The Morning

Jackson is slow waking up in the morning. His head feels heavy and there's a sharp pounding in his temples. He groans and squeezes his eyes tightly, dreading the thought of having to move. Every muscle in his body is aching. Lacrosse practice is going to be torture.

Then his eyes pop open, round and wide in spite of the harsh morning light as it comes rushing back to him. He remembers what he did the night before, and where he is now.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

Jackson in Derek Hale's bed. That alone is enough to get his breathing having, but of course there's more. He's not just in Derek's bed, he's in his arms.

Jackson scrambles out of them as fast as he can. He practically trips off the bed and over to the other side of the room before he even processes that he's not wearing any clothes. He panics once he does, and looks wildly around the room for his underwear, his pants, his jacket—anything.

He winds up grabbing the sheets from off the bed and wrapping them hurriedly around his waist, just to get himself covered up in some capacity while he looks for his clothes.

Once Jackson's gets the sheet secured, he looks up to find Derek awake and sitting up in the bed, his eyebrows raised in amusement. Jackson's face burns red. How long has he been watching him for? Fuck.

"What the hell, man?" Jackson sputters. "What the hell was that?"

Derek tilts his chin up. "What the hell was what?"

"You—your arms—you were holding me," He points accusingly with one hand while the other grips firmly onto the sheets around his hips, as if for fear that Derek may charge over at any moment and rip them off his body. A shiver runs down Jackson's spine. The thoughts just barely run through his head, and he's already hard just imagining it. What the hell is his problem? "What's your problem?"

Derek's eyes narrow, and the amusement leaves his face. He leans forward and gives Jackson a hard look. "You came to me last night, drunk and bleeding, begging me to fuck you—"

"I was not begging!" Jackson protests.

"You werebegging," Derek repeats, rising off the bed. The comforter falls away from him, and unlike Jackson he makes no attempts to cover himself. Jackson breath hitches. "And you kept begging. All. Night. Long." Derek walks towards him, and Jackson presses himself back against the wall. His memory of the night before is fuzzy, but he has a feeling Derek's telling the truth.

Derek's right in front of him, and he puts a hand on the back of Jackson's neck and pulls him in. Jackson gasps and it's such a weak sound he wants to kill himself for making it. But Derek's pressed up against him, right up against him soJackson can feel him through the sheet. And he's already so hard, and Derek's body is so cruelly warm. He gasps again, higher and more broken than before. Like a whine. Derek presses against him, and Jackson whines.

"After all that," Derek breaths, practically grinding against Jackson. Jackson is all but writhing underneath him. "You wake up screaming and shouting, stumbling around like Bambi on ice, and then you want to know what's wrong with me?"

Just like that, Jackson comes. And God, he hates himself so much for it. His body spasms against Derek's and he puts his hands on Derek's chest to keep his knees from buckling under him. "Oh fuck," Jackson drops his head against Derek's shoulder, and wishes he was dead with every ragged breath he pulls in. "Fuck."

Derek just sighs and shakes his head, and if there's anything he could have done to make Jackson feel even more ashamed, that was it. "And now you ruined my sheets, too," Derek says, stepping back from him and prying Jackson's fingers off his body.

Jackson expects his legs to give out with out Derek to lean against, but somehow he manages to stay standing up. Derek turns and walks away from him, and Jackson's already so sick of that. Derek turning his back on him, walking away. Because Jackson can't walk or run away from this, whatever this is. God knows he's tried.

Because it's the most pathetic thing Jackson can think to do, he falls down to his knees.

Derek turns around at the sound of Jackson's knees thudding on the floor, and he raises one eyebrow. "What are you doing?" He asks. His voice is disinterested, bored even, but since he's not wearing a stitch of clothing, Jackson can see Derek's not as nearly unaffected as he'd like Jackson to believe.

"Begging," Jackson says. He's still panting from his orgasm a moment ago, and he knows he sounds ragged. Ruined even. Pathetic.

It doesn't matter. It's not like there's any point in trying to pretend he has any pride left. They both know he doesn't. Maybe that was the point, in some fucked up way. Maybe that was what he'd wanted all along. To be shamed, his ego damaged beyond all hope of recovery. Humiliated to a point where there would be nothing he could do to earn his pride back... so there would be no reason to try. No reason to put up a front, nothing left to protect. He was at rock bottom without a ladder... there was nothing left to do but wallow in the mud.

"That's what you want, right?" Jackson asks. His cheeks burn, but he forces himself to keep eye contact with Derek. "Me on my knees, begging you to fuck me again."

"Actually I kind of want you to leave," Derek says, walking over to him. He stares down at Jackson with his usual glower, but Jackson sees, just like the night before, there's a spark of curiosity in his eyes. Jackson's interested him, just a little. And he knows Derek doesn't intend for him to see that, Derek who prides himself on his own control and composure, the very things Jackson's come to have destroyed.

Jackson licks his lips and looks up at Derek. "Please?" He says. He can't deny how much he needs this, needs Derek to fuck him, reach inside of him and destroy him so he can be whole again, if only for a little. Hiding behind semantics was comforting, but it didn't change anything. Jackson needs him and he wants him, and like everything else he needs and wants, he's going to have him, too. No matter how hard he has to work for it.

Derek doesn't say anything, and Jackson takes it as consent.

When he reaches up for Derek, his hand shakes a little. No, more than his hand. His whole body is shaking, as he curls his fingers around Derek and begins stroking him. Jackson moves his hand up and down, and his eyes move up on there own, searching for some kind of reaction. A whimper, a moan, a slight move of his head. Anything to let him know that Derek's human too, just like him. That he feels things and wants them just the same way.

There's nothing. Derek doesn't flinch, his lips don't part, his back doesn't arch. The only part of him that reacts is the part Jackson's touching. At least he can't control that.

Jackson slides his hand along him, and breathes furiously through his nose. Derek's reaction—or lack there of—is insulting, but it's more than that. How can he remain so composed, so unaffected? If Jackson was in his position he knew he wouldn't be able to control himself, wouldn't be able to stop himself from moaning, crying out...

"Are you angry about something?" Derek asks, startling Jackson. Jackson jerks his hand to the side a little in surprise, and Derek winces and sucks his breath in. Jackson lets go, and Derek pulls away slightly. "Jesus, Jackson,"

Jackson glares up at him. "Oh so you can feel something there," He says dryly.

Derek raises an eyebrow, and flicks his eyes over Jackson's kneeling figure. Then he smiles slightly, taunting him. "Did I hurt your feelings?"

Jackson seethes a little, and puts his hands on Derek's hips, pulling him back towards him. "No," He lies, sitting up on his knees. He puts his hand back around Derek, who's still smirking at him. "I was just worried you were numb from last night, and couldn't feel anything."

Derek snorts. "Please," He says, reaching forward and putting his hand in Jackson's hair. Jackson feels goosebumps on the back of his neck. "It takes a lot more than that to wear me out."

Derek's words don't offend Jackson nearly as much as they're intended to, but Jackson furrows his brow anyways. Hopefully if he plays angry, which he still sort of is, Derek won't be able to tell that all he's thinking about is how badly he wants to test that out. Werewolf stamina. Fuck.

"We'll see," Jackson mumbles, leaning in towards Derek. His lips barely taste him before Derek's grip tightens in his hair and his head is yanked back. Jackson cries out and tries to pry Derek's fingers out of his hair, but it's no good.

"You've never done this before," Derek says.

"I'm a fast learner," Jackson snaps. Derek doesn't let go, but Jackson feels his grip loosen as Derek seems to consider it.

Derek crouches down, and points a finger in Jackson's face. "Listen carefully," He says, speaking slowly and deliberately. "If you bite me, at all, believe me when I say I will bite you back."

Derek releases Jackson's head and stands back up. "Thanks for the pep talk," Jackson mutters, "I feel really put at ease."

"I didn't know you came here to be put at ease," Derek says. "I seem to recall something about wanting a beast to fu—"

Jackson puts his lips around Derek, just to stop him from finishing that sentence. It's probably sad that stopping mid-sentence is the best reaction he's gotten from Derek so far. Jackson intends to change that.

Jackson sits up higher on his knees again, and puts his hands back on Derek's hips, trying to get a better angle. Then he sits there, unsure of how to proceed.

I have a dick in my mouth, Jackson thinks stupidly.

Of course you do, you pathetic idiot, another voice in his head snaps. You put it there. Now do something with it!

But what?

Luckily for Jackson, his question of what to do is answered for him when Derek grabs his head and pushes it further down on his dick. Jackson gags, and tears swim in his eyes. "Do something," Derek snaps, echoing the voice in Jacksons head.

Jackson smacks Derek's hand away and moves his head back up a bit. Then he sucks, as hard and angrily as he can. He hopes the angry part of it gets through to Derek, because somehow an angry blowjob seems more dignified than the regular kind. It's semantics again, but Jackson allows himself comfort in it.

Then Derek groans. It's low and deep, and it lingers in his throat and in the air. Jackson looks up at Derek, and sees his eyes are closed and his mouth is opened slightly, the last remnants of his groan still on his lips. And Jackson wants to hear that noise again.

Jackson pulls his mouth away and looks up at Derek. "Put your hands back in my hair," He demands.

Derek opens his eyes and looks at him. "What?"

"Just do it," Jackson says. He puts his lips against Derek and kisses him, and flicks his tongue over him. Derek makes a noise and does what Jackson says, grabbing his hair and pushing Jackson's head down for more. Jackson smirks, and breathes heavily against him. "Make me," He says, kissing Derek again. He lifts his eyes up and looks at Derek. "I won't do it if you don't make me,"

Derek stares down at him for a moment. "There's something... wrong, with you," He says shortly. Jackson doesn't deny it. He knows. Derek sighs and pulls Jackson's head in again, thrusting his hips forward into Jackson's face.

Jackson smiles, and then puts his mouth back over him. This time Derek pushes against him, holding his head still so he has no choice but to take it. Derek shoves into him again and again, grunting each time he fucks into Jackson's begging mouth. And Jackson loves it. His eyes water and his fingers dig into Derek's hips, but he's bobbing his head in time with Derek's thrusts and moaning around his dick.

"Jackson," Derek growls, sending shivers down Jackson's spine. There's something terrifying and wonderful about the way Derek says his name, that drives Jackson crazy. Derek doesn't just say his name, he says it as though it's something he owns. Something that belongs to him.

Jackson barely even notices when he starts to jerk himself off. He's completely lost in the taste of Derek in his mouth, and the sting at the back his throat, and the way Derek groans and sighs when Jackson pushes his tongue against him. "Jackson—"

Derek shoves him off and Jackson whines in protest. He doesn't even care anymore, he'll moan and whine all he has to. Fucking beg Derek for his dick.

Jackson's whines are only met with more grunts as Derek ignores him, and braces one hand against the wall behind him. His other hand is wrapped around the base of his dick as he pushes himself over the edge. Derek drops his chin down against his chest as he comes, and his mouth falls open as a long, low sigh erupts from the back of his throat. Jackson's heart pounds as he watches him.

Derek breaths heavily, and leans his forearm against the wall. "Jackson, stand up," He orders.

"Why?" Jackson asks, getting to his feet anyways. Derek grabs him and thrusts him against the wall. He presses his mouth sloppily against Jackson's neck, and starts jerking him off. His rough fingers are slicked and wet, and Jackson's eyes almost roll back into his head when it clicks that that's not lube coating them.

"Think you can last longer than five seconds?" Derek asks, moving his mouth up and pressing it against Jackson's ear. Jackson bites down on his lip, and shuts his eyes as Derek trails his tongue along his ear. "Five, four, three, two—"

Jackson's body gives out, and his toes curl up as he comes over Derek's hand. Derek snorts, and Jackson feels him pull away. When he opens his eyes, Derek's crouching down beside the pile of sheets on the floor, wiping his hand off on them. "You should probably go to school," Derek says, standing back up.

Jackson swallows, and sinks down against the wall. The floor is dirty and cold, but he doesn't care. School, right. He has a life outside Derek's burnt up house, beyond getting fucked and humiliated.

"Jackson," Derek says sharply, and Jackson turns his head towards him. "Did you hear me?" Jackson nods. "Good." Derek turns and walks away again, walks away again, and pauses in the doorway of his room. "Your clothes are on the dresser," He says.

Then he's gone and Jackson is left naked, trembling, and alone.

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