Inell's Fanfiction Archive

The business trip to Miami ended up lasting two weeks instead of one. Then, to top it off, Stiles’ flight was delayed. He’s actually not supposed to arrive until tomorrow afternoon based on the rebooking, but he managed to find two connections that got him home sooner. It’s ass o’clock in the morning when he finally gets back to San Francisco and pulls into the driveway of the house he shares with Scott, Danny, and Jackson. Well, it’s Jackson’s house, but he lets them live there for cheap. The lights are all off, and he notices that Jackson’s car is the only other one there. Scott is probably with Allison then, and he remembers Danny saying something during their last skype about spending the weekend with a new boyfriend. Despite being a werewolf, Jackson sleeps pretty deeply, so he doesn’t have to worry about being too quiet, at least.

It’s good to come home. While he loves the work he does for the FBI, even if it requires working closely with Rafe, he could do without all the travel. A lot of the time, he can telecommute since he does a lot of the cyber research, but sometimes he’s needed in the field so he can keep learning new skills and practice some of the behavioral analysis he learned in college. He still has a solid four to five years before he can try to transfer to a profiler position, which is his goal, so he’s got time to learn it all. This assignment had been pretty rough, anything with women or kids tends to bother him the most, but there were some good leads and it looks like an arrest is imminent, so all in good day’s work.

Still, he hopes it’s a while before his next out of town assignment. He stops by the kitchen after entering the house, making a quick PB&J sandwich and munching on it as he heads to his room. The last flight was too short for food, and he’s tired enough that he just napped during his layover instead of getting something to eat when he had the chance. He’s almost finished with it when he reaches his bedroom, which is good because he almost drops it when he sees that his door open.

Stiles cautiously steps into his room, chewing the last bite of his sandwich as he stares at his bed. What the hell is Jackson doing in his bed? He slides the strap of his bag off his shoulder and sets it on the desk before putting his suitcase down on the floor. This is definitely something new, and Stiles isn’t entirely sure how he’s supposed to handle the situation. They normally respect each other’s privacy in the house. With two werewolves and two humans, it’s only polite to set up some kinds of boundaries. Jackson’s crossed a line, though, by coming into his bedroom when he isn’t even in the state.

Hell, Jackson expects him back tomorrow afternoon. That’s probably why he’s here, thinking he’ll get away with sleeping in Stiles’ bed. Not that Stiles understands why he’d want to sleep in his bed. Stiles is too tired to deal with it yet, so he grabs a pair of sweats and a t-shirt before heading to take a shower. After he’s washed off airport smells and airplane filth, he walks barefoot back into his room. He goes to his bed and considers trying to wake Jackson up, and that’s when he notices that Jackson’s wearing his favorite Captain America shirt. It’s one of three shirts that he alternates as lounging around the house shirts.

It might have been a long couple of weeks, but Stiles isn’t so tired he can’t start putting different pieces together. Wearing his shirt, sleeping in his bed, holding his pillow. It’s surprising yet it also isn’t considering their relationship and how it’s changed over the years. Stiles figures Jackson missed his scent, and, in the morning, he’s going to have a nice long chat with him because, well, Stiles missed the obnoxious ass, too. They’re too old for pining, though, and he wants to find out if Jackson wants to date him or just sniff him.

With that thought in mind, he gets into bed and wiggles closer to Jackson. He watches him breathing, noticing the moment his eyelids flutter and he starts to wake up. Blue eyes look at him, barely visible in the faint glow of the night light. Jackson starts to speak, but Stiles just puts his fingers against his full lips. “Tomorrow,” he whispers, moving his legs to tangle them with Jackson’s, tilting his head slightly in offering. Jackson leans in and inhales, arms moving around Stiles that pull him close and hold on tight. Stiles strokes his hair as they both go back to sleep.