Chapter Text
The teen was returned to his parents, a little frazzled and worse for wear, but otherwise he would survive. Stiles would discuss training the little shit later with Jackson, but figured Enzo — the teen in question— could afford to wait a few days. Stiles himself was picked up, arguing and annoyed, by Jackson and swept off to the car while the other three stayed behind to clean up and wait for Enzo's parent.
Jackson made sure someone went and picked them up, but as soon as they got back to the Manor he had Stiles up in the alpha's room, ignoring everything and anything Stiles tried to say about his own room.
"We're showering, Stiles." Jackson said eventually after setting him down on the bathroom sink of his ensuite.
"And why couldn't it be done in my room?" Stiles pushed, choosing wisely not to try to jump down, lest the pins and needles shoot up his legs and make him collapse in a humiliating fashion.
Jackson glared at him over his shoulder as he ran the water, borderline baring his teeth but not saying anything.
Stiles sighed, "Is it some alpha thing? Because I'm like your chosen one or something?"
Jackson's jaw ticked and he turned back to facing the shower, speaking so quietly that if Stiles hadn't still had his senses enhanced he would have missed it.
"Because you're my mate."
Stiles blinked a few times, opening and closing his mouth.
"How long have- have you known that, exactly? And not shared it?!" He felt too many emotions course through him. Anger, hurt, betrayal.
Jackson reluctantly turned to face him, not meeting his eyes and looking like a kicked puppy.
"Since… the Kanima was defeated," he admitted.
Stiles gaped at him, and if he'd had any energy left probably would have zapped him. How had Jackson hidden this? How had Stiles not known?
"Come again?" he hissed, "What about- about Lydia! You leaving for London?!"
"I loved her but I wasn't in love, it wasn't true love. We broke up that night, she knew- knew we weren't meant to be and knew I was… gay. I left because I was too torn up, okay? I knew I wasn't going to be a good mate for you, not yet. I needed to fix myself and be someone that was worthy of courting you, properly. I couldn't- I couldn't do that in Beacon Hills. And I know I should have taken you too but I couldn't have. You had Scott and your dad and your moms memory and-"
Stiles couldn't take it anymore. Not this panicked rambling coming from the usually confident wolf. His wolf. He was angry, sure, but Jackson's desperation was clear to see and maybe he shouldn't have been so quick to forgive, but fuck it he did.
He leant forward and grabbed Jackson's face in his hands, tingling be damned, and reeled him into a kiss to cut off the endless flow of words. Jackson was still for all of a moment before he was grabbing at Stiles in return with urgency, pressing between Stiles' legs and kissing back roughly.
He broke it only once to gasp against Jackson's lips and growl, "You ever hide shit from me again and I will break your balls, okay?"
He didn't wait for Jackson to agree or argue, returning to kissing those surprisingly soft lips with a vengeance.
The tingling remnants of the curse just became another part of the experience, shuddering as Jackson's hand threaded into his head while the other pressed against his lower back, pulling their bodies tight together. Their lips pushed and pulled in harmony, parted, sliding slick together, the sound of the shower pouring onto it's flooring almost drowning out Stiles' small quick breaths. Jackson pulled back, eyes dark with desire, irises flashing that heady alpha red.
"Shower," Jackson growled, less a word and more a rough sound.
Stiles nodded jerkily, aware that there was probably dried blood in his hair and flaked on his clothes from Jackson's hands now.
Jackson helped him strip and Stiles did the same for him, almost vibrating with the need for closeness in whatever way he could get it. He needed to feel Jackson in his veins, overrunning the remnants of the curse. He needed something to focus on, to fixate on, and his mate was the best possible gift for that.
His mate, holy shit he had a mate.
Jackson backed him into the shower with hands on Stiles' hips as soon as they were both naked, getting them under the almost too-hot spray and pinning him against the wall to continue kissing him senseless. Stiles, of course, had no objection to this. Now it had been started, he never wanted to stop. Jackson's body, wet and hot and hard, pressed against his and the mere impression of it consumed him. He would crawl inside the always heated werewolf skin if he could, if he were given the chance.
A whimper escaped him, greedily swallowed down by Jackson.
"Beautiful," was panted against Stiles' lips like a prayer. "Słoneczko, my Słoneczko, mine mine mine."
Stiles moaned, head tilting back to land on the dark grey tiles a little rougher than intended, but he didn't even notice because Jackson was sucking dark, possessive marks on his throat, memorising the way Stiles' skin tasted.
It was Stiles' turn to tangle a hand in that usually perfect hair, holding him close, arching against him and pressing their hips together. The smooth slide of their hard cocks almost made Stiles short circuit.
"Fuck, Jax-" he whined.
"Again," Jackson demanded of him, and he didn't know whether his alpha wanted him to roll their hips together or to moan his name again, so he did both, grinding against the slightly taller man while panting his name like he was in heat.
"Just like that, you're so pretty. That's it, gonna mark you up, my pretty mate, my gorgeous spark, gonna cover you in my scent and keep you," Jackson was growling a litany of filthy praise against his throat, fangs scraping the delicate skin.
It should have been dangerous, but Stiles was nothing if not a danger seeker.
His hips stuttered and Jackson just rutted harder against him before snaking a hand between their bodies and wrapping a broad hand around both of their straining cocks. Stiles' legs nearly buckled at the sensation, eyes rolling back in his head and nails scraping over Jackson's shoulders. The touch of pain only made Jackson rumble and groan a low "Fuck" in Stiles' ear.
That sound, hot and instantly addictive, almost did Stiles in then and there. Jackson was going to be the death of him, and he found he really didn't mind. He'd take as many little deaths as he could, as long as Jackson was the cause of them.
"Hold on baby," Jackson purred, voice a little strained, "We're gonna cum together, yeah?"
"Yeah, yeah-" Stiles answered immediately, breathless and needy, and Jackson groaned again, jerking them off faster.
"That's it- fuck- Cum for me." Jackson pressed his teeth to the junction between Stiles' neck and shoulders, not enough to break skin but definitely hard enough to bruise, and Stiles was done for.
The spike of pain had him crying out, shuddering from head to toe, vision spinning as he and his mate painted the space between them white with their combined release of bliss.
Jackson caught him before he could collapse, keeping him pinned to the wall through the aftershocks, rumbling, soothing his hands up and down Stiles' sides till he came back to himself, hearing Jackson's soft praise and words of affection.
When he came down from his high, he soothed his fingers over the already healed places on Jackson's back that he scratched up, turning his head to catch Jackson in a much softer kiss. They stayed like that for a long few moments before beginning to wash one another, quiet words turning to banter, never going to far.
When they tumbled into bed with grins and nothing but Jackson's briefs on, it was with the knowledge that never again would they be separated, and that although they probably would eternally antagonise one another, they were made for one another.
Stiles wouldn't have it any other way.