The annual statewide conference for first responders is being held in Sacramento this year. This is the first year that Stiles is attending, but he’s curious to hear some of the programs that are scheduled. His dad usually takes a long weekend to go to the conference, but Stiles returned to Beacon Hills during the last year and settled into the sheriff’s department, so his dad thought he’d enjoy going to the conference this time. Besides, his dad couldn’t make the time, and some of the information presented will be useful for Beacon County. After working for the San Francisco Police Department for nearly a decade, Beacon Hills is definitely a lot quieter, so the conference has given Stiles something to look forward to when his day is full of nothing but traffic citations and domestic violence investigations.
Sacramento isn’t really a very exciting city, but it’s a lot bigger than Beacon Hills, so Stiles is glad to be somewhere with a population over six figures. He’s thirty two, single, and there isn’t much in his life at the moment besides pack and work. Getting a weekend away isn’t bad at all. Stiles had to move back home last summer when his dad’s heart gave them another scare. A heart attack without complications, fortunately, but it’s required diet and exercise changes that need supervised, even subtly. Of course, he didn’t tell his dad that’s the primary reason that motivated him to resign from SFPD and move back home. Instead, he made up something about getting tired of the big city and wanting to be with his pack. Not lies, really, but not the whole truth, either. Stiles liked San Francisco, had worked his way up to detective in Vice, and there’d usually been someone willing around for casual sex whenever he got the urge.
Now, he’s back in the town where people still remember the clumsy hyperactive trouble-making kid he used to be, and not many seem able to realize he’s grown up now. He gets his cheeks pinched by old ladies, both the set on his face and his ass, the pervy old things, and people still call him the Stilinski boy a lot. Oh well. At least he’s closer to the pack again, and he has missed Scott and Kira a lot, as well as the others who still live locally. It’s just lonely in a way San Francisco really wasn’t, since he had a group of friends to hang out with who were all single, too, and there was always something to do. Beacon Hills is home, though, and Stiles always knew he’d probably end up back there some day. He just didn’t expect some day to be so soon.
The conference is actually pretty crowded. The hotel’s booked up solid, and there are men and women from all over the state who have come to hear the latest emergency planning methods and best fire safety techniques. Stiles has been certified as a first responder fire safety since he finished high school, knowing how bad forest fires can be some years and wanting to be able to help out while he was going to the police academy in Beacon Falls. After he got hired by the SFPD, he maintained his certification, and he even took a few classes for natural disaster preparedness because he’s able to remain calm in emergency situations after so many supernatural fights in his teen years, so his captain thought it would be a good option for him.
The lecture he just attended on Wilderness First Responders was really interesting. Stiles took some notes in the margin of his program on some things they might be able to consider implementing back at the sheriff’s department. There’s been some recent upheaval in the fire department and EMS for Beacon County due to mismanagement of funds and coercion charges, so the sheriff’s department has been forced to step in and help out until the various openings are filled and someone can take over management of the Emergency Response teams. The jobs been posted for two months, but his dad’s told him they aren’t getting any qualified applicants, so Stiles thinks this program might be something he can help them implement.
With all the political mess that’s been happening, his dad’s being recruited to run for mayor in the emergency election the city council is planning next month. Stiles isn’t sure if his dad is all that interested in running the town, but Stiles has been supporting the idea because being mayor isn’t likely to make his dad have another heart attack any time soon. If he does do it, Stiles is actually thinking about running for Sheriff. He thinks that might keep him from getting too bored after spending so many years on the force in San Francisco. Jordan isn’t interested in the job, and none of the current deputies want that type of pressure, so Stiles is likely to run unopposed if it happens.
With his thoughts on programs to possibly put into practice back home, he heads to the bar at the hotel. That was the last panel of the day that he’s attending, it’s the final night of the conference, and he isn’t in the mood to go back to his lonely hotel room just yet. In fact, he’s really hoping that he might meet someone interested in a night of casual sex because it’s been nearly a year since he moved back to Beacon Hills, and he hasn’t had sex with anyone since returning. He’s old enough now that sex isn’t so vitally important, and he’s more in a stage of life where he’s craving companionship over casual, but it seems a shame to waste this opportunity.
It’s going to require some delicacy, of course, because Stiles might be bisexual, but he leans more towards men. With a conference this size, he assumes there have to be some other bisexual or gay men in attendance, but it’s not like they wear rainbows on their name badges or have a secret handshake. He doesn’t really want to get into a fight for flirting with some homophobe from Orange County, where they all seem to come from for some reason, so he’s going to see if anyone happens to approach him if he gives off the right vibe.
“Whiskey and Coke,” he says when the bartender asks for his order. He gets his drink and leans against the bar, not bothering with a stool yet. There might be a little shifting around until he’s sure his ass looks really good, but he’ll deny it if asked. Stiles sips his drink and looks around the hotel bar. There are some tourists around, but it looks like most the people there are wearing one of the lanyards like he is with their name and local department.
There’s a group of three guys standing around a table within his line of sight, and he can’t help but move his gaze down the back of the one whose ass is facing him. Brown hair cut short, broad shoulders evident against the tight fabric of the shirt that has Paramedic written across the top, biceps that look like they could hold Stiles against the wall or pin him down easily, and an ass that is a fucking work of art, his jeans tight and clingy in a way that would totally indicate the guy’s on the prowl if this were a gay bar in the Castro instead of a hotel bar in Sacramento.
The blond guy who is actually facing the bar glances up and catches Stiles’ gaze studying his buddy’s ass. Totally caught, Stiles just shrugs as if to say ‘dude, can you blame me? That’s one hell of a fine ass’ before holding up his glass in a toast to it and taking a drink. The blond bursts out laughing then leans forward across the table, probably telling Hot Ass that he’s being ogled. Before he can be the focus of a glare, Stiles looks away, tipping his glass back and swallowing the rest of his drink. If he’s going to get run out of the bar, he’s not leaving his drink behind. Leaning forward, he steals a couple of cherries from the other side of the bar, popping one into his mouth and chewing.
“Get him another,” a voice says from his left side, a warm body pressing up against his side. “Nice ass. You want it fucked or looking to fuck someone?”
Stiles chokes on the cherry he’s chewing, swallowing and turning to look at the guy ballsy enough to proposition a stranger in this type of setting. His eyes widen as he finds himself staring at a familiar face, albeit one he hasn’t seen in, God, fifteen years? Same high cheekbones, same strong jaw, same full lips, same cool blue eyes, same freckles dusted lightly across his face, but there’s a difference, too. Laugh lines around those eyes, lips curved into a smirk that’s sexy instead of smug, eyes light and amused instead of intense and hateful. He’s not the only one surprised, judging from the flared nostrils and parted lips.
“Long time no see, Jackson,” he finally manages to say once he isn’t choking on fruit. Stiles licks his lips, feeling his dick twitch when Jackson’s gaze lowers to watch his tongue swipe across his mouth.
“Stilinski.” Jackson runs his fingers through his hair, which looks a little lighter than it used to be, naturally so because Jackson Whittemore doesn’t dye his hair. “Fuck.”
“Is that still on offer?” Stiles can’t resist asking, arching a brow as he moves his eyes up and down Jackson. God, age has done him well. There are more muscles now, not ridiculous but enough to get Stiles’ dick interested, and the broad shoulders and tapered waist thing always gets him hot. Jackson’s shirt has LAFD over his heart, and Stiles is pretty sure the back says Paramedic. Of course. It’s just his luck that Hot Ass is Jackson fucking Whittemore.
“Seriously?” Jackson asks flatly. “It’s been years, and the only thing you’re interested in is whether I want to fuck you or not?”
“Would you rather have a heart to heart?” Stiles leans in closer, feeling pretty confident because Jackson is giving off some major interested signals, and he keeps staring at Stiles’ mouth like he wants to either kiss it or fuck it. “We can talk about the trauma of being possessed and forced to kill people, if you really want, but I think I’d rather take you to my room, strip you down, eat that fine ass, and then fuck you until you’re moaning my name.”
Jackson leans in, scenting him, eyes flashing a different shade of blue as he inhales. “God, you’re a little whore, aren’t you? You reek of lust and arousal,” he murmurs, ghosting his cheek against Stiles’ jaw. “I’ve wanted to shut you up with my dick since I was thirteen. Guess some things don’t go away with time. What’s your room number?”
“Room 405.” Stiles leans in closer, not touching but so close he can feel Jackson’s warmth. “Bet you’ll be the one on your knees, though, Jackson. Begging me for my dick when you see it.”
“Cocky little asshole,” Jackson growls softly, shifting his leg so one of his hard thighs is pressed right up against Stiles’ dick. All Stiles has to do is move a centimeter and he’d have contact.
“Nothing little about me,” he promises, his mouth hovering right above his Jackson’s. He deliberately licks his lips again, ‘accidentally’ brushing his tongue against Jackson’s mouth. Jackson shudders before moving his head, claiming Stiles’ mouth in a searing kiss that has his fingers curling into his palm because, fuck, it seriously is that hot. Not one to be meek and submissive, Stiles kisses Jackson back, licking into his mouth, stroking his tongue, being more passionate than he usually is with a one night stand. But it’s Jackson. There’s history there, not to mention several years of sexual tension that they were both too immature to acknowledge back in high school.
“Hey, it might be good if you two take that upstairs.” An amused voice interrupts them, making Stiles pull back so he can stare at the older blond guy who caught him ogling earlier. “Jackson, we’ll see you tomorrow, man. Flight leaves at four, so we’ve got check out by noon. Don’t forget. Be safe. Use condoms. And lots of lube.”
“Fuck off, Rowdy,” Jackson mutters, rolling his eyes even as a faint blush becomes visible high on his cheeks.
“Looks like you’ll be the one doing that tonight, doll face,” the blond teases. He looks Stiles over and winks. “Lucky you, finding a piece like this in this place.”
“Rowdy,” Jackson warns, putting a hand on Stiles’ hips in a rather possessive way.
“I was just looking. You two don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Rowdy (is that even a name? Must be a nickname, Stiles decides) says before waving his fingers and leaving the bar with the other guy.
“There’s nothing he wouldn’t do,” Jackson mutters, looking at Stiles for a moment before he tosses a twenty on the bar. “Let’s go, before I change my mind and stop thinking with the wrong head.”
“Oh please. Like you can blame this on your dick,” Stiles points out, pushing away from the bar. He grabs the glass of Whiskey & Coke that Jackson ordered him, gulping it, his throat tingling as the alcohol slides down. He puts the glass back on the bar and smirks at Jackson, who is staring at him with the familiar intensity from back years ago. “If you hadn’t run off to London, we’d have probably done this when we were in high school to get it out of our systems.”
“My parents sent me. I didn’t choose to run off.” Jackson guides Stiles out of the bar and towards the elevators. “And I’d never have done this in high school. I didn’t even realize I was bi until college.”
Stiles snorts. “Jackson, baby, sweetie, I caught you staring at my dick in the showers during sophomore year multiple times. Straight guys don’t stare at naked dicks.”
“Whatever,” Jackson mutters, shoving Stiles onto the elevator when the doors open. He pushes the button for the fourth floor before crowding Stiles against the mirrored wall. “You had a huge dick, smartass. All the guys noticed, straight or not, and I stared because I couldn’t believe some nerdy testicle like you was packing something that big.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Stiles simpers, leaning in to kiss Jackson again. This time, there’s teeth, scraping and biting against lips, then tongues soothing the roughness. Somehow, between the first floor and the fourth, Stiles ends up with his legs around Jackson’s waist, hands squeezing his ass, his back against the mirror. There’s grinding happening that feels amazing, and he actually groans when the doors slide open for his floor.
Instead of putting him down, Jackson carries him into the hallway. It shouldn’t be hot, but it totally is, and Stiles kisses him as they make their way to his room. When Jackson stops, Stiles pulls back, lips stinging and already swelling up. He wiggles around, deliberately rubbing his erection against Jackson’s bulge as he gets the keycard out of his pocket. Jackson takes it from him, sliding it in and groaning against his neck when the light remains blinking red. “Fucking technology,” he mutters, trying again. This time, it works, and the door opens.
“While the whole carrying me thing is fucking hot, you can put me down now,” Stiles says, rolling his hips slightly. Jackson just tightens his grip, kicking the door shut behind them before walking over to the king size bed. When he drops Stiles, he’s not expect it, and he flails a bit, accidentally punching Jackson in the nose and kicking his stomach as he falls onto the bed.
“Still clumsy as hell, I see,” Jackson mutters, rubbing his nose and scowling down at Stiles like it’s his fault. Which, okay, it kind of is, but Jackson’s the one who dropped him. “Why are you even at this conference?”
“I was a detective with SFPD for nearly a decade, but I had to move back home last year after my dad had a heart attack. Nothing even supernatural related, you know?” Stiles drags his fingers through his hair as he looks up at Jackson. “I’m with the sheriff’s department now, probably running for sheriff in a few months.”
“Now that’s a scary thought,” Jackson points out, moving his gaze over Stiles’ body like he’s at Disneyland and isn’t sure which ride to go on first. “Always figured you’d do something like that, though. So damn nosy and too curious for your own good. Sorry about your dad.” He licks his lips. “So, uh, who’s alpha now?”
“Scott. He’s alpha, and the pack is solid. Lydia went to Boston after graduation, but she still visits. Otherwise, it’s mostly new people. Everyone else is dead or gone,” he says honestly. “Derek’s living up in Montana, has a ranch and works with orphan supernatural kids. He comes down to visit sometimes, and he’s available if we need him for anything major, but things are quiet these days. Oh, Isaac actually came back, though. He’s a RN, works at the hospital. Cora, you never met her, but she moved in with Derek, helps him with the orphanage and the ranch.”
“What about Danny?” Jackson frowns as memories obviously come to mind. “I tried keeping in touch, but it was rough, when I first got to London, and I cut everything about the past out.”
“He disappeared junior year, actually.” Stiles shrugs. “Ran off with Ethan, it turns out. Someone else you never met. They came back to town several years ago, and they run a company together. IT and business shit. I don’t really understand everything. The others are dead. Erica, Boyd, Allison. Anyway, what about you? I thought you’d be some fancy lawyer or finance guy, making millions. But here you are. Working for the LA fire department?”
“I studied Emergency Management and Business at college, decided to get my paramedic and firefighter certifications after, and I got a job saving people,” Jackson tells him. “It can’t make up for the people I killed, but I hope the lives I save somehow balance the scales at some point.” He shrugs. “I enjoy the physicality of it, and the werewolf thing makes it safer for me to take risks than my team.”
“Emergency Management?” Stiles leans up, shoving Jackson’s t-shirt under his arms so he can finally see bare skin. “There’s an opening in Beacon Halls for something like that. Not exactly, but, hey, you might be interested,” he says before he leans in and licks the six (more like twelve) pack that is decidedly unfair. His own abdomen is a little soft after moving back to Beacon Hills, no gym routine or athletic workout with his job required that often. Jackson is fucking built, though, and it’s not the werewolf thing. It takes effort and hard work to maintain a body like this.
Jackson laughs. “Yeah, no. Beacon Hills is the past, and I only live for the present.” He pulls his shirt over his head, deliberately flexing his arms and smirking when Stiles gets distracted. “Close your mouth, Stilinski. You’ll get drool on your chin.”
“Fuck you,” he says, kicking off his shoes before he shifts to his knees. “Damn, you’ve got a nice body, Jackson. Too bad you’re still an asshole.”
“Takes one to know one,” Jackson points out, sucking in a breath when Stiles leans forward to lick at the hoop on his nipple. Stiles flicks his tongue against it, sucking on the nipple and tugging on the hoop. Jackson seems to be enjoying it based on the noises he’s making. “Damn it, Stiles. Stop your teasing.”
“But teasing is fun,” Stiles says sweetly, pulling back so he can pull his shirt over his head. He also removes the lanyard, tossing it on the floor. He’s a little self-conscious with Jackson being all tan and muscular compared to his own pale litheness with the soft belly, but Jackson doesn’t seem to mind. He pushes Stiles against the bed, nuzzling his belly and licking a path up his abdomen to his nipples. It’s Stiles’ turn to make noises when Jackson tweaks his nipples, sucking on them and nibbling just the right way.
“Always knew you’d be sensitive here,” Jackson murmurs, smiling smugly as he twists one of the hardened buds between his thumb and pointer finger. He leans down and sucks one into his mouth, laving it with his tongue before scraping it with his teeth.
“I want you to suck my dick,” Stiles tells him, clearing his throat when he hears how husky and hoarse he sounds just from having his nipples licked. Jackson’s mouth is amazing, though, so he doesn’t think anyone would hold it against him for being so turned on by a little foreplay.
Jackson licks at his torso, playing connect the moles with his tongue, his hand moving between Stiles’ legs to squeeze. “Yeah, we can do that.” He sits up and unfastens Stiles’ jeans, tugging them and his underwear off as he stands up. Jackson strips the rest of his clothes off, leaving him naked and bare to Stiles’ hungry eyes. He really is gorgeous, even better looking than high school because there’s character to his face now that just adds to the pretty boy looks.
Stiles moves on the bed, reaching down to jerk his dick, watching Jackson’s blue eyes follow the movement of his hand. Oh yeah. Jackson wants his dick, and that makes Stiles more than a little smug. “Do you like it slow or rough?” he asks, having visions of fucking Jackson’s face hard then teasing him with a slow fuck.
“Either. Both.” Jackson shrugs, glancing up at Stiles. “I can handle whatever you want. I’m versatile, too, if you’re interested.”
“I already figured that one out, but nice to know.” Stiles slides off the bed, walking over to Jackson and pushing on his shoulder. “What I want right now is to fuck your face, possibly come all over it, then we can figure out what to do next. Sound good?”
“You’re such a smug ass,” Jackson mutters, almost fondly as he drops to his knees on the hotel room floor. He leans in, sniffing Stiles’ dick, rubbing his face over it.
“If you start humping my leg, I might have to consider neutering you,” Stiles teases, reaching down to card his fingers through Jackson’s hair. That earns him a bite against his hip, so Jackson’s obviously just as sensitive about dog jokes as the rest of the pack. Jackson’s hair is short in the back but it’s fuller up top, enough to grip onto, but just barely. “Bet you keep your hair like this because you like it when men fuck your pretty mouth, like having them pull your hair and just take what they want. Little wolfy slut, desperate for dick. Do you even have a gag reflex?”
“Why don’t you find out?” Jackson taunts. He licks the underside of Stiles’ dick, circling the head with the tip of his tongue, lapping at the drop of pre-come dripping from the slit. Stiles grips his hair, reaching down to hold his dick so he can feed it into Jackson’s mouth. Jackson doesn’t look away from his eyes as Stiles starts to fuck his mouth, going slow at first, letting him get used to his girth. There’s a challenge in Jackson’s eyes that makes Stiles’ blood feel like it’s on fire, stirring up his passion in a way he hasn’t felt in too many years. He feels alive as he starts fucking Jackson a little rougher, thrusting his cock into his throat, listening to him choke before he begins to take it.
“So pretty with my dick in your mouth, Jax,” he murmurs, fucking into Jackson’s throat hard, his balls slapping against Jackson’s chin. Jackson swallows around him, licking and sucking, taking him completely. There are hands on his hips, gripping tight enough to leave bruises, dragging him in faster, wanting him to go deeper, to really fuck Jackson’s face. Stiles likes to give his partners what they want, so he stops holding back at all.
And Jackson takes it. Stiles goes so deep into his throat that he’s got tears in his eyes, dripping off his lashes, and still he holds Stiles tight so he can’t pull out. Jackson finally lets him move, lets Stiles fucking in and out, hips snapping forward, his balls tightening as he feels Jackson sucking so damn perfectly. His lips look good spread around Stiles’ dick. It’s a sight he’d like to see more than just tonight, a random thought that hits the back of his mind and makes him buck forward, feeling Jackson swallow as he blinks away tears. He reaches down, wiping up a stray tear with his thumb, staring into Jackson’s eyes and feeling like everything around them is just fading to nothing. It’s just the two of them, and that’s almost frightening, in a way.
When Stiles’ comes, it catches him by surprise. He’s so busy staring into Jackson’s eyes that he doesn’t even realize it’s about to hit. The first spurt goes down Jackson’s throat. Stiles pulls out as a second spurt enters Jackson’s mouth, a rope of come mixing with saliva and dripping down Jackson’s chin as he pulls out of his mouth. He jerks his dick, aiming the head, sending spurt after spurt across Jackson’s cheekbones and lips. Marking him. Stiles groans at that thought, knees buckling slightly as his dick throbs in his hand.
“Fuck.” Jackson’s voice is hoarse, throat fucked husky, and he’s opening his mouth, rubbing at his jaw like it’s sore, still staring up at Stiles with that odd intense look in his pretty blue eyes. Stiles whines when he sees the come dripping off his face, kneeling down and licking his face, tasting the bitter salty of his come on his tongue as he cleans Jackson’s face off. Jackson makes a noise, gripping Stiles against him, standing up and falling with him on the bed. “Wanna fuck you. Wanna ride your dick. Wanna fuck that cocksucking mouth of yours. Wanna…wanna…”
“Yeah. All of it. Do it all,” Stiles urges, rubbing against him, rolling his hips and grinding his spent dick against Jackson’s erection. Jackson’s not small by any means, a little above average probably, long and not so thick, a slight curve at the end, and Stiles uses his thigh to try to get Jackson off.
With a low growl, Jackson kisses him, sucking at his tongue as he pins Stiles’ wrists to the bed. Stiles bucks up against him as they kiss, fingers curling into his palms. Jackson grinds into him, deepening the kiss, tightening his grip until Stiles knows there’ll be bruises there, too. Werewolves and their marking people kink. Not that he doesn’t understand it since he rather likes marking people, too. Eventually, Jackson lets go, manhandling Stiles likes he doesn’t weigh anything, moving him to his knees and spreading his cheeks.
“Oh God,” Stiles moans at the first flick of a wet tongue against his hole. Jackson actually chuckles, the smug bastard, before he licks again. And again. He teases at first, licking the rim of Stiles’ hole with the flat of his tongue, tracing the pucker with the tip. Then he makes a noise and stops teasing, diving in like Stiles is his evening feast, licking and lapping, making slurping noises as he spits on his hole like this is some gross porn. But when Jackson does it, it’s fucking hot. Don’t judge. Stiles doesn’t think anyone would disagree if they were on their knees with Jackson Whittemore eating their ass.
Jackson fucks him with his tongue, with his fingers, rubbing at his prostate until his dick’s hard again, recovering like Stiles is fifteen again instead of over twice that age. Then Jackson moves, kissing his neck and biting at his shoulder as he fucks his dick between Stiles’ thighs. Urging him to press them closer, creating a warm and tight space for him as he snaps his hips and groans. “Look at who the little slut is now, Stiles,” he murmurs, fucking his dick between Stiles’ thighs like his ass isn’t loose and ready. “Your greedy hole wants my dick, doesn’t it? Should make you beg for it.”
“Stop being an ass and fuck me,” Stiles whines, pushing back and rubbing his ass against Jackson’s abdominal muscles. “I’ve got lube in my suitcase.”
“Say the magic word,” Jackson whispers, tugging on Stiles’ hair and kissing him hard before he can say anything. Stiles says ‘please’ into the kiss, licking into Jackson’s mouth, falling back onto the mattress as they move together, shifting positions again. Jackson pulls away, lips so swollen and pink, eyes a little more dazed than intense as he stumbles off the bed and searches Stiles’ open suitcase for the lube. When he finds it, he pours some onto his dick, dripping lube on the floor as he walks back to the bed.
“You’d better warm that up first or the only thing you’ll be fucking tonight is your hand,” Stiles warns, rolling into his back and watching Jackson smirk before actually listening. He warms the lube up before thrusting three fingers into Stiles’ hole all at once.
“Fuck, look at how easily you take my fingers. Bet I could get my entire hand inside this greedy hole,” he murmurs, leaning down to bite Stiles’ bottom lip and suck it into his mouth. When Stiles is fucking back against his hand, Jackson pulls his fingers out and replaces them with his dick. The stretch is surprising considering how loose Stiles is, but it feels so damn good. He hasn’t been fucked in a few years, generally preferring to top even if he is versatile. Tonight, he wants Jackson to hold him down and take what he wants.
“Fuck me like you mean it, Jax,” he says, scratching his blunt nails down Jackson’s muscular back. That’s all it takes for Jackson to growl, eyes flashing blue as he starts fucking Stiles hard. It’s the hardest pounding he’s ever had, in and out like a fucking jackhammer, and he knows he’s going to have a rough drive back to Beacon Hills tomorrow because his ass is going to be sore. But it’s worth it because Jackson is whining and growling and biting at his neck and just going so deep and hard that it’s awesome.
“So damn tight,” Jackson mutters, moving Stiles’ legs over his shoulders and fucking him even harder somehow. Stiles has never been fucked this intensely or thoroughly before, but it’s happening now, and he’s making noises and gasping every time Jackson sinks in deep. Sweat is dripping down Jackson’s face, his skin damp and flushed, his pupils so wide his eyes are almost black, and he’s bending Stiles like he’s got more flexibility than he actually does have.
“So good.” Stiles breathes out the words when Jackson begins to move faster, his hips snapping forward, his balls slapping against Stiles’ ass on every thrust forward. Jackson begins to move more erratically, breathing hard as he moves in and out. Finally, he buries himself deep in Stiles’ ass and comes with a soft whine, his dick pulsing as wet warmth shoots into Stiles’ ass.
No condom. Fuck. He’s really stupid. So caught up in lust and tension from years ago that he forgot. Werewolves can’t catch anything, but it’s the messy factor, really, and the principle of the matter. He’s just let Jackson come in his ass, let a werewolf mark him intimately, he’ll smell like Jackson for days. Stiles wants to scold himself more, but Jackson’s sucking on his neck, hard enough to bruise, and he’s still fucking in and out, still coming even as wetness trickles out of Stiles’ hole.
“Mine,” Jackson whispers against his wet neck, licking at the mark he’s just made before he kisses Stiles possessively. Stiles is still hard, rolling his hips and rubbing his dick against Jackson’s abs.
“Just because you came in my ass doesn’t mean you own me,” Stiles mutters when Jackson finally pulls away and lets him gasp in a few deep breaths of air. “I’m an independent man who lives in northern California, and you’re a smug asshole who lives in southern California. Long distance ownership doesn’t work. Now let me fuck your ass so I can come again.”
“You’re mine, Stiles.” Jackson smirks when Stiles arches a brow because, yeah, he used his name earlier, too, instead of calling him Stilinski. He leans down and actually traces Stiles’ lips with his tongue. “You’ve been mine since I decided I wanted you all those years ago. It just took me years to get you.”
“Sometimes, you don’t get what you want,” Stiles points out, rolling his eyes as he shoves at Jackson. “I need to come again, Jackson.” And, yes, he’s whining, but he’s hard and throbbing, and he’s going to enjoy this second erection because it’s not something that happens often at his age.
“I always get what I want.” Jackson slowly pulls his dick out of Stiles’ ass, running his fingers over Stiles’ sore hole, staring down with a look of absolute amazement before he closes himself off and smirks. “You should just accept it.”
“We just happened to run into each other after like fifteen years, dumbass. You probably haven’t thought about me in all that time, so don’t even play like you have,” Stiles says, moving his hips so Jackson remembers he’s still hard.
“Maybe not that often, but I have sometimes. Wondered what if,” Jackson admits, shrugging a shoulder before he gets the bottle of lube and pours some into his hand. Stiles watches with wide eyes as Jackson reaches behind him and starts prepping his ass, wishing he could see those fingers loosening his tight hole. “The usual bullshit you think about when you get older. I almost didn’t come to this conference, you know? Rowdy convinced me it’d be fun, said it’d change my life, and he’s got a sixth sense about shit, so I figured why not?”
“My dad usually attends this thing. But this year, he’s busy with political upheaval back home, so he sent me. Said he thought I’d enjoy it, maybe give me some excitement,” Stiles says slowly, looking at Jackson’s face and reaching up to rub his thumb over the dusting of freckles beneath one eye. “It’s just a coincidence, though.”
“Or it’s serendipity,” Jackson tells him in a serious tone that isn’t smug or joking at all. “Giving us a second chance.”
“A second chance at what? Awesome sex?” Stiles reaches between them, jerking his dick because he needs to do something with his hands. “We don’t even like each other, Jackson. Hell, we don’t know each other, really, since we’ve had a lifetime to grow and become the men we are now.”
“Who knows?” Jackson crawls up the bed, straddling Stiles’ dick. “Maybe it’s just great sex, but it could be something else.” He slowly presses down, eyes rolling back as Stiles’ thick dick stretches him open.
“It could be,” Stiles agrees quietly, “except for the fact that I live in Beacon Hills and you live in Los Angeles. All it’s going to be is a one night stand, Jackson, with us resolving some of that sexual tension we had so many years ago and that we apparently still have.”
Jackson frowns down at him but doesn’t say anything. He just bounces up and down until he’s fully seated, tweaking Stiles’ nipples as he gives himself time to adjust. Then he starts moving, fucking himself on Stiles’ dick, looking even more gorgeous than before as his muscles tense and his face flushes. Stiles bucks up, fucking into him, knowing he’s not going to last that long but wanting Jackson to remember it as a good fuck when he goes back to LA. They kiss as they fuck, a little more desperate this time, urgent and rough, and Stiles can feel the mixed up emotions Jackson’s feeling because he’s experiencing them, too.
They roll over onto their sides, Jackson’s leg moving over Stiles’ hip, and the position changes lets Stiles go a little deeper. He fucks Jackson harder, tugging on his nipple ring and listening to the noises he makes as Stiles drives him wild. This time, Stiles feels his orgasm approaching. He snaps his hips, sinking deep inside Jackson and coming, grunting against Jackson’s pretty lips as he spills inside his ass. They keep kissing, eventually pulling apart, tugging blankets over them, kissing and touching until sleep overtakes them.
Sunshine wakes Stiles up. The hotel curtains do little to keep the sunlight out, and he blinks dazedly at the windows as he stretches. His arm doesn’t encounter any obstacles, and he sighs at the realization that Jackson must have left sometime in the early morning hours while Stiles was sleeping. They had spent the night fucking, more times than Stiles can count. He’s incredibly sore, his dick almost aching from coming so often after nearly a year of nothing other than jerking off. It hadn’t just been sex, though. There had been some conversation happening between rounds, learning a little more about the men they’ve grown into since high school, soft whispers as they talked about the bad stuff as well as the bad.
He runs a hand over his face before he reluctantly rolls off the bed. “Ow,” he mutters, making a face when his ass reminds him that, yes, he’s been fucked hard and good, and there’s definitely a reason not to move so fast this morning. After a trip to the bathroom to piss and shower off flaky dried come, he wraps a towel around his waist then grabs another so he can towel his hair dry as he walks back into his room. It looks nearly as wrecked as he feels. The covers are a mess, ass prints against the window from the blowjob that happened around three in the morning, lube spilled on the carpet, and probably some dried come, too.
His laptop is open on the table, he notices, which is weird, because he knows he had turned it off before the conference started yesterday. He walks over and gingerly sits down, rubbing his finger over the mousepad and blinking when he sees the website for Beacon County Government open. He had used his laptop to send Scott a link yesterday, not look at the county website. He clicks another tab and stares at the page that says ‘Thank you. Your application has been received’ along with other miscellaneous information that applicants get told.
“Finally awake, huh?” Stiles jumps, startled at the voice breaking the silence. He looks up with widening eyes as Jackson enters the room carrying a bag from Starbucks and two cups. Jackson has showered and changed, wearing a pair of expensive looking blue jeans and a tight shirt that says ‘I’m a paramedic because badass isn’t an official job title’. Jackson arches a brow. “I got you a muffin, and a caramel macchiato. Wasn’t sure if you still drank those, but it was the safest bet.”
“I do.” Stiles blinks at him, feeling disconcerted and slightly confused. “How’d you even remember that? Uh, my laptop…”
Jackson shrugs. “I remember random shit sometimes,” he says, putting the cups and bag down. He glances at the laptop and frowns, a slight flush crossing his cheeks. “I thought I turned it off. I signed in as a guest. I woke up this morning and knew I had to do something before I had time to question it.”
“Beacon County?” Stiles takes a sip of the coffee and moans because it’s hot and yummy. “You applied for that job, didn’t you?”
“Last night, you said this could be something,” Jackson murmurs, looking at him finally. “Your issue was the long distance thing. I don’t know if this is just lust or maybe more than that, but I figure it didn’t hurt to apply for it since I’m qualified. We can leave it to fate, you know?”
“Oh.” Stiles smiles slightly, picking at the lid of his cup. “You’ve never struck me as someone who actually believes in fate and destiny.”
“I don’t,” Jackson admits. “Not until I decided to attend a conference and ran into a face from the past that still makes me feel a bunch of mixed up shit in my head. Now, I’m not so sure what I believe.”
“Well, I’m too cynical to believe in all that shit, but I’m willing to give you my number,” he says, looking into Jackson’s eyes. “You might get the job or you might not. I think we’re crazy for even considering this when we live on entirely opposite ends of the state, but maybe it’s worth the chance to see where this goes?”
“If it happens to become something serious, there are always other jobs available,” Jackson points out, tugging Stiles to his feet and untying the towel wrapped around his waist.
“You hate Beacon Hills. It’s the past, remember?” Stiles reminds him, leaning in to lick Jackson’s lips.
“If that’s where my present, my possible future, takes me, then I can always go back. It’s different now, after all. I’m different.” Jackson sucks on his bottom lip. “When do you have to leave?”
“Check out is noon.” Stiles strokes his hands up underneath Jackson’s shirt.
“Me too.” Jackson smiles, a real smile that isn’t a smirk or smug at all. “That gives us enough time for another round or two,” he murmurs before he kisses Stiles, slow and gentle and passionate in a way that makes his heart race. Stiles might not really believe in serendipity, but he believes in himself and maybe he’s starting to believe in Jackson, too, just a little. This could be something amazing. Only time will really tell.