Starved

Walls

It's all Jackson can do to not quit the Lacrosse team. Or drop out of school, since those are the two things that seem to needlessly take up most of his time. Sometimes it's hard to remember why he bothers with them at all. He's knows there's a point to going to school, theoretically, but the more time he spends on the lacrosse field the harder it is to care about lacrosse. He would quit, if not for two things; Derek and Scott. If Jackson quit the team, McCall would get to be Captain all by himself. It would be like he'd won, and there was no way Jackson was going to let that happen.

Not to mention it would be suspicious, Derek says, if he suddenly dropped the one thing that his life had previously revolved around. People would ask questions, get involved. Neither of them wants that. Jackson has to deal with enough questions as it is. And not just from McCall now.

So painful as it is, Jackson sticks with Lacrosse. Half the time he can't remember why, but then, half the time he can't remember why he bothers with anything that isn't Derek. Derek fucking him raw for hours on end, until he's so sore and tired he's begging "Derek stop, please I can't anymore let me rest—"

They'd had to have a conversation about that, actually. A little less than a week into... whatever you'd call what they were doing. Generally Jackson tried to avoid things like conversation, but this had been important. Derek had kept doing this annoying thing where when Jackson said things like "no more" or "stop," he'd listen.

He just couldn't have that. For Jackson "stop" really just means "fuck me harder." For Jackson, most things he says to Derek really just mean "fuck me harder."

So they'd had a conversation, and Jackson had explained that just because he said "stop" didn't mean that Derek should actually stop. This led Derek to once again telling Jackson that there was something wrong with him, but after a bit of back and forth he agreed that they should have some sort of "safety" word. Something that Jackson could say when he really did want Derek to stop.

Jackson's suggestion was "uncle," but Derek turned that down. He didn't give Jackson a reason, he just said no. When Jackson pressed it, Derek's eyes did that thing where they glowed blue and his fangs came out a little, so he let it go.

Jackson didn't understand Derek's suggestion, "Nordic Blue Monkshood," but he turned it down anyways because it seemed like a mouthful. And he got strange shivers down the back of his neck when Derek said it.

In the end, what they went with was probably the stupidest thing either of them could think of, and the only one they could agree on. Their safety word was "safety word." Simple, easy to remember, and not likely to come up accidentally.

Most days, Jackson heads over to Derek's house the moment lacrosse is over. Sometimes when he gets there, Derek is on the porch waiting for him. Other times he makes Jackson go find him inside the house. Jackson isn't sure if he loves that, or hates it with a fiery passion.

It's a fine line with him.

Similarly, he's not sure that Derek does it because he thinks Jackson wants him to, or he does it because he thinks it drives Jackson nuts.

It's really annoying, but the more time they spend fucking, the more it seems like Derek is figuring him out. Most of the time that drives Jackson up the wall, but it's not exactly without its perks, either. Sure it means Derek is figuring out all the most effective ways to taunt and mock him, but it also means he knows all the right ways to drive him crazy.

Derek's figured out every kink and turn on, knows all the places to kiss and lick and how to do just the right things to turn Jackson into a sweating, quivering mess. He knows how to break down every wall and barrier Jackson's guarded himself with, and get right down into all the insecurities and fears he keeps bottled up inside. It's horrible and it's wonderful all at the same time.

Still, the more Jackson feels Derek figure him out, the more it becomes clear that he hasn't got a clue about Derek. He knows how to taunt and tease him, sure, but that's a gift he has with everyone. And with Derek, he only ever manages to scratch the surface.

Sometimes Jackson finds himself getting glimpses of what's underneath, but it's never enough. There are days when Derek will be rougher with him, holding back so much less than usual. Those are the days Jackson notices things like tears in his clothes or fresh bullet holes in the already desecrated walls of his home. But the more it looks like those walls are about to come down, the more Derek's just go up.

Jackson can't help but feel frustrated. Why should Derek get to keep so much in, when he's constantly turned out for him to see? Why should he be the only vulnerable one?

It's like the cuddling thing (Derek calls it "spooning"; Jackson calls it a violation). Every time Jackson passes out at Derek's place, in his bed (and he always wakes up in his bed, no matter where he fell asleep) if Derek's sleeping next to him, it's guaranteed he's waking up in his arms.

According to Derek, it isn't something he does on purpose.

It's not something they talk about, but it's still something that happens. Jackson's pretty sure that Derek doesn't understand it anymore than he does.

Derek isn't waiting on the porch when Jackson arrives at his house, but the moment he opens the front door a hand darts out and pulls him inside.

"You're late," Derek all but growls, shoving Jackson against a wall so hard that it shakes, and dust and ash rains down on them. Derek's not wearing a shirt, and the dust sticks to his sweaty skin where it falls on him. He doesn't notice. "And it took you forever to get from your car to the door—" He mouths at Jackson's neck as he speaks, and his hands roam over Jackson's body. "Has anyone ever told you that you walk so slowly?"

"Sorry," Jackson mutters, not feeling very sorry at all. Derek's patience is a constant source of Jackson's misery, so it's hard to feel anything but exultant whenever it runs out. They won't have to suffer their usual games today. He won't have to deal the taunting and teasing, Derek stringing him along and holding out until Jackson's a screaming mess, hurling insults and spite at Derek, trying to rile him up and goad him into angry sex. "Not all of us can be werewolves,"

Derek doesn't reply, but Jackson feels his hands still. "You smell different," He says, looking at Jackson suspiciously. Jackson raises an eyebrow. "Like someone else." He says it like an accusation, like Jackson's purposefully gone out of his way to do something to upset him.

Jackson presses his mouth against Derek's in response. "I could tell you, but it's a long story," He says, pausing to suck Derek's lower lip into his mouth, eliciting a grunt that's almost bordering on a moan. He lets his fingers drift over Derek's chest, down to the buttons on his jeans. "It's up to you whether or not you really wanna hear it right now," He pops the button open and begins to reach inside, but Derek grabs his wrist.

"Upstairs," Derek says. "Now," He lets go, and Jackson runs his hand up Derek's chest one more time before side-stepping him and making his way to the staircase.

Jackson pulls off his jacket and shirt as he goes up, and chucks them on the floor of Derek's room when he gets there. Derek doesn't follow him up, but then Jackson hears a loud thud, and suddenly Derek's there in the doorway. He must have just leapt over the bannister or something. Jackson narrows his eyes. "Show off," He mutters, undoing the buttons of his own jeans.

Derek smirks and then moves behind Jackson and grabs him by the back of neck. He kisses along the curve of his shoulder for a moment, and then gives a harsh shove and thrusts Jackson against the wall. His hands move over Jacksons hips and he pushes the jeans down his body. "Jackson," He mumbles, as Jackson steps out of his pants and kicks them to the side. Derek's hands slide up and down his sides and Jackson braces his hands against the wall. He shudders as Derek kisses the back of his neck again, moaning at the feeling of Derek's tongue stirring along his skin. Over the marks there, the scars that Jackson's finally resigned himself to having for the rest of his life.

"Jackson," Derek repeats, his voice thick and low. "Who do you smell like?"

Jackson shouldn't be as surprised as he is at the question. Of course Derek won't let it go. No, that would be too easy. Derek hates easy, except when it comes in the form of Jackson. And even then, most of the time he seems to only be mildly tolerable of it.

Jackson groans, and hangs his head so Derek won't mistake it for the good kind of groan. He doesn't bother asking if he's serious. Derek is always painfully serious. "Is now really the time for this?"

"Yes," Derek says. "I'll be too distracted after, and you'll be too tired." Jackson feels Derek's hand slip down and inside the front of his underwear, and his shoulder give an involuntarily jerk. "Besides, after might not be for hours."

"Kind of getting mixed signals here," Jackson mutters, biting back another moan as Derek palms him roughly.

"You talk, I'll do this," Derek tightens his grip around him, and the moan breaks out from between Jackson's lips. "Who and why, Jackson," He breathes. "Tell me,"

"Jealous?" Jackson smirks a little. He doesn't think for one second that Derek really is, but taunting him will never lose its appeal. He knows that the closest Derek could be to jealous is something like "territorial."

Derek's lips press against the back of his ear. "Curious," He says.

Jackson sighs. "It's Armani," He says. "My friend Danny, his cologne."

"Interesting," Derek says, after a pause. He puts his hands on Jackson's hips and flips him around, so now his back is pressed against the wall. Derek's face is neutral, but then Jackson hears a snapping sound that he recognizes as Derek's claws coming out, and for a moment his heart jumps up into his throat. Derek swipes his claws and Jackson hears the sound of ripping fabric, and his boxers fall away, shredded. Derek starts kissing his neck once more, and takes Jackson back in his hand. The claws have thankfully been retracted.

Derek's palm is rough and dry, but Jackson loves the feel of it. After the bullshit he'd gone through today, this was just what he needed. He leans his head back against the wall. "Danny and I didn't fuck, if that's what your thinking," Jackson mumbles. Derek doesn't bother to deny it. Of course that was what he assumed. "He assaulted me after practice, that's why I smell like him."

Derek takes his hand away and looks at him, and Jackson immediately regrets saying anything. "Why would he assault you?"

"I, I don't know—" Jackson says, distressed at the sudden lack of Derek jerking him off. Derek gives him a look. "He's worried about me, okay?" Jackson glowers up at Derek. "He hardly sees me anymore, I avoid him, I've got bruises all over my body, he's noticed me walking funny." Jackson rolls his eyes. "Can we fuck now?" He asks, thrusting his hips against Derek's.

"Walking funny...?"Derek repeats. Jackson gives another frustrated groan, breathing out through his nose. Derek's such an ass, to do this to him now. He wants Derek to put his hands back on him. He wants to get off, and to get Derek off. He doesn't want to talk about fucking Danny. "What does that mean?"

"What do you think it means?" Jackson snaps. "Danny's an expert on how someone walks after they've had a big fat cock up my their ass the night before. Can we fuck now?" He demands.

The corners of Derek's mouth curve up in a smarmy smirk. "Big fat cock, huh?" He asks. Jackson cringes. "Thanks Jackson, that's practically sweet of you,"

"Oh, fuck you—" Jackson breaks off as Derek shoves him back against the wall and thrusts his mouth against's Jackson's. Then he moves down, sucking at the skin on Jackson's collar bone and down further until he's on his knees kissing along Jackson's navel.

"Not yet," Derek says, his lips still close enough to brush against Jackson's skin. "I'll fuck you after you come. You last longer that way,"

Jackson's shoulders shake as Derek takes him in his mouth. All of him. Derek doesn't bother with teasing him or going slow, he just gets right down to and sucks. Hard.

Jackson moans, and writhes against the dirty wall. He can feel plaster and paint chipping off on his back, but he doesn't care.

He runs his fingers through his hair, resisting the urge the grab Derek's. His chest is heaving as Derek tongue slides along him, over the sensitive head of his dick. It's feels good, so good, but he still wants more and he has no shame to stop him for begging for it. Pleading pathetically with Derek for all the usual "more, harder, faster."

Instead of complying, Derek pulls his mouth away and wraps his hand around Jackson. Jackson pants, and looks questioningly at Derek, but Derek just smirks, and starts pumping his fist up and down.

Even on his knees, Derek is in control in a way that Jackson never will be. Even with Jackson's dick down his throat, Derek still owns him. And he knows it. They both do.

Jackson gives in, and shoves his fingers into Derek's hair as he comes. His knees are shaking, and if he doesn't hold onto something he's going to fall over. Especially when he realizes that he came all over Derek's chest.

"Thanks for that," Derek mutters, wiping a hand over his chest. Before Jackson can formulate some sort of reply, Derek grabs his wrist and pulls him down, then pushes him back on the floor.

Afterwards—and Derek was right, it is hours later—Jackson wakes up in Derek's bed. He's pretty sure he'd passed out on the cold floor, covered in cum, but now he's dry and tucked under Derek's worn sheets. By now this has happened so many times that Jackson doesn't question it anymore.

Derek's in bed next to him, but he's awake and sitting up. He's put his pants back on, Jackson notes with distaste, and is reading something inside a beige file folder.

"What's that?"

Derek doesn't look up. "It's a file folder,"

Jackson rolls his eyes. "Yeah but what's in it?"

"Paper,"

"What's written on the paper?" Jackson speaks the words through gritted teeth.

Derek finally turns and looks at him, his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Words," Derek snaps. Jackson just glares at him, and Derek closes the file folder and rolls his eyes. Jackson watches as Derek gets off the bed and tosses the folder in a box sitting on the new dresser he'd brought in (new as in new to Derek's room, not newly bought).

"What's that?" Jackson asks, eyeing the box. He's pretty sure it was there when he came in, but when he's close to getting laid it doesn't really seem important to be observant of his environment.

Derek's back stiffens. "None of your business," He says in a low voice. There's a very distinct edge to his voice, one that Jackson recognizes as being a sign that he should drop whatever he's bugging him about. Usually, he would.

"What's the big secret? Is it some magical werewolf voodoo that's too powerful for my weak human eyes? Is it your box full of dildos? I wouldn't mind seeing that—"

"It's just some stuff from my family, alright?" Derek finally snaps. "Things I've found around the house that survived the fire. Now would you shut up?"

Jackson raises his eyebrows. Derek never talks about his family. "What kind of stuff?" He asks. "Can I see?"

"No,"

"Why not? It's just a box full of junk."

Derek's on him in a flash, eyes burning blue and one hand closed on Jackson's throat. "It's not junk," He growls. Jackson just glares at him, his lip curled in loathing. A moment passes and Derek takes his hand back. "Get up, get dressed, go home."

Instead of listening, Jackson shoves his mouth against Derek's and kisses him. Because this what they do, after all. They scream and shout at each other until they're both burning up with anger, and then fuck for hours.

Derek pulls back and shakes his head. "Not this time, Jackson," He says, backing away.

Jackson's chest tightens with the familiar feelings of resentment and hate. He gets off the bed and pulls his clothes on as quickly as possible, his jaw clenched tightly as he tries to keep calm. He doesn't even know who's he angrier with, himself for fucking things up or Derek for being an oversensitive nut-job. Himself, probably. He doesn't know what his problem is, why he needs to be such an asshole all the time.

Once he has his stuff together he storms off down the stairs and wrenches open the front door. From somewhere inside the house, Jackson hears Derek shout "Don't come back,"

Jackson pauses for a moment, struggling with the lump in his throat. Then he grits his teeth, and walks out to his porsche.

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