. “What?” He growled a little, turning to find...Lydia, looking annoyed more than anything else.

“Could you not take up the only free spot at the bar with your canoodling?” She grumbled, loud enough for the boys to hear. “Some of us want to get drinks, rather than making out with the people we consider our rivals, thank you.” She gestured for the boys to move, and Jackson rolled his eyes. “Fine, your highness,” He smirked, giving her a bow before finding the hand of the other boy and pulling him toward the throng of people that was the dance floor.

Their hands slid together, Stiles’s long fingers weaving in with Jackson’s shorter ones. Jackson looked up to find the other teen’s cheeks a darker shade than usual and his brown eyes looking more like melted chocolate than shit for once.

Jackson gave Stiles a soft and genuine smile, his lips curling up just a little, before pushing up just a little for their lips to meet again. His free hand came up and balled around a handful of the signature red hoodie that Stiles was sporting. He smiled softly into the kiss as he recognized the soft smell of vanilla, mixing with Irish Spring soap, and Axe Shampoo that made up the smell that was so incredibly…

“Stiles,” He mumbled into the kiss. “Mmm?” Was all the reply that the other boy returned, flicking his tongue against Jackson’s lips in a tantalizing way. “You smell so good,” The wolf purred, peppering kisses across the boy’s mole spotted cheek to his neck and sniffling under his ear. “You smell like everything I missed,” He mumbled in his ear, the words tumbling out.

Stiles pulled away, a confused frown on his face. “What?” He asking with a tone that demanded an answer. “I..I don’t know,” Jackson mumbled, shaking his head. “You just smell, nice. Not like a steak smells good, but like the smell of your house after you get back from vacation.” He threaded their fingers together, “Stiles, you smell like…” his cheeks were bright and he felt his heart pounding in his chest, “Home.”

The other boy must have liked this metaphor, because their lips were crashing together again and Jackson found his mouth opening his mouth for an intense round of tonsil hockey. He sighed softly into the kiss, his hand coming up to hold their faces together.

The song changed, and Jackson realized that their legs had slotted together and that he was getting hard against Stiles’s leg. He ignored the small voice that suggested that he shouldn’t and grinded a little harder, moaning into the kiss. Stiles returned the favor, grinding his own hard-on into Jackson’s leg, and Jackson knew he was in the clear.

“Stiles,” He purred as the other boy nibbled to his neck and started to suck a spot softly on his neck. “Harder, Stilinski,” He moaned, rolling his hips into the surprisingly muscular leg between his own, “You can’t give me a hickey…Healing…” Stiles acted accordingly, brushing his teeth along the skin and pulling a whine out of Jackson, “Yes…”

Jackson brought a hand up to tip their faces together, going for another period of hockey before he growled softly, feeling possessive suddenly and the need to mark Stiles as his. His hips swaying with the others, his tipped the lanky teen’s head to the side and kissed his neck softly before deciding on the spot right under his ear. It smelled glorious, a little bit on Stiles’s sweat made it more potent than anywhere else.

His teeth dragged across the small hollow below his ear before he sucked a moan out of Stiles. He bit softly with his human teeth into his neck, not breaking the surface. He sucked softly, knowing the pale teen would have a deep purple hickey the next day at school. Stiles, unlike Jackson, didn’t accessorize and he didn’t heal like a werewolf.

They continued making out and grinding until the lights flickered on at 1:40. “Shit,” Stiles mumbled, whirling around, looking for people that might see them. “I’m so fucked. Dad will probably, actually shoot me.” He tried to pull out of Jackson’s grip, but the wolf held him close, “I enjoyed this,” He mumbled, against Stiles’s lips. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about it at school yet, but would you want to do this again somewhere more private?” His face was probably bright red as his bit his lip softly.

Stiles answered by placing a gentle and lingering kiss on Jackson’s lips, “Definitely.”