Tag: stackson

not!stackson

The Dancing Around You Series Part 4 (Parts 1, 2, 3)

Stiles grinned, so what if everyone else knew before him – all that mattered was that Jackson invited him into his space, into his bed, and apparently now he was inviting Stiles into something-more-than-friendship. The fact that Jackson was saying all of this in the bright light of a Sunday morning, no alcohol or life-threatening experience prompting it…Stiles didn’t ever think this would happen. He daydreamed, he wished, he even fantasised with his hand wrapped round his dick and a toy in his ass – but he never actually went to far as to hope it could actually happen. Mostly because he had come to value the friendship he and Jackson had developed, that he wouldn’t risk on an admission of feelings or by pursuing Jackson himself. But he didn’t have to pursue him, Jackson was right there – in front of him on the bed with sleepy eyes and a dimpled smile and shit – Stiles actually gets this. He stepped forward again, closer to the bed, and reached out to gently touch Jacksons jaw. His heart stuttered in his chest when Jackson maintained eye contact with him while turning his head, leaning into Stiles’s hand on his face and still smiling. Stiles has officially touched Jackson’s dimples, this has got to be some kind of life achievement right here. His train of thought was interrupted by a snort from Jackson (so maybe his face gave away his thought process its not his fault ok?) as he turned his face and pressed a kiss to Stiles’s palm.

“Ok idiot, now that you’re caught up and apparently taking some time to process I’m gonna go freshen up and you’re gonna get back on the bed and work through whatever weird little brain fart you’re having.” The sweet smile on Jackson’s face turned into a smirk. “When I get back you better have gotten your head around this and be ready for me, ok?” 

Stiles could feel his eyebrows shoot up and his mouth drop open but couldn’t do anything to stop it. Be ready? Like, for sex? With Jackson?! That’s what was being implied right there…and yeah, maybe he needed a moment to process this change of events (even though his dick was already on board apparently). Obviously Jackson had gotten to know him just as well as he had gotten to know Jackson over the last couple of years. Stiles watched him slip out of bed and walk towards the bathroom, throwing one last smirk over his shoulder at Stiles’s expression before going out of sight. The cocky little shit. Well, two could play at that game – as much as Jackson might be acting like he’s way ahead of Stiles on the change of their relationship, he’s pretty sure its at least fifty percent front. 

“Don’t think I didn’t see how worried you were when I came back in here – you thought I was gonna flip out on you and don’t try and fake me out man!” Stiles called out, not shouting, but confident Jackson would hear from the bathroom even with the water running. 

Realising he didn’t have that much time before Jackson got back Stiles quickly arranged the pillows and flipped the duvet out flat before he crawled back into the bed. And yeah – this bedding really was worth whatever crazy money Jackson spent on it because wow it felt good as he laid on his back and stretched out, with his knees bent over the side of the bed and his feet planted on the floor. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling and thanking his lucky stars that he had gotten that little bit too tipsy last night because this? This was going to be awesome. He grinned to himself as he stroked his fingertips down his chest and pushed his boxers down his thighs, taking his half-hard dick in hand and giving it a casual tug, thinking about what Jackson might want to do when he rejoined him. 

“So, this is what you look like all spread out when I can hear you in your room at the apartment taking yourself apart?” Jackson’s voice broke Stiles’s reverie and drew his attention over to the doorway where he was standing with a towel around his waist. “I could always hear everything, but I had to imagine what you looked like…but I have to admit that seeing you in my bed is definitely better than any of those fantasies.” The smirk was still on Jackson’s face, but it was a knowing smirk not a cruel one and his voice was sincere. Stiles felt the blush rising in his cheeks as Jackson looked him up and down with no hesitation, his gaze lingering on Stiles’s boxers and the way Stiles hadn’t stopped stroking himself even with Jackson standing watching him.

“Don’t you-” Stiles cleared his throat. “Don’t you want to come and take a closer look?”

As if he had been waiting to be prompted Jackson suddenly pushed off from where he had been leaning against the wall and strode into the room, dropping his towel as he reached the bed and climbing up with one knee on the mattress in the space Stiles created with his body and his outstretched arm. Jackson placed one hot, broad hand onto Stiles’s lower abdomen and the other next to his head and then he held his position, hovering over Stiles. Stiles felt his gaze like a physical thing, raking from his eyes to his lips to his neck and all the way down to his crotch and then back up again. But still Jackson hesitated. Stiles reached up with his right hand and cupped Jackson’s jaw again, hoping to break him out of whatever worry had caught his mind, and again Jackson leant into it, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Sorry, I’m just – you – I’ve been wanting to see you like this for a while now and I just don’t want to fuck it up you know?” 

“I know dude, but hey – I’m here, you’re here. I don’t think I’m quite ready for a big heart to heart or anything but I do -” Stiles took a deep breath of his own. “I do want to kiss you okay? So maybe we can start with that?”

It was obviously the right thing to say, because Jackson immediately opened his eyes and the smirk was plastered across his face again as he slid the hand on Stiles’s belly across his body and planted it into the bed on his other side in order to lean down from his position above him.

“Yeah Stiles, lets start with that. And lets see how long it takes for you to beg for more shall we?”

Stiles slid his hand from Jackson’s jaw up into his hair as he leaned down and gently brushed his lips against Stiles’s, flickering his tongue out at the last second to lick across his bottom lip before drawing back and letting out a sigh against his mouth. Stiles’s eyes had slid shut at the first touch of Jackson’s mouth to his and he wordlessly tilted his head back and parted his lips, silently asking for more. Jackson groaned above him and then they were kissing again, heated and open mouthed, gentleness washed away under the sudden rush of finally getting to do this. Jackson turned his head to get the perfect angle and then his tongue was brushing against Stiles’s, hot and slick and everything Stiles had ever wanted. 

Stiles let go of his dick and grabbed Jackson’s shoulder, wanting to draw him closer, keep him from breaking away from this fucking perfect first kiss. Jackson moaned into the kiss and climbed fully onto the bed, throwing one leg over Stiles so that he was straddling him and – fuck – grinding down onto him. With Stiles’s boxers around his knees and Jackson’s towel on the floor there was no barrier between their erections and Stiles whined into Jackson’s hungry mouth at the sensation their dicks rubbing together, the lack of lube making the friction bright and achingly sharp. He’d probably be embarrassed about that noise later but right now he was too preoccupied with the way that Jackson reacted. He slid one hand under the small of Stiles’s back and pulled him towards himself, growling into the kiss and thrusting against him even harder as if the sound of Stiles nearly losing his mind at the feel of Jackson’s dick made him want to keep the human close and pull more of those noises out of him. The way Jackson’s shoulder muscles bunched under his hand, and the reminder of the powerful strength that filled his toned body that could so easily lift him made Stiles’s head spin and his dick throb. 

The feel of Jackson’s body against him and the way they were both grinding against each other in earnest now made Stiles feel like there was electricity in his blood, and Jackson holding him close like he was afraid Stiles might somehow leave made his heart feel like it might beat out of his chest. Stiles broke the kiss as he threw his head back, feeling the arch in his spine as Jackson gripped him even more firmly around the waist, holding Stiles’s upper body weight with his forearm. Apparently that was the right thing to do because Jackson didn’t miss a beat, just moving his hot mouth from Stiles’s lips to his chin and then to his neck. First he brushed his cheek against the vulnerable skin right under Stiles’s chin, then he moved his attentions to the tendon in the side of his neck with kisses and nuzzles and bites. Stiles was moaning and panting now, the combination of what felt like a veritable field of love-bites and the way their dicks now rubbed against each other slick with pre come overwhelming his senses. 

“Fuck – fuck – Jackson you feel so good…I’m not gonna last you have to slow down-” Stiles barely got the words out around the moans he just couldn’t seem to stop spilling from his mouth. 

But Jackson didn’t seem to pay him any attention anyway, if anything the insistent thrusts of his hips and sucking bites he was lavishing upon Stiles’s neck only increased in their intensity. Then Stiles heard (and felt) it – Jackson was growling low in his throat, his chest vibrating with it, as he set his teeth gently to Stiles’s jugular and just held them there with his tongue darting out to taste the skin. Jackson moved the hand holding him up from where it was pressed into the duvet and gently gripped the back of Stiles’s head, essentially holding him in place. The feeling of being so completely covered with Jackson’s body, so protected and yet so restrained, of having his body being held like a play thing but having his pleasure being so prioritised hit Stiles suddenly and there he was – hitting the stratosphere with a shout as his orgasm blindsided him. Jackson didn’t stop grinding against him for one moment, drawing out Stiles’s orgasm whilst chasing his own with his head tucked down into the crook where Stiles’s neck met his shoulder. 

“C’mon Jackson, come on…you feel so good, you’ve made me feel so good-” Stiles was rambling now, he knew it, but even covered in his own come and almost flinching with the sensitivity of his dick he was loving every second of Jackson above him, against him. “You can just let go Jackson – oh my god -you feel so gooood.” 

Jackson’s erection, slicked up even more with Stiles’s come now, slipped across Stiles’s balls and when he next thrust against him the pressure was solidly along his perineum and Stiles out and out gasped in shocked pleasure as it prompted another dribble of come from his still hard dick. 

“Fuck Stiles you don’t even know-” Jackson broke off as his whole body tensed still against him for a long moment, and then uncoiled suddenly as he moaned deep in his chest and thrust a few more times, spreading his come all over Stiles’s dick, before stilling – panting into Stiles’s neck and shivering with after shocks every couple of seconds as he slowly loosened his grip on Stiles and let them both sink back onto the bed with Jackson still draped across him. 

Stiles stroked his hand across Jackson’s head, feeling how soft his hair actually was when it was un-styled and wrapped his other arm firmly around his shoulders. Currently his mouth was offline, for the first time ever, but he wanted Jackson to know that though this was new it was still them, that Stiles wasn’t going to let go of him now.

So…smut happened 😉 @inell @eeyore9990 @poetry-protest-pornography and any other stackson fans!

Can I ask for some Stackson? I’m on a Stackson kick lately. Cuddling + “do you remember when you used to think you were straight”

allirica:

@smokesforsterek I’m so sorry this took so long! 

warning: nsfw

–

Ultimately, whether it be on the field or in bed, Jackson
Whittemore’s favorite thing to do was to torture Stiles Stilinski.

On the field, it was tackling him into the mud, driving him
crazy by never tossing him the ball, making him do extra laps around the
field.  In bed, he liked to be more
creative.  His favorite, though, was to
slowly open himself up, taking his time, enjoying it, moaning as Stiles watched
and ached and wanted, but couldn’t
touch.  Then he’d ride Stiles, slow, lazy
grinding of his hips, the pace torturous, to keep Stiles on edge.  He couldn’t touch; he didn’t need to tie his
wrists to the headboard because Stiles, as much as he complained and pleaded,
would keep his hands curled in the sheets, not touching Jackson because he’d
been told not to.

When Stiles was completely wound up, sobbing and twitching, then Jackson would let him come,
finishing himself off by hand.  

So, yeah, Jackson liked to torture Stiles.  But his favorite thing, though he’d never
admit it to anyone other than Stiles (and only barely him), was what came
after.  When they were cleaned up, sated
and comfortable, and he could tug Stiles close, tucking their bodies
together.  

Keep reading

The Dancing Around You Series Part 3 (Parts 1, 2, 4)

So. Stiles hadn’t died in the night (thanks so much for that Jackson). But now that he was awake, he sort of wished that maybe he had. It was actually pretty rare for him to get drunk these days, when he had first turned 21 there had been a fair bit of partying and enjoying his legal ability to get smashed without worrying about his dad catching him, but he realised that he still worried anyway. With the pack’s past and his need to feel in control of himself after…everything…he avoided that feeling of being out of control as much as possible. Tipsy was as far as he liked interacting with alcohol, but last night feeling safe and secure back on home territory with the whole pack around him, and knowing that Jackson wasn’t drinking, Stile’s had felt totally relaxed about getting a bit more carried away that he usually did – knowing he’d be safe. However, the headache he woke with definitely hadn’t factored into his plans. 

On waking he blinked sleep crusted eyes open and the first thing he saw was a glass of water and some pills on the bedside table. He forced himself up into a sitting position and swallowed down the pills, thanking the universe for painkillers and sweet, sweet hydration. As his brain sluggishly came back to life, he realised that he had obviously not crashed in Derek’s loft like he had done on many occasions before after pack get togethers. He slowly turned his head and was confronted the the tanned planes of Jackson’s broad shoulders and tapered waist, covered to the middle with white bedding that was still crisp after a night of being slept in. Jesus. He’d slept in the same bed as Jackson. But he couldn’t remember getting there and he didn’t know when he had undressed himself to the point that there had only been boxers between the two of them. Stiles was acutely aware that his heart had started beating harder and louder, and that – actually – mental breakdowns and anxiety would have to wait until after he had used the bathroom and maybe found a spare toothbrush because his mouth tasted like something had died in it.

In the bathroom Stiles found a new toothbrush, still in its packaging, sitting on the countertop – at least he could brush his teeth and try to clear his head at the same time. Okay. So Jackson knew he was here. That was something, right? He had stayed over before, but he would normally sleep on the sofa, not in Jackson’s bed. One – because he would be worried about accidentally turning into the night time cuddle monster that he was fully aware he was, and two – because Jackson was particularly protective of his private spaces. Stiles personally suspected that after his time as a Kanima and his long sojourn away from the pack, Jackson still had some difficulty with his instincts about his space and his territory. The rest of the pack didn’t seem to mind, they all had their idiosyncrasies and after so long they all tolerated and embraced each other’s differences rather than poking at them like they had used to do so much during high school. And Stiles had managed to hold back from interrogating Jackson about it as well, he had even managed to respect his need for space when they moved in together for college. Even now – six months down the line – the only times Stiles had been in Jackson’s room was to help him with moving in boxes, and that night of temptation and resistance two days ago. What if in his drunken state he had crossed that line? What if he had been on the sofa but had decided the bed would be more comfortable? 

“Stiles!”

Jackson’s voice broke him from his increasingly paranoid imaginings of what happened during the night (what if he had said something to Jackson in his drunken state and now he’d ruined their friendship?!) and reminded him sharply of the other night. Only he was pretty fucking positive that Jackson wasn’t calling him now to ask for help taking his underwear off. No. This was probably going to be both embarrassing and potentially friendship ending. Shit shit shit. 

Stiles rinsed his mouth and straightened up before heading back towards Jackson’s bedroom space, no other options springing to mind. When he caught sight of Jackson, his heart started beating faster all over again and he was so acutely aware of the fact that Jackson could hear it that he could punch him. Why did he have to find himself growing feelings for this smug asshole, and why did he have to be able to hear and smell all of those feelings?! He watched as Jackson first ran his left hand, then his right, through his hair. Vain even on just waking up, but Stiles couldn’t complain, the movement exposing his perfectly muscled chest and tight nipples to his greedy gaze. If this was the last time Jackson was this open around him, at least he could remember this as he exiled himself somewhere with a mountain ash ward and a lifetime supply of cheetos to become the mad cat-man of nowheresville.

“Jesus Stiles, I can hear you overthinking all the way from here. Why the hell are you hovering in the doorway like that – just –  come in.” His voice was rough with sleep, and he was still reclining with one leg stuck out from underneath the bedclothes. Like the rest of the werewolves in the pack, he ran hot, but still insisted on having feather duvets on his bed like an idiot. 

When Stiles didn’t make any moves to come further into the room Jackson sat up further, leaning on his elbow and opening his eyes to fix Stiles with a disappointed look. His eyebrows drew together and a sight frown marred his forehead as he stared at him, neither of them speaking but both clearly listening to Stiles’s rabbiting heartbeat. 

“Are you..I mean. Is this because I took off your pants?” Jackson rolled his eyes. “Because you were out of it man and I didn’t do anything else you know damn well I of all people wouldn’t encourage anything in that state – you asked to stay here and I let you in so you can’t… You can fuck off if you’re gonna be mad at me for that, ok?”

 Stiles moved further into the room, closer to the bed and to Jackson and to where the flow of words seemed to be pouring out of him – all angry tones covering up an edge of hurt. He’d been wrong – it wasn’t him forcing himself into Jackson’s space, he’d been invited. Jackson had brought Stiles into his bedroom, had stripped him enough to be comfortable, and had even put painkillers and a toothbrush out for him. Jackson didn’t even use painkillers – hello, werewolf – but he had them in his loft anyway. Maybe Stiles had been wrong about more than just last night.

“Calm down Jackson, christ – I’ve just woken up and I’ve got a headache and I thought I’d like – profaned your magical werewolf bed territory or something in my drunken night wanderings. I thought you’d be mad. But you’re not are you?” Stiles moved closer again, this time acutely aware of the fact that both of them were clad only in their boxers, and that his heart was racing fast now out of anticipation not regret. “You wanted me in your bed last night?”

Jackson’s eyes widened for a moment before he suddenly laughed, tilting his head down with his eyes shut – momentarily throwing Stiles into a mental tailspin about how goddamn cute those dimples were. 

“Oh my God Stiles, you’re gonna go and be up front about it now? I thought we were on the same page since the other night – I only asked you to fucking strip me in my bedroom. You still didn’t think I wanted you in my space? For someone that Lydia told me was actually ‘not totally stupid’ you really have been oblivious.” Jackson laughed again. “Why do you think Scott didn’t take you home to your dad’s last night?! They all thought it was about time we stopped dancing around each other and I agree.”

@inell @eeyore9990 @poetry-protest-pornography & any other stackson lovers out there!

“We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.” Stiles/Jackson

poetry-protest-pornography:

Well, this was interesting. My first time writing Stiles with anyone other than Derek (that’s actually on TW, Stiles is dating porn star Dale Cooper in Substitutions and Additions…) If people like it, maybe I’ll expand?

******

If anyone knew what they were doing, they’d probably assume it was something only slightly friendlier than hate sex, but the truth was that they’d been friends for a long while now, despite the antagonistic beginnings of their relationship.

They’d hang out, without the benefit or impediment of any of the rest of their friends as a buffer. They’d text and talk on the phone and exchange stupid pictures. They even cuddled after sex sometimes. But Stiles was starting to feel a little… something. In his chest. And it was unsettling, to say the least.

A sharp bite on his neck draws him out of his distraction with a hiss. Jackson’s hand tightens in his hair as he licks at the indents his teeth made on Stiles’ skin, soothing the sing with lazy swirls of his tongue. “You with me, man,” he asks with a slow roll of his hips.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m with you,” Stiles answers, his voice betraying his uncertain feelings with a wistful tone he covers by pulling Jackson’s mouth to his and licking his way inside. Jackson moans into the kiss and pulls Stiles impossibly closer, touching their hips together for a moment before sneaking his hand between them to tug Stiles’ half undone pants out of the way. He wraps a warm, sure hand around Stiles’ achingly hard length and slides his palm over the dripping slit, smearing precome over the head of Stiles’ dick and making Stiles groan and tighten his grip on Jackson’s shoulder and hip. Stiles wishes for a moment that they were against the wall and not in the middle of his bedroom, so that he had something to lean against.

Jackson moans into his mouth as Stiles sucks his tongue in a parody of fellatio before fucking his own tongue into Jackson’s mouth as his hips rut back and forth, driving his cock into Jackson’s fist. The kiss breaks with a loud groan from both of them, and as they pant to catch their breath, Stiles hears something that sounds like “Fuck, babe" fall from Jackson’s mouth, muffled by Stiles’ shoulder where his head is resting, and it startles the question out of him before he can think better of it.

“What are we doing,” it sounds breathless and strangely not like a question, and Jackson looks at him with a scrunched brow and a pout, even as they continue to move together, inching toward the bed and rolling their hips together as their hands roam over bared torsos and half clothed bottoms.

“Well, right now I’m trying to get us on the bed. And then I’d like for us to fuck, maybe even twice, before we pass out,” Jackson deadpans, punctuating his statement with measured pulls and squeezes along Stiles’ length.

Stiles moans, leans forward to kiss Jackson’s bottom lip, holding it gently between his teeth as he pulls away, releasing it with a quick nip and apologetic suck. “I mean, with each other, Jackson. What are we?” Stiles rakes his fingers through Jackson’s hair, pulling his head back and baring his neck so he can suck a trail of kisses along the column of his throat.

“We’re-mmf, don’t stop- we’re friends, who-fffuck, yes- we’re fr-friends,” Jackson stutters out between moans.

Stiles pulls away from the chain of bruises he’s sucking onto Jackson’s throat and looks at the other man with a skeptically raised eyebrow. “You’re hand is on my dick, Jacks,” he fucks into the grip of Jackson’s hand to illustrate his point, “We spend more nights together than apart,” he backs them toward the bed into his legs hit the frame, Jackson follows easily, led by Stiles’ grip on his hip and neck. Stiles kisses his naked shoulder, his collarbone, he takes a deep pink nipple between his teeth and sucks until Jackson is mewling. “We know all the places the other likes to be touched,” he drags a thumb across the opposite nipple, lets his nail scrape the erect nub lightly, “And kissed,” places a messy, wet kiss at Jackson’s Adams apple, “And bit,” a nip at his earlobe, a swirl of tongue along the shell of his ear.

“I think if you when we’re not together,” Stiles whispers into his ear, hands trailing down Jackson’s sides to reach around and cup his ass under his loosened jeans, squeezing and massaging the firm globes with intent. “I think you think about me, too,” he rolls his hips, thrusting his still rock hard cock against Jackson’s, into his long since gone lax grip, spurring the other man to squeeze his dick with renewed enthusiasm, making Stiles groan.

“I think we’re not just friends, and you fucking know it,” Stiles murmurs into Jackson’s neck, licking a long stripe up the golden column, feeling the rush of Jackson’s pulse under his tongue. He pulls away to look at the other man, hands still firmly holding his ass, using his grip as leverage to rock them together. Jackson’s eyes are glazed but opened wide, surprise evident through the haze of lust, and his hands scramble and flex against Stiles’ shoulders.

Stiles raises a single eyebrow, which is question enough, and Jackson’s answering “Yeah, yes. I- yeah,” is almost too quiet to hear, but he clears his throat halfway through and cradles Stiles’ face with both hands, smiles softly.and repeats, “Yes,” before kissing Stiles like his life depends on it.

“Good,” Stiles says against his lips.

They fall to the bed in a very friendly tangle.

not!Jackson

The Dancing Around You Series Part 2 ( Part 1, Part 3, Part 4)

Stiles had managed to settle Jackson down that tipsy night of post-exam-pre-going-back-home excitement. The underwear had stayed on in the end, with Stiles opening the window in Jackson’s bedroom to let in the cool night air and turning to side light off so Jackson could rest his sensitive eyes. He’d had them screwed up shut when Stiles had finally braved coming into his room and fumbled his way through making Jackson comfortable without taking advantage of him in his inebriated state. While it did take wolfsbane enhanced liquor to get a werewolf drunk, once it was brought into the picture Jackson was a total lightweight. Out of the whole pack he got the drunkest, the quickest, on the least amount of booze. It entertained Stiles no end that the cocky little shit lost the plot so quickly as soon as a couple of beers and a shot or two were in his system. But while Stiles was happy to make fun of him (and maybe get video evidence) of Jackson’s drunken escapades, he would never take advantage of him – no matter how tempting a picture Jackson had made spread out and wriggling on his huge queen size bed.

 Instead, Stiles had slipped out of the room, finished off his beer while watching the tail end of the movie they had had playing, and then went to bed himself where he lay and contemplated why on Earth his stupid brain insisted on falling for the biggest and most unattainable asshole he knew. One with super senses and an out of control ego, and a predilection for teasing Stiles since they were in kindergarten together. He would say that they have come to the point of being friends now, not like he and Scott are – Scott’s a puppy and Jackson will never be that kind of person. He’s more like Stiles in a lot of ways, he’s snarky and rude and he really doesn’t have time for pretending he likes you unless you can get him somewhere. But living with him for the past 6 months, and knowing him as a pack mate – having seen him grow and develop as a person. Well. Stiles now knows that despite his bravado Jackson has a deep and abiding fear that he isn’t good enough, that he likes guacamole to a ridiculous fight-inducing extent, and that despite his protests he loves his pack like family. He also happens to be hot like burning. Stiles isn’t a saint, okay?

They lazed about for most of the Friday before travelling back to Beacon Hills on the Saturday, driving for hours with their competing music playlists and squabbling over snacks. They got back without incident and Jackson dropped Stiles off at his Dad’s before heading to his own parent’s house. Stiles had reluctantly left the jeep at home before heading to college, Jackson’s parents had gotten him an SUV and it was newer and safer and more reliable than Rosco so that was the chosen vehicle – they didn’t use it much on campus, it was mostly for travelling between college and home. After catching up with his Dad Stiles headed over to Derek’s loft, now renovated, for the pack gathering celebrating everyone being home. It was raucous and fun and everyone was full of laughter and elation at all being in the same place at the same time, the pack bonds that had taken so long to form and nourish singing at the closeness of the group. Derek had given each of his betas their own space in the block, somewhere they could have as their own under their Alpha’s protection – but not have to stay with him. Stiles had a couple of beers too many and Jackson ended up half carrying him to his own place on the floor beneath Derek’s, with Stiles leaning against him in the lift and giggling to himself about some running joke with Scott about Derek and strawberries. He knew it annoyed Jackson that he didn’t know what the joke was about so he continued to chuckle to himself just to annoy the smug little shit who was decidedly sober tonight.

“Why are you so sober? So-sober – hah – sounds like I’m stuttering dude! Hmm I’m kinda tired can I crash? I don’t think Dad would appreciate my triumphant return as much in this state y’know?”

Jackson sighed heavily. 

“Of course you can, idiot, why else would I be carrying your heavy ass down here? Get into bed and don’t drool on those pillows they’re worth more than your car.”

Stiles stumbled into the bedroom and sat on the side of the bed, toeing his shoes off after a couple of attempts and feeling vaguely guilty that he wasn’t taking the couch. But what do they say about gift horses and mouths? He fell sideways onto the bed and pressed his face into the pillow. Damn. They really were comfortable, the cotton crisp and cool against his overheated cheek, Jackson probably did pay stupid money for them, the privileged ass. Still, Stiles wasn’t above enjoying them and he rubbed his face against the pillow happily, inhaling the dull but still present scent of Jackson’s body wash and cologne that had settled into the pillow itself. That was how Jackson found him, smiling like a dope and smooshing his face into the bedding while feeling a little like the room was spinning. Stiles opened his eyes when he heard the sound of a glass being set down on the bedside table, and the familiar murmur of Jackson muttering about Stiles being a pain in his ass. He was about to giggle and point out the innuendo when he was brought short by the feeling of Jackson undoing the button on his jeans and tugging them down.

“Don’t worry princess, your virtue is safe – you’ll ruin the bedding if you sleep in these jeans so they’ve got to go. And seeing as you’re apparently incapable of looking after yourself…”

Stiles zoned out as he started sweeping his now bare leg backwards and forwards across the cool cotton bedspread, ignoring Jackson’s inevitable snark. He opened his eyes again when it got quiet, already feeling drowsy, and he found himself smiling again when he saw Jackson stripping off his t-shirt. God he was so pretty in the moonlight from the windows. Stiles was just drunk enough to keep watching, not worried about getting caught in his inebriated state. Jackson looked up as he was pulling his jeans off of one leg and they made eye contact for a long moment that felt like it stretched and went on for much longer than it actually was. He was just wearing boxers now, checkered cotton that looked soft and comfortable and wasn’t the showy designer stuff he wore when he went out on dates. He looked so touchable and Stiles wanted to reach out, but he was so tired, he just gripped the covers instead. 

‘Go to sleep Stiles, I’ll try to make sure you don’t choke and die.”

Jackson’s tone was sarcastic and biting, like always, but he was smiling and he looked away from Stiles to finish pulling his jeans off so he did mean it. Stiles had learned to understand the in-between the lines nature of Jackson’s ways of communicating. He would look after Stiles. If only it was as more than a friend, more than a pack member watching over another. Still, Stiles was content in the moment – Jackson’s scent filling his head and the image of Jackson soft and relaxed back on his home territory, the laughter of the pack still upstairs audible from the open windows.

@inell – here’s some more for you bby!

Jackson/Stiles – Good for You (NSFW)

allirica:

@inell prompted me with ‘Stiles/Jackson-Lingerie and stockings’. this is honestly just PWP and uh…yeah. *casually leaves this here*

–

It was late and Stiles was exhausted.

He’d worked a double shift at the store and his body ached,
feet throbbing in his shoes.  He wanted
to order in some takeout, cuddle with his boyfriend, and just sleep for maybe
twelve hours.  When he got in, though, the
apartment was dark and Jackson wasn’t sprawled on the couch like he normally
was when Stiles got home.

Sometimes, he did go to the gym in the evening, so Stiles
figured he’d be greeted later by a sweaty, exhausted Jackson, which was
actually a nicer thought that it sounded.
He dropped his keys onto the coffee table and headed into the kitchen,
flicking on the light.  There was a plate
waiting for him on the table and he smiled, surprised at the sweet gesture.

The food turned out to be fish fingers and fries, which
generally was about as far as Jackson’s cooking skills stretched; Stiles heated
it up and sat down at the table to eat.
His eyelids felt like lead so he justified leaving the dishes in the
sink to wash up in the morning, dragging his tired body to the bedroom.

He snapped on the light and stopped short.

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not!Jackson

The Dancing Around You Series Part 1 (Part 2, Part 3, Part 4)

“Stiles!”

From his spot on the sofa in the living room Stiles rolled his eyes and ignored the increasingly annoyed voice coming from one of the bedrooms, taking a swig from his beer instead of moving. He should have known that sharing an apartment with Jackson would be a bad idea. But after he returned from London in order to make his peace with the pack and his parents Jackson had admittedly mellowed. He and Stiles were going to the same college and it had actually been his suggestion – Stiles had immediately shot it down but after a conversation with Scott which included a fair amount of emotional guilt tripping Stiles had given in and accepted the idea. Truthfully, Jackson wasn’t as terrible a roommate as Stiles had imagined. He didn’t leave his towel on the bathroom floor, he was amenable to a rota for chores and he was actually working really hard for college. But. But – he was still Jackson. He seemed to live to rile Stiles up and living with him, seeing him swanning around the apartment in low riding sweatpants and worn, threadbare t-shirts might not have been a deliberate way to drive Stiles slowly insane. But it was effective.

“Stiles!”

Tonight they had actually had a great evening, they had met after their last exam for the semester and gone out for a couple of drinks with mutual friends. They were due to drive back to Beacon Hills in two days and had the luxury of nowhere to go tomorrow. So once they got back to the apartment Jackson had cracked open the good stuff – the wolfsbane laced booze that Lydia and Boyd had concocted and regularly sent as care packages to their pack mates. A couple of movies and a pizza later and Jackson was drunk, and had wandered off to bed about half an hour earlier.

And now he was calling for Stiles to come and ‘help him’ with something in his bedroom. For the sake of self-preservation Stiles had been ignoring him for the last…three minutes according to the clock on his mobile. Frankly he’s stunned Jackson hasn’t stomped out into their shared living space and made his demands face to face. But he just can’t go into Jackson’s room, he’s self aware enough that it would be crossing a line in his head that he needs to maintain. Jackson might already be aware of Stiles…attraction towards him, but he doesn’t need his room filling with the scent of Stiles’ arousal. 

“Stiles…please I need your help with this!”

It was the please that did it, Jackson might have mellowed but he was still an asshole the majority of the time (not that Stiles could cast aspersions). He rarely said please, and if he did it was heavily laced with sarcasm or directed towards someone he thought he should impress. Stiles was not one of those people so he rarely heard it. He sighed heavily, Jackson was drunk and Stiles wasn’t – he could be sick or something so it was the responsible thing to go and check on him to be sure he didn’t die or anything – werewolf or not. 

Stiles put his beer back onto the coffee table and hauled himself out of the sofa and headed towards Jackson’s door which stood ajar. He knocked gently before pushing it open, not stepping over the threshold but looking into the room to see if Jackson was alright. When his eyes fell upon the bed Stiles sucked in a breath. Shit. The sidelight was on and showed clearly that Jackson had apparently flopped straight down face first onto his bed. His pants were hanging off of one foot, draped across the bottom of the bed, and his top was at Stiles’ feet, obviously stripped off as soon as he had got in the room. Jackson was currently using one hand hooked into his underwear and attempting to pull them off without moving the rest of his body. Stiles felt the blush blossom across his cheeks and down his neck, he’d seen Jackson naked before – everyone had – but not in this intimate environment.

“Stiles please, I’m too hot I need you to help me – I’m too hot! Goddamit why the fuck are you ignoring me now – usually I couldn’t make you shut up if I wanted to…just-fuckin-”

He was wriggling now, his back muscles shifting and his ass jiggling as he tried, and failed, to get himself fully undressed. Stiles just stared, words deserting him for once in his life, and fought not to go and ‘help’ Jackson just how he wanted.

@inell you lovely lovely thing – always gifting us all with amazing fics! here’s a little stackson to cheer you up while you’re feeling poorly! *hugs*

Hey if you’re taking prompts from the list you posted, could you do number 20 for Stiles/Jackson?

inell:

Hope you enjoy this, nonnie! It inspired a lot of backstory in my head for these two. I adore Stackson so much!

Doctor’s Orders. Stiles/Jackson. Teen.

When Stiles gets the flu, Jackson has to take care of him.

This is what death must feel like.

“Stop being dramatic.”

“Huh?” Stiles blinks bleary eyes at Jackson.

“Death? Really, Stiles?” Jackson snorts. “It’s the flu. You aren’t dying.”

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Hi.. I’d like to request prompt 1. Accidental marriage for stackson. Thank you :)

inell:

Hope you enjoy this!

Sealed with a Kiss. Jackson/Stiles. Adult.

The fairies seem to like to Stiles, and, unfortunately, the only other person they’ll even let around him is Jackson Whittemore, who he totally doesn’t have feelings for at all. Nope. Not at all.

Disney’s got it all wrong. Fairies are malicious and evil, not cute Tinkerbells who fly around being all feisty and jealous. No, the fairies they’ve been dealing with in Beacon Hills are annoying troublemakers. They aren’t even as bad as some groups, according to Deaton’s vague mutterings, but Stiles is sick and tired of them being in his town causing chaos. The worst bit? They seem to like him, so they’re constantly around. He’s really lucky that they didn’t show up until after graduation, because he couldn’t possibly have gone to school with a crowd of flying maniacs around him. As it is, he’s been stuck on his own the first three weeks of summer because the fairies don’t like anyone in the pack and always attack them whenever they get too close.

No, that’s not true. There’s one member of the pack they like, but it has to be Stiles’ least favorite pack member, so it doesn’t really help him that much. Maybe if Jackson had kept his smug ass back in London, the fairies would have taken to someone else that Stiles actually likes. But, no, Jackson had to parade back into town to surprise Lydia and Danny at graduation looking like he’d stepped off the runway of an Armani show. To make it even worse, he decided to stay in Beacon Hills because there’s been a fight with his parents, and he’s now on his own, though it’s not like he’s living on the streets or anything. He’s got a trust fund he received access to when he turned eighteen, which Stiles figures is why the fight with his parents happened conveniently after the money was his.

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