There’s something undeniably sexy about watching Jackson swim. He glides through the pool like he’s part fish, barely even coming up for breath. When he reaches the far side of the pool, he swims back doing a breast stroke. At least, Stiles thinks that’s what it’s called. He isn’t really a swimmer, and he forgot most of the terms after his swim lessons in first grade. Whatever it’s called, it’s making Jackson use his arms, and the way the muscles in his arms flex as he cuts through the water is pretty damn distracting.
It’s the middle of June, and the sun is high overhead beating down on them. Stiles is floating in the shallow end of Jackson’s huge swimming pool, lying on a rather comfy chair, and just enjoying the view. They just graduated high school, it’s nearly two months until they’ll be packing up to go to Berkley, and they’ve been dating for long enough now that Stiles doesn’t feel hesitant when openly admiring his boyfriend. Hell, they’re become serious enough since Jackson moved back from London over Christmas break that they even chose the same school on purpose.
In that situation, Jackson compromised because he had enough money to pay for tuition anywhere, but Stiles wanted Berkley because it’s close enough to Beacon Hills to get home relatively quickly, less than three hours is totally quick, should some supernatural shenanigans start happening. Besides, he got admitted and managed to get a scholarship high enough to pay for most his shit. Lydia chose Stanford over MIT for some of the same reasons, even if she isn’t going to openly admit she feels the need to stay closer to her pack.
When Jackson reaches the side of the pool closest to Stiles, he pulls himself out of the water and totally poses, the jackass, looking like some kind of sea god come to life. All muscular and golden and just cocky enough to still be Jackson but lacking the baggage he used to have pre-London. Getting away from this town and possibly even his parents had done him a lot of good. There were still insecurities, but who didn’t have those? The worst parts, the things Jackson whispers to Stiles he used to hate about himself, are resolved, and Jackson’s in a much better emotional place for it.
“You’re staring,” Jackson drawls, shaking his head like a wet dog. He smirks at Stiles. “Like what you see?”
“Nah. I’m totally turned off by hot pretty boys with muscles,” Stiles admits, shrugging a shoulder as if to say ‘what can you do?’ before he rests his head back against the floating chair and looks at the sky. “You aren’t my type at all.”
“Oh really?” There’s a splash as Jackson dives back into the pool. Stiles doesn’t even have a chance to prepare a defense before his chair is suddenly being tipped over. He hits the water with a sputter, flailing for a moment before he’s got strong arms wrapped around him. “Lying isn’t attractive, Stiles. I’m totally your type, both physically and otherwise. Don’t think I’ve forgotten our first date when you admitted I was smarter than you realized and that my witty snark was quote really turning you on unquote.”
“Dour boyfriend into the pool isn’t attractive either, Jax,” Stiles mutters, scowling at Jackson because he’s too damn pretty to stay angry at for long, and the jerk knows it. “You can’t talk about things that turn me on when I’m mad at you. There are rules, I’m sure. Relationship rules. We can Google it to prove I’m right.”
“You’re definitely wrong. Talking about you getting turned on helps make you think about sex, which then makes you not angry with me. See how that works?” Jackson smiles smugly. “Anyway, we’re supposed to be swimming, but all you’ve done is float around and ogle me.” Jackson arches a brow as he slides his hand down Stiles’ back. “Not that I mind you staring at me, especially when you start reeking of arousal and your face gets splotchy flushed because of whatever naughty thoughts you’re obviously having about me.”
“Me? Naughty?” Stiles scoffs. “You wish.”
“Yes, you. Don’t even try to play innocence. I know better now. My boyfriend is a wicked, wicked man.” Jackson grins wide enough that he actually flashes his elusive dimples. The dimples that make rare appearances and are something to be cherished and admired. Stiles can’t help reaching out to put his thumb in one, making Jackson laugh. “And, yes, I do happen to wish. What filthy things were you thinking about this time?”
“You know, you try to act so suave and sophisticated, but you’re just a big old dork. Every single time you call me your boyfriend, you get heart eyes. It’s freaking adorable,” Stiles says, gently teasing him because he can. “As for my thoughts, they were surprisingly PG rated this time.”
“You’re a dork,” Jackson mutters. “Adorable is for fluffy kittens and happy puppies. I’m handsome, gorgeous, attractive, or any number of adjectives that compliment my extreme good-looks and charming personality.” He deliberately tickles Stiles’ ribs when Stiles snorts. “I don’t believe you were ogling me like that and thinking PG thoughts.”
“It’s the truth, oh bastion of modesty,” Stiles admits. “I was thinking you must be part fish or possibly a descendent of Poseidon because of how graceful you are in the water. I was also thinking about college and us, you know? Where I was a year ago, and how my life changed when you came back.”
“I was captain of the swim team for a reason, dumbass.” Jackson is keeping them above water, Stiles’ legs wrapped around his waist and thighs, and it’s honestly doing things to Stiles as he thinks about how strong Jackson is and how much he trusts him not to let go. Sure, Stiles can totally swim, is actually good at it in an informal sort of way, but he’s sort of shied away from pools since the whole Derek nearly dying Kanima episode thing sophomore year. Jackson ghosts his lips across Stiles’ cheek. “If I remember correctly, when I came back, you were like an angry Chihuahua, spitting mad and protecting Lydia like I only returned to fuck with her life or something.”
“Yes, at first, there might have been some doubts,” Stiles allows, remembering fully well what a paranoid jerk he’d been when Jackson moved back to graduate with them. “But I am not nor have I ever been an angry Chihuahua. I’m like an inch taller than you, dude, and I’ve got some muscles, thank you very much. I’m pretty damn strong, as you know.”
“Oh, I know.” Jackson zones out for a moment, a faint flush spreading over his cheeks as his hands unconsciously squeeze Stiles’ ass. He clears his throat and gives Stiles an unimpressed look when he sees that Stiles is smiling knowingly. “Shut it.”
“I wasn’t saying a word.” Stiles flutters his eyelashes. “Hey, it does wonders for my ego that just thinking about my muscles, such as they are, can distract you like that.”
“You just said words.” Jackson huffs. “And I stand by the angry Chihuahua comment because it was raining the day I came back, and you were lurking in the shadows by the front door of my parents’ old house, and you didn’t even let me get out of the car before you started in about your pack this and your pack that and how I’d better not be planning anything blah blah blah. I was tired from flying all day, pretty damn scared to be back to do this on my own, and there you were, the same old asshole but also different, like me.”
“God, you fucked me up totally when you just smirked and hugged me before patting me on the head and telling me it was good to see me again,” Stiles remembers, laughing at the memory. “Scott thought I was lying, and then you totally played dumb, which convinced him I was making things up. You’re such a bastard sometimes.”
“Maybe so, but you’re the one who took lessons from Derek Hale circa two years ago and stalked me for weeks before finally accepting that I’ve changed and wasn’t here to start to trouble,” Jackson reminds him. “Anyway, I’m not about to tell McCall that seeing you snarling at me was like a welcome home sign that I really needed at the time.”
“You did start trouble, though.” Stiles grins. “You decided to try seducing me because I’m so awesome and amazing, and now look at us. Planning to take Berkley by storm, and don’t think I don’t know you’re already starting to plan your proposal because I know you pretty well now. You’re a sappy romantic beneath that cocky asshole exterior, all fluffy and squishy like marshmallows. So, yeah, I’m thinking you’re probably leaning towards senior year, maybe in the spring.”
“Why do I love you? You’re such a wiseass,” Jackson says, a slight smirk crossing his lips as he carries Stiles through the water towards the side of the pool. He ducks his head and smiles. “I’ve actually thought autumn would be a nicer season, with the ceremony in the summer after graduation.”
Stiles laughs, punching Jackson on the arm for being suck a dork. “You want a long engagement then? And here I was thinking we’d just wake up one day and decide to get married, drive to Vegas, find some cheesy novelty wedding chapel and get married by Elvis or something.”
“Seriously Stiles, the words ‘cheesy novelty wedding’ are going to make me break out in hives,” Jackson groans, shaking his head. “We aren’t going to elope to Vegas. I want a full ceremony, Danny as my Best Man, Lydia will totally get ordained in order to perform it because she made me that promise during a rather drunken conversation following graduation, and you know McCall would give you that sad puppy look for years if he couldn’t be your Best Man.”
“Lydia promised to get ordained to marry us?” Stiles smiles, liking the idea even if most people wouldn’t understand the dynamic where an ex-girlfriend would be the one to oversee his marriage to the man who used to obsess over her. But Lydia’s amazing, and she’d totally bring something like that up if alcohol was helping loosen her up. “Wow. She must really see something long-term happening between us then. I mean, I know how we feel, and we’ve talked about things as far as college and hinted at beyond, but knowing someone who is that close to us can see it, too, is a little scary.”
“Of course she does. She sees that we fit together the right way. The best way,” Jackson tells him, his tone of matter-of-fact. “Even when we fight, we deal with it, and we get over it. Our relationship is serious, Stiles. I don’t care that I’m only eighteen. I know what we have is special, and, yes, it’s terrifying, but in a good way.”
“Yeah, definitely a good way.” Stiles leans in to kiss Jackson, tasting chlorine from the pool, cherry chapstick, and a hint of cinnamon sugar from donut Jackson ate earlier. Stiles holds on tighter to his shoulders as they kiss, not wanting to fall in the water as he deepens the kiss. When Jackson pulls back and smiles at him, Stiles traces his lips. “So, autumn huh?”
“Maybe late October, something romantic, you know?. I have some different ideas, but I haven’t settled on anything yet,” Jackson says, leaning in for another kiss.
“You’ve got a few years to go, so maybe hold off on the detailed planning until then.” Stiles smiles before returning the kiss.
Talking about their future doesn’t scare him, really. Instead, it feels natural, like there’s no reason to doubt, and he just has to believe. Their relationship is definitely something special, almost like the stars aligned and gave them a second chance to know each other as men who have been through some of the same shit and came out stronger in the end. He doesn’t really believe in soulmates and shit like that, but, if he did, well, Jackson might very well be the one.