Their physics books are lying open on the bed beside them. Their notebooks are on the floor, pages getting permanently folded from how the paper landed when they fell. Stiles is gripping the blanket tightly, arching up, lips parted as he gasps for air. Strong hands pin him down, warm wet suction on his dick until he trembles, a soft cry of pleasure spilling from his lips as he finally comes. A low grunt soon follows, and he realizes he’s going to have to wash the blanket again. At this rate, it’s going to fall apart from repeated washings.
“What are we doing?” he asks, his voice slightly hoarse from the noises he totally wasn’t making.
The only response he receives is kisses along the curve of his hip. Open mouthed and wet, leaving behind a trail of saliva. It’s deliberate, marking him like he’s some chew toy, and he’d snark about it if it wasn’t the sixteenth time it’s happened in less than three weeks. The first few times, sure, he could be a sarcastic asshole because it was just sex, just something casual between enemies (friends?), just trying to feel good with a pretty boy who offered.
Stiles isn’t so sure it’s casual anymore, and that terrifies him.
“I’m serious. What is this?” He keeps looking at his ceiling instead of peering down into beautiful blue eyes that are probably currently being rolled.
As expected, he doesn’t receive an answer. Instead, there’s a kiss against his belly. Then a raspberry that has him giggling even as he swats at his tormentor to make it stop. A warm body presses into his as the kisses continue their journey up his torso. He thinks maybe the kisses are an answer because they’re becoming more affectionate, less ‘wolf marking its territory’.
Finally, he raises his head and looks down. Jackson is staring at him, quickly looking away even as he presses his lips against Stiles’ collarbone. “I know you hate using your words for meaningful conversation, but I need to talk, Jackson,” he says softly, moving his fingers into Jackson’s hair. It has too much product in it, stiff against his skin. He prefers the softness that is Jackson’s hair fresh from the shower after lacrosse practice, which he’s felt three times in the past few weeks as he’s gripped it tightly when they were rutting against each other.
“Everything I say is meaningful,” Jackson drawls, smirking before he places a wet kiss against Stiles’ nipple. There’s some tongue action, too, which is a total foul.
“I’ve come more often in the last two and a half weeks than I have in like a month,” Stiles blurts out, glaring when Jackson’s eyebrows judge him. “You’ve also gone out of your way to touch me at school the last couple of weeks, to the point where even Scott’s noticed, and he rarely pays much attention to anything but Allison’s dimples and Kira’s smile.”
“You’re imagining things.” Jackson ducks his head and kisses Stiles’ Adam’s apple, laving the hollow of his throat. “I haven’t touched you any more than I usually do.”
“Bullshit.” Stiles tugs on Jackson’s hair, forcing him to raise his head. There’s a slight flush high on his cheeks as he tries to avoid looking into Stiles’ eyes. “Pushing me into lockers never required much contact, and that was your ‘usual’. It doesn’t really compare with the casual touches in the hallways, the way you touch me after class, how close you sit during lunch, or any of that. You might think I’m stupid, but I’m actually very observant and really damn smart.”
“I’ve never once called you stupid.” Jackson is sulking, and Stiles knows he’s in trouble because he finds it rather sweet instead of obnoxious. “Obliviously moronic, sure, but not stupid.”
God help him. He’s falling for Jackson fucking Whittemore.
“We shouldn’t do this anymore,” he says quietly, hoping like hell that Jackson isn’t noticing how fast his heart is beating right now. “It’s getting too deep.”
“Lie.” Jackson frowns as he looks at Stiles’ chest then back at his face. “You’re scared.”
“Of what?” Stiles deflects, trying to calm down even as he realizes this is a very bad thing because Jackson is in it for casual sex and that’s it. How could he be so stupid? “I’m not scared.”
Jackson just stares at him for a moment before his eyes widen. “Holy shit. You finally realized you like me,” he whispers.
“Ha! You wish.” Stiles clears his throat and considers getting up so he can put some clothes on because lying naked in bed with the casual sex guy you’ve just realized you might be falling for is just not smart. “You’re a conceited asshole who makes me feel good. That’s it.”
“I do,” Jackson admits, frowning at Stiles like it’s somehow his fault. “Wish, I mean. You’re so damn annoying with your constant talking and smug attitude and you get under my skin so easily that it irritates me to death and I want you to look at me the way you look at McCall sometimes, like he hangs the fucking sun and you’re just happy to bask in his glow.”
“I don’t want to fuck Scott,” Stiles points out. “And you’d be more likely to hang the moon with the dark parts of your personality.” The darkness is something they have in common, the shared experience of being possessed and used against their will a shared experience that initially changed them from enemies to frenemies in the first place. When he sees Jackson start to shut down, he leans in and kisses his jaw, pressing his lips against Jackson’s warm skin. “I like the moon better than the sun.”
“Do you?” Jackson kisses his cheek, licking at the moles by his ear. “I don’t want to end this, Stiles.”
“What is this?” Stiles asks again before he kisses his way along the sharp edges of Jackson’s jaw. “I can’t keep doing casual sex. The sex is great, don’t get me wrong, but I’m going to end up hurt if we keep it up. I need more.”
“You’re the one who labeled it casual in the first place,” Jackson reminds him, pulling back and looking at him. “It might have happened in reverse, with the arguing and rough sex being the starting point instead of some romantic date, but I never used the word casual. I also haven’t tried hiding it or pretending it was just sex.”
“Huh.” Stiles blinks at him as he realizes Jackson’s right. Stiles just assumed, and they never spoke about it really. Jackson just started sitting next to him at lunch and walking him to class and coming home with him after school to study and…”I’m a fucking idiot.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying since we were six, but did you ever listen? Good to see you’re finally getting with the program, Stiles, though. It took you long enough.” Jackson smirks before he leans in and kisses Stiles on the mouth. Stiles parts his lips, licking at Jackson’s mouth until it opens for him. They lick at each other’s tongues and mouths, teasing at first, savoring the taste of one another. The kiss deepens as hands start to stroke bare skin. Jackson is slowly grinding against him, and Stiles blesses the quick recovery period of youth as he feels his dick start to twitch from the friction.
As they continue making out, he idly wonders what it’s going to take to persuade Jackson to not tell their pack that Stiles took nearly three weeks to even realize they’ve been dating. Maybe he can play the boyfriend card, since that has to be worth some type of exchange for embarrassing secrets between them. Jackson licks into his mouth and strokes his hipbone, making Stiles moan in a needy way that he’s totally denying if ever questioned. It distracts him from his thoughts, so he decides he’ll just talk to Jackson about keeping the whole 'not realizing we’re dating' thing to themselves later.
Much later.