Chapter Text
Stiles rolls his eyes knowingly when Jackson’s throw misses the net and he moves in, feeling his blood boil as he prods Jackson in the shoulder, “I was open,” He says breathlessly, “I had a clear shot of the net, you should’ve passed to me. Would it really kill you to work with the members of your team?”
Jackson feels the irritation bubble up under his skin the moment Stiles starts talking, but when his teammate prods at his shoulder, he quickly gets defensive, “You know what, Stilinski? Maybe it would, considering I have to play nice with dipshits like you and McCall.”
He throws his stick down and shoves at Stiles’s shoulders, “I had a shot, so I took it. Granted I missed, but it’s not like you would’ve made the shot either.”
“I would’ve,” Stiles responds, standing his ground and pushing Jackson back with one hand, “I didn’t have anyone flanking me, and you had two. You can’t just stand there and assume that everyone else will miss, even if you didn’t miss, you have to trust your team, moron, otherwise this would be a one on one game. Spoiler alert, it’s not.”
“In the entire time we’ve been on this team together, you’ve made what? Like, all of three shots?” Jackson retorts, glaring viciously at Stiles, “You wouldn’t have made it, so maybe you should just stop throwing your little hissy fit.”
He shoves at Stiles again and advances, the mouth guards of their helmets clacking together as he stares Stiles down, “It’s a miracle Finstock is even letting you play, you should be on the bench.”
“At least I can recognize the fact that I can’t make shots, but I would’ve made that one,” Stiles says and shoves Jackson out of his face, “He should bench you, you’re the only person on this team that acts like a one man show. You’re not as good as you think you are, and you’re all talk. Maybe if you threw to other players on your team, you might stand a chance of them getting better, instead of showing everyone how horribly you actually suck.”
Jackson snarls at that and tackles Stiles to the ground, amazed at how easy it is for the other boy to get under his skin, and it never fails. All Stiles really has to do is open his mouth and that alone is enough to frustrate him for the rest of the week. He can’t really do much damage while they both have all of their gear on, but he makes a valiant attempt at punching Stiles in the ribs, ignoring both Finstock and McCall shouting at him.
“You know,” He grunts, “One of these days, that mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble.”
“One of these days you’ll stop acting like you have a Lacrosse stick shoved up your ass,” Stiles says, dodging Jackson’s blows the best he can as he shakes his head and sighs, “Sadly, that day is not today.”
He glances up as Scott yanks Jackson off of him and Stiles stands slowly, rubbing his side and passing Finstock as he dismisses himself. It’s typical of them to squabble, Jackson is an asshole, but it never gets out of hand unless they both want it to.
He showers quickly and changes into his normal clothes before leaving the boy's locker room and walking out to his Jeep, and then he stands there and waits.
Jackson waits a little bit longer to stalk off from the field so that it won’t be suspicious. He can faintly hear Finstock yelling at him, but he’s got a one track mind right now so he tunes it out and makes his way to the locker room.
The effect Stiles has on him infinitely pisses him off, and it’s not really something he can control either, because God knows he’s tried - he doesn’t like that things end up like this every single time they argue. Most of the time he can hardly tolerate the mouthy, annoying little shit, but then their adrenaline gets pumping and it’s like there’s not a force in the world that could prevent it from happening.
Jackson showers quickly and shoves all of his things into his bag when he’s done, then slings the duffel over his shoulder before heading out to the parking lot, rolling his eyes when he sees Stiles standing resolutely next to his jeep.
“Of course we’re taking your vehicle, great.” He opens the back latch and tosses his bag in, “Just how I wanted to spend the rest of my evening, lounging in a piece of shit vehicle.”
“Mine has more space, and you know it does,” Stiles says, smirking as he climbs into the driver’s side, waiting for Jackson to settle in before he takes off.
He’s still practically fuming from the fight, but he carries himself well, especially when Jackson is concerned. He knows the guy is just all talk, that’s all he ever is. He already knows every step of this. They fight, they leave, they meet up, and when they get into it, Jackson gets embarrassingly submissive. He’ll never admit it, but Stiles knows that’s exactly where it’s going to go.
Once he’s out of Scott’s earshot, he turns and raises his brows to Jackson, “It’s hard to fuck you in that little bachelor car of yours.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what the hood is for, dumbass,” Jackson snarks back and shifts uncomfortably in his seat, turning to glare at Stiles suddenly, “And who said you were fucking me this time?” He asks defensively, even though he already knows that’s what he wants. It's what he always wants and honestly, he doesn’t see it changing anytime soon, but the fact that Stiles immediately assumes makes him see red.
“You did,” Stiles responds knowingly, “You do every time. It’s okay, baby, I know how you like it.”
He knows he’s getting cocky, pun intended, and that he’s rubbing it in, but that also seems to be what Jackson likes. Stiles knows him so well by now that he knows things like that, how Jackson wants the arguing and the fighting to continue; he likes when Stiles pushes things.
The first time, he’d been so clumsy and red-faced that Jackson was practically rocking back and forth on is dick like a dog in heat or something. The sounds he makes when he’s not constantly bitching are dirty as Hell, and Stiles can hear them echo in his head for hours afterwards.
Jackson continues to glare, but he can’t stop the way his skin flushes violently at the pet name, “Would you just shut the fuck up and drive?”
It’s not fair that Stiles can get him so flustered with just a stupid fucking word and the worst part is, is that Stiles knows what he’s capable of and for some ungodly reason, Jackson always lets him get away with it - but only when they’re alone.
“One of those I’m already doing, and the other one you don’t want me to stop doing,” Stiles takes a right and looks over at Jackson, his eyes running down the other man’s body, “You’re pouty today, you must want it bad.”
There’s really only two ways they go at it, but both have this unusually common thing about them, besides for the fact that Stiles is the top. Stiles would’ve expected Jackson to be a closet case, sure, and he is, but he didn’t expect how needy the other man is.
Thinking back on it, it should’ve been obvious the first time, when Jackson kept telling Stiles to touch him, or making him do it, positioning his hands and whatnot, but Stiles didn’t really think anything of it. The other guy doesn’t like foreplay, and he hates all the slow sex intimacy and cuddling afterwards, but he loves when Stiles’s hands are on him.
“I’m only pouty today because of you,” Jackson points out and it’s so irritating how well Stiles can read him, it makes him feel exposed, “You don’t know how to shut up or when to keep your mouth closed all together.”
Huffing, he shakes his head and looks away to stare out of the passenger side window as he tries to ignore the way his dick’s hardening just from anticipation.
Things with Stiles feel entirely too much like Brokeback Mountain (he’s only seen it once, okay? And it was because Lydia insisted), minus all the intimacy, mushy feelings and copulating in a tent - he just wishes he knew how to quit Stiles. Because other than heated hook ups, he knows it’s not going anywhere and the longer things continue, the more he’s risking being outed to everyone he knows.
Stiles rolls his eyes, “If I don’t start it, you will, and you play dirty when you want sex.”
He doesn’t mind it, but he doesn’t particularly like it - Jackson may think he’s good at keeping this all under wraps, but he’s not. He’s been horrible at timing it since the start, being blatantly obvious in some cases, and the guy won’t even recognize his own mistakes, “Besides, you like it when my mouth is open.”
He turns onto the road leading to one of the many older, abandoned houses of Beacon Hills before parking on the side of the road and looking over the other man, “Get that cute little ass in the back.”
“I hate you,” Jackson mutters under his breath and clenches his jaw shut as he moves to do so, climbing in between the seats and flopping down against the back one.
The insane part is, is that part of him does actually hate Stiles, but he knows that most of the hate roots from the fact that Stiles can be out and proud without it really effecting his status around Beacon Hills. Jackson envies that, and he’s not used to envying anyone.
Stiles locks the front doors before following Jackson, taking off his flannel jacket as he pushes the other man down and he settles over him, leaning down and pressing their lips together.
Initially, kissing was a no-no, one of the many rules Jackson had put in place, but Stiles has slowly gotten him comfortable with it. It probably has to do with the whole ‘I’m not gay’ thing, which is a shame, considering it’s not an issue to anyone else.
Jackson doesn’t put up much of a fuss once Stiles pushes him down against the seat, because he’s too eager and entirely too worked up to go and ruin things by being a pain in the ass.
He’s almost ashamed of how badly he needs this sometimes, to just get lost in Stiles and to let him have control. Stiles is a quick study on all things Jackson though and he’s more or less had everything down to an art form since the first time they fucked, he knows what Jackson needs and that’s probably why he comes back for it time and time again.
Moaning needily, he arches against the seat a little and throws his arms around Stiles’s neck, legs spreading to accommodate the other boy’s hips.
Stiles smirks against Jackson’s mouth as his hands drop down, one rubbing against the front of his pants, the other pushing up under his shirt and running over the smooth skin to pinch at his nipples. He’d shake his head if his lips were free, Jackson is so predictable, like clockwork.
He loves how immediately submissive the guy is, it reminds him of how shocked he was the first time, expecting a fight for dominance, but Jackson practically turned onto his stomach and arched his ass into the air like the most willing bottom in the world.
He keeps this quick and short, turning Jackson over and yanking down his pants, pulling his silky boxers down over that baby smooth ass and Stiles leans down, seconds from pressing his mouth to the puckered entrance before he stops and raises his brows at how slick it appears. He reaches out and runs his thumb over it, chuckling as he realizes that Jackson’s already prepared himself; he was fucking planning this now.
Stiles experimentally presses a finger inside and has to bite his lip at how slick the walls are, “Okay, color me impressed.”
Jackson shudders and braces himself against the seat with his forearms, looking back over his shoulder at Stiles as he fights the groan threatening to come out, “I wasn’t trying to impress you,” He says and he hates how tremulous his voice is, “Come on, Stilinski. Get on with it.”
His nipples are so hard they’re aching and his dick is leaking like a spigot, but all he can focus on is how good Stiles’s ridiculously long finger feels inside of him.
“So needy,” Stiles pulls his finger back, pushing down his own pants and reaching into his back pocket and taking out the condom he put there before he got dressed in the locker rooms.
He rips it open carefully and rolls it onto his length, pushing back the foreskin before he does it and then he moves forward on his knees, grabbing onto Jackson’s hips and holding him in place before Stiles slides in. He lets out a shaky breath as he does it, his dull nails curling against Jackson’s soft skin, “Were you thinking about this when you fingered yourself? Did you think about how I feel inside of you?”
When Stiles pushes in, it’s like it shoves the moan right out of Jackson’s mouth and he can’t stop it, the loudness of it making his cheeks heat. Of course, the embarrassment doesn’t end there, either, because lo and behold, Stiles is talking and expecting him to answer.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” He teases and his voice is entirely too soft to come off as snarky, but he can’t help it, because he’s been waiting the better part of a week to feel Stiles inside of him again. It’s not like he’d answer honestly, anyways, because if he did, he’d never hear the end of it.
Jackson wets his lips and lets out a heavy breath, beginning to cant his hips back and forth in order to get things going.
“That’s Jackson language for ‘yes’,” Stiles says, smirking as he bucks into the other man’s eager movements, his hands running up to roll the hardened buds of Jackson’s nipples under his fingers, turning to bite along his back and pulling the skin between his teeth roughly.
“You’re so predictable, so eager,” He leans up to whisper in the other man’s ear, “You won’t say it, but I will - you were thinking about me. I know how much you hate that you think about me, but it ends up happening anyways.”
Stiles reaches one hand down to pump Jackson’s dick, hand moving over the skin the best he can. The first time he tried to, it was like the hardest thing in the entire fucking world, he’ll never understand how circumcised men do it, but it’s horrible - it’s taken him some practice, and watching lots of porn to get something down that’s kind of acceptable.
Jackson doesn’t say anything back, because he can’t. For all intents and purposes, Stiles is right and he does hate that he ends up thinking about him, but it’s difficult to not think about someone who’s so in tune with your body and what you like.
He fixes Stiles with a weak glare and practically slumps his top half down against the seat as soon as he feels the other boy’s hand around his length, body sensitive and responsive to Stiles’s every touch, “I hope I come all over your stupid seats.”
“I hope you do, too,” Stiles breathes as he settles more atop Jackson, fucking down into him and moving his other hand from the other man’s chest to run it over his body, up his left thigh, along the swell of his ass, kneading the flesh before sliding his fingers up Jackson’s spine.
He can't really say honestly why Jackson coming on his seats would be a bad thing. The guy has no clue about Scott, and though sex doesn’t linger long after they’ve fucked, seed probably would hold up for a good few days, no matter what Stiles sprayed to attempt to get rid of the scent. So he tries to make his point in another way.
“It’s not like Scott sits in my jeep and your jizz won't stain the seats, not at all," He says sarcastically, "I'm not gonna take the heat for that one. I mean, if he's not suspicious yet... Well, the sooner you get comfortable with this, the sooner you stop pretending to storm off like a pissy rich kid, just to be fucked by me.”
Jackson’s eyes widen and internally he panics a little, because if Scott McCall finds out about any of this, the rest of Beacon Hills will know in no time. It’s not that Scott has a big mouth, per se, but he’d probably tell everyone just to ruin Jackson’s life - he’s given the guy enough strife to expect that much.
He wants to argue that it’s about more than just getting comfortable with it, but he doesn’t want to open up to Stiles and spill all of his issues, because it’s bad enough he’s fucking the guy on the down low - the last thing they need is some stupid, pointless heart to heart.
“If I were out and comfortable about it, do you really think I’d still be fucking around with you?” He asks, eyes nearly rolling back into his head with each movement, and the way Stiles is constantly touching him all over causes his body to thrum with arousal.
Stiles slams into Jackson particularly roughly and chuckles, “I don’t think you’d be fucking around with me, I know you would.”
He presses his lips to the other man’s shoulder, “Wanna know why?” Stiles asks rhetorically, “Because you could be with anyone you wanted, and yet you’re here with me. Danny is gay, I can name like... Twenty-seven other students that are gay men in particular, and yet you’re here with me."
"You like me, you like that I know you, and you like the fighting, you like that I might as well be the last person you’d let do this to you. And I’m pretty sure the reason why is because anything less isn’t really acceptable. You’d be bored if I were anything less. It’s okay to want that.”
“First of all,” Jackson groans and has to bite his lip for a moment to stifle the sounds spilling from him, “Danny is... Danny’s my best friend.”
It’s a little difficult to actually speak when Stiles is fucking him like this, each thrust mind numbing, “Second of all, you’re wrong. This... With you, it’s just convenient. If I were out, I wouldn’t even give you a second thought. Now, would you just-just shut up and get me off already?”
Stiles grins even wider and leans back, yanking Jackson onto his dick, stuffing him as he drops his head back and closes his eyes.
He gets the defense, but some times he wishes Jackson would open up just a little, “What we’re doing is anything but convenient,” And that’s the truth of it.
They’re forced to fit it in somewhere, some times they go far too long without it and it’s painfully obvious that Jackson gets impatient. If he was out, the only difference would be that sex wouldn’t be once a week, it’d probably be twice a day.
“Whatever,” Jackson grunts and clenches down around Stiles, panting as the thrusts jostle him against the seat.
Mindlessly, he reaches back with his left hand and grips Stiles’s thigh, urging the other boy to fuck into him harder as he tries to work his hips back to meet each movement. Stiles is right, sure, but he’s not going to give him the satisfaction of telling him so - the other boy is insufferable the way it is.
“You’re the most bottom bottom I think I’ve ever seen,” Stiles observes as he glances down to the hand on his leg, “And I’ve seen some pretty serious bottom porn.”
He shakes his head and takes his hand from Jackson’s dick, grabbing his hips and pulling him back as hard as he can, his own bucking forward and slamming into the other man. Jackson is tight around him, almost suffocating, and he groans at the feeling of those plush ass cheeks smacking loudly against his hips.
“Yeah, and you’re the most annoying top,” Jackson responds breathlessly and whimpers when Stiles starts slamming into him, “I swear to God you never shut up, just give it a rest.”
But in a way, he’s mildly okay with it - sometimes it even helps to get him off, because he enjoys the banter with Stiles more than he should. Removing his hand from Stiles’s thigh, Jackson grabs Stiles’s hand and pulls it back around his body, urging him to touch him again instead of asking for it.
“God you never stop bitching,” Stiles chuckles as he glances at the arm guiding his hand back and he presses soft kisses to Jackson’s skin as Stiles grips him once more, “Give it a rest.”
He speeds up a little, his own orgasm growing closer, but he doesn’t mention it. The hair of his happy trail sticks to Jackson’s skin, the sweat of their bodies making the smacking become so loud it’s almost obnoxious, “It’s not an insult, your ass is made for bottoming, it just looks good around my dick.”
“Jesus Christ,” Jackson trembles and his mouth hangs open, fingers turning white because he’s gripping the seat so hard. It’s like a triple whammy and at moments like these, there’s no wonder Jackson can’t get enough of the guy; his lips, his firm grip and that sarcastic mouth break him down almost every time.
Bucking back and forth between Stiles’s hand and his cock, he practically starts sobbing out moans as his toes curl, body tensing as his orgasm slams into him suddenly.
Stiles catches the warm fluid in his palm, the walls clamping around his length as he continues to thrust causes him to lose it as well. It doesn’t help that Jackson makes those familiar little whine sounds and Stiles slows, sitting up and grabbing the tissues he keeps behind his seat before wiping his hand clean.
He pulls out quickly, not giving Jackson the time to start complaining before he’s taking off the condom, tying it up and adding it and the tissues to a bag in the back. They’ve literally fucked in here enough that he’s that prepared.
Jackson turns around and sits on the seat to pull his pants back up, chest heaving as he glances over at Stiles with an expression he hopes is something akin to appreciation.
The entire time they’ve been fucking around it’s always been on Jackson’s terms and Stiles is always okay with it, regardless of what he wants out of a hook up. Even if they bicker and Stiles gets on his nerves, it’s still a pretty selfless thing to do for someone; to give and not expect.
Jackson sighs then, because he’s always a little less defensive after sex and it’s annoying, because he’s not the mushy kind. After fixing his clothes, he climbs back up between the seats and gets situated, rolling the window down so it smells a little less like sex in the confines of the jeep.
Stiles pulls on his own pants after Jackson’s back in the front, but he leaves his flannel in the back, climbing into the driver’s seat and looking at the other man. He reaches out, grabbing Jackson’s jaw and pulling him in, kissing him heatedly one more time.
He moves away quickly and rolls down his own window before starting the jeep up once more, “I’ve heard that beds are easier on your knees,” He looks at Jackson and smirks, “Maybe some time, we should test that theory.”
Jackson doesn’t really have time to break the kiss, because it’s over just as quickly as it begins. But he does sneer at the other man a little, reaching up to wipe his lips even though he doesn’t want to, because he needs to keep up his frigid charade - the last thing he needs is for Stiles to think that it’s okay to act on intimate gestures. They’re not a couple and never will be, so it’s best they keep things as casual as possible.
“Car seats are just fine,” He argues weakly and turns his head to look out the window, thinking that fucking on a bed is just a stepping stone leading to more.
“Yeah, you won’t hear any complaints there, but I’d kill to fuck you in a bed,” Stiles says as he drives, turning back onto the main road, “Watching your hands grab the sheets, making the springs protest, or handcuffing you to the headboard and fucking you until your come soaks the pillows.”
He looks at Jackson suggestively, “Beds sound nice, I can do a lot of things to that body, with a bed involved.”
Jackson’s mouth dries out at the thought, but he starts shaking his head and glances at Stiles, “No,” He says resolutely, brows raised.
“Beds are too... Personal, it’s not gonna happen. This...” He gestures between them vaguely, “Whatever this is, this arrangement, I like it the way it is - we don’t need to change it up now.”
“You think me sticking my dick in your ass isn’t personal?” Stiles asks skeptically, “I know gay guys aren’t typically about the feels, they just want the sex, but I know what you want, and that’s not it. Give it time, and you’ll come around, you’ll realize that there’s more to it.”
He stops at the red light and turns to Jackson, staring at him knowingly, “I’m not saying cheesy girly things like shopping and picking out matching suits. I’m talking about having someone that’s on your side. Someone that when you’ve had the worst fucking day of your life, you can go home and he’ll be there to fuck your brains out and make you numb for the next few hours, or days, if that’s what you want."
"That’s what beds are for. And you’re gonna want something like that, you already do. But, eh,” He shrugs, “Keep pretending, it’s cute, baby.”
Jackson swallows down the lump in his throat and stares back at Stiles, hating how dead on the guy is all of the time about what he wants.
It doesn’t matter, though, because a life like that isn’t something he’ll ever have, regardless of how badly he longs for it. Right now he has status and people actually envy him, he’ll lose everything if he comes out publicly and he’ll never be happy again - he’s seen how some people treat Danny, and almost everyone likes Danny.
“I really wish you’d cut it out with the pet names,” Jackson rolls his eyes and looks away finally, “I’m not a baby, I’m not your baby and we’re not a couple. It’s gross.”
“I really wish you’d cut it out with that shitty tough exterior and the constant need to make yourself miserable all of the time. It’s stupid, it’s a waste of energy, and you’d be happier if you just did it. But we can’t all have what we want,” Stiles pushes on the gas and doesn’t look back at Jackson, as much as he wants to.
“As much as I hate your guts, I am on your side, and you constantly feel like you have to put up this face, like it’ll kill you if you let it go for two seconds and actually feel what you’re feeling. The sex would be like fifty times better, you’d come faster, and you know what? It’d happen a lot more often."
"Imagine having this every single day.”
Jackson grits his teeth together and finally snaps again, “Just stop with your fucking judgmental, psychoanalytic bullshit. You don’t get to spew crap like this to me when you’re already out, okay? It’s not like you have anything to lose, people don’t care that you like dick, because you’re a nobody.”
It’s harsh, but it’s also kind of the truth.
“I wouldn’t be happier, because I wouldn’t have anything. My family and friends? They’d probably disown me, with the exception of Danny. I’d lose rank and I’d probably lose a promising future - being out and proud isn’t worth losing everything I care about, Stiles. So stop going all Dr. Phil on me.”
Stiles nods in understanding, “Right,” He says slowly.
He’s not fond of the outburst, but he doesn’t push, it might be surprising but some times he can actually keep his mouth shut. Stiles just wishes things were different between them, that Jackson was more comfortable with it. You can’t really have real friends if you’re afraid of them rejecting you for something that is a part of being yourself.
“Right?” Jackson asks incredulously and snorts as he begins shaking his head, “You tell me to actually feel what I’m feeling and you come back with ‘right’. You’re a real piece of work, Stilinski. Just get me back to my fucking vehicle so I can go home.”
It’s the most he’s opened up to anyone, including Danny. And while some of it wasn’t particularly nice (mainly him calling Stiles a nobody), he still feels embarrassed that he even thought he could actually talk to Stiles.
“I’m not the one pretending to be something I’m not, just to make people like me,” Stiles responds, glancing at Jackson now.
“Not everyone is going to like you, you should accept that, and stop repressing yourself just to appease as many people possible. I’m not trying to lecture you, but dude... You have to let something go, at some point. You’re making yourself miserable, and you’re kind of a serious douchebag, because of it.”
Stiles is right, once again, but Jackson has gotten so used to his life the way it is, he honestly wouldn’t even know where to begin. He’s not sure if he could handle people disliking him or not wanting to be near him in general over something like sexual preference.
Jackson doesn’t respond to anything the other boy says, mainly because he doesn’t know what he could possibly say and partially because he’s actually tired of arguing with Stiles for once, “Just get me back to my car,” He says quietly and looks away from Stiles.
“Okay, baby,” Stiles says as he turns into the empty school parking lot, “But really, if you’re not comfortable with outing yourself, I’m not gonna be the one to do it. It’s between you and me. You may think I’m like... The most worthless piece of shit, or whatever, and that I don’t understand things like ‘being afraid to bare yourself to people’, but I do. I hold a lot back, too. Nobody or not, everyone has something they hide from other people.”
He parks and turns to look at Jackson, actually forcing himself not to look over the other man’s body, “It’s terrifying to think of letting that side of myself out, that’s why I’m Stiles.”
Jackson looks at Stiles and listens to the other boy, blinking slowly as he takes it all in and he kind of wants to apologize, to tell Stiles he didn’t mean what he said about him.
He knows a lot of what comes out of his mouth only comes out because he’s hurting in one way or another, and it’s kind of frightening to think of what kind of person he’d be if he was out and proud; and happy. Keeping people at an arms length emotionally has become a talent of his over the years, and it’s almost become instinctual - he does it without even trying at this point, just because it’s easier this way.
“Maybe the day you let that side of yourself out, I’ll actually come out,” He says, because he knows it’ll never happen.
Jackson opens the door and climbs out, then goes around to the back of the jeep to pull his bag out, slamming the hatch shut before moving to his car. The sooner he puts distance between them, the better, because Stiles seems kind of intent on breaking his walls down and Jackson isn’t sure how much longer he’ll be able to keep them up.