Jackson presses Stiles back against the lockers, letting out a small growl as he runs his nose along Stiles' sweat soaked neck.
Stiles' swallows thickly, looking past Jackson's shoulder to the empty locker room, his stomach lurching as he feels Jackson's face push against his skin. Jackson had returned to Beacon Hills about a month ago, just in time for Lacrosse season, and he's been acting a bit...weird ever since.
"God, your fucking hair." Jackson huffs, tugging on the locks with his fingers. "And your fucking smell."
Stiles bites his lip, fingers twisting into Jackson's lacrosse jersey.
"You're such a goddamn tease." Jackson's mutters, biting Stiles' neck and pressing in closer, hard cock pushing into Stiles' thigh.
Stiles lets out a small laugh, because 'tease' is hardly a word he'd use to describe himself. It quickly turns to a groan when he feels the rough pressure of Jackson's erection.
"Are we really doing this?" Stiles gasps out. Jackson's started nibbling along his neck now, running a line of harsh kisses across his jugular, and Stiles is starting to lose sight of the situation amongst the blood flowing down to his groin.
Jackson doesn't answer, instead choosing to tug Stiles' hair some more until his head's fallen back against the lockers and his neck's arched up for maximum access. Stiles lets his eyes slip shut and focuses on the burning intensity of Jackson's mouth. His back bows just a little when Jackson's thigh slips between his legs, a firm weight against his steadily hardening cock.
Jackson's breaths are harsh and Stiles can feel Jackson's stomach expand and deflate against his own. His abs are warm and firm, and Stiles' wishes they were naked. He wants to feel Jackson's body, all of it, pressed against his.
Jackson's impatient though, tugging at Stiles' shorts and slipping his fingers into Stiles' mouth.
"Suck." Jackson orders and Stiles does, lapping at the harsh callouses on Jackson's fingertips. Jackson's skin is salty and a little dirty from practice, but Stiles' doesn't really care, not when each suck and lick makes Jackson's hips jolt and draws a harsh breath out of the werewolf.
Stiles should be embarrassed. And he is, to an extent - he's not sure of what, since he really doesn't put any stock in Jackson's opinion of him, but his cheeks still burn and when he peaks his eyes open and sees Jackson's harsh blue gaze fixated on his mouth, he can't deny that small wave of self-consciousness. Stiles should also be confused, which again, he is. He actually really is, and when this is over, he's going to have a lot of questions for Jackson, because seriously, what the hell? More than anything, though, Stiles is just unbelievably turned on.
Jackson's thigh rolls against Stiles' groin and Stiles lets out a groan, clutching more tightly at Jackson's jersey and sucking more desperately at Jackson's fingertips. He hopes Jackson's actually planning on putting his saliva slicked fingers to good use, because Stiles is really, really ready to have a cock up his ass. Turns out, he's in luck.
Jackson pulls his hand away from Stiles' mouth, fingers leaving his lips with a pop and moving down between his asscheeks, pressing up against Stiles' entrance. Stiles maintains eye contact, watching the silent question flit across Jackson's face.
"Do it." Stiles gasps out, moan slipping past his lips when Jackson complies, pressing a finger inside. It goes in easier than Jackson probably expected it to, and Stiles thinks he should probably explain that he isn't lacking for experience at this point. On the other hand, he could just keep that to himself, because what he gets up to in his own time is none of Jackson's business and he highly doubts Jackson gives a shit. Plus, Jackson's eyes are flashing werewolf blue, and that kind of takes priority at the moment. "You're not gonna eat me are you?" Stiles asks, hips rolling when Jackson presses a second finger into him.
