Starved

Explanation

Jackson is getting ready for bed when he hears a noise, and turns around just in time to see Derek burst in through his window. He's given absolutely no time to get a hold of any emotions he might be feeling—surprise, happiness, anger, relief—before Derek's across the room and slamming Jackson back into a wall. He slams him into the wall and then growls at him, eyes bright blue, fangs out and everything.

If Jackson thought could have managed it, he would have punched Derek in the face.

"Are you fucking serious?" Jackson yells at Derek's stupid half-wolfed-out face. He tries to shove Derek away, but Derek just holds him still. For a moment, Jackson thinks he might hate him. "Three weeks of nothing and then this?! You clawed the words STAY AWAY into the hood of my fucking car and then this? This is what you give me!?"

He doesn't think he's ever been so angry before. Three weeks of silence, three weeks of questioning what he'd done, why Derek was doing this, what he could do to fix it—three weeks of disgusting behaviour that could only be described as pining for this fucking asshole—and this is what Derek does. Breaks in through his window, slams him into a wall and growls at him, like he's the one who has a right to be angry. Like he's the one who was wronged. Jackson could kill him.

"Jackson?" Jackson freezes, hearing his mother calling up the stairs. The blue in Derek's eyes fades, and they look at each other. "Is everything all right?"

Derek gives him a look, and Jackson sneers at him. Like he's going to say anything. What an idiot. "It's fine, Mom," Jackson calls back. "I just... fell."

There's silence, and Jackson cringes. Derek rolls his eyes.

"Oh... all right," His mother eventually replies. Jackson breathes out in relief, but then quickly switches back to a glare for Derek's benefit.

Derek glares back. "Why, Jackson?"

"Why, what?"

The blue flashes in Derek's eyes again. "Stiles." Derek's fingers curl around the straps of Jackson's black wife beater. Jackson sees his fangs come out again, and when he speaks it's with more than a hint of a growl. "I went over there. I could smell you in his room. In his bed—all over him." Derek's eyes are blue and glowing again, burning into Jackson with more anger than Jackson think's he's ever seen from Derek.

"What the hell do you care?" Jackson sneers. "You're the one that tossed me away, remember? Remember how you totalled my car? And yeah, I know I threw a tantrum in your living room, but I think if you compare the value of my perfectly maintained Porsche to your crumby burnt up— "

Derek cuts Jackson off with a low growl, barring his fangs. Jackson rolls his eyes. "It... it just happened, alright?" Jackson says. "I went over there looking for you—I wanted you. But youweren't there." It comes out so much more pathetic than he'd wanted. The words were supposed to be biting, angry, but by the sentences end all of that had disappeared. And for that, Jackson hates himself.

Derek shakes his head. The blue glow fades, but his face remains stone. "You shouldn't have done that. You used him, Jackson."

Jackson grits his teeth. "I don't seem to recall hearing much complaints when I was using you," He spits.

Derek's mouth opens a bit, and for just a moment his stone mask seems to fail him. He looks surprised... and hurt.

The look is a punch in Jackson's gut. For all the insults and abuses he's thrown at Derek over the last few months, he'd never thought he'd actually be able to hurt him. Even when he'd gotten himself thrown out of his house, he'd never realized...

"Well, isn't this nice."

Derek's whole body goes rigid, and he lets go of Jackson and turns around to face the man who's suddenly appeared in his bedroom. He's in a long black trench coat, and leaning against the wall next to the open window.

"Derek," The man says. "Why don't you introduce me to your little friend?"

The man smiles at Jackson, but his eyes are cold. Derek's shoulders are tense, and he's staring down at the floor. Jackson doesn't know if he wants to stand in front of Derek in a feeble attempt to protect him from whoever the hell this guy is, or hide behind Derek to protect himself.

A few moments pass, and Derek says nothing. The man rolls his eyes. "Well, alright then. Your manners never were what they should have been, but it just so happens Jackson and I are already acquainted," He looks at Jackson and smiles again, and his eyes turn red. "Sort of,"

Jackson stumbles backwards and slams himself into the wall behind him. Suddenly his mouth is dry, and his heart is pounding in his chest, even as the red in the mans eyes fades. The video store. The school. This was the monster, the real monster. The one murdering people all over town, the one who'd almost murdered him, twice now. Had murdered him, at least a dozen times in his nightmares.

And now he was standing in his bedroom, smiling at him.

Derek takes a step backwards, putting himself closer to Jackson. The man chuckles.

"Tell me, Derek, how long has this been going on for?" He asks, then tilts his head to the side. "How long did you think you could hide him from me for?"

"He doesn't have anything to do with us, Peter," Derek says. He's not looking at the ground anymore, but staring straight on at "Peter". "Leave him alone."

A baffled look comes over Peter's face. "Well, of course I'll leave him alone, Derek," He says. "What exactly is it that you think I'm going to do to him?" Derek says nothing, and Peter shakes his head. "Derek, you wound me, really." He walks slowly across the room, and Derek straightens his back. Peter places a hand on Derek's shoulder. "We're family, Derek." He says. "You really need to trust me a little more,"

Peter turns to Jackson, whose mind is still reeling over the word family. Derek didn't have any family—they were all dead. The red-eyed monster from the video store couldn't have been Derek's family. Jackson felt like he was having one of his nightmares.

"It was nice meeting you, Jackson," Peter says, in that cold, steely voice. He smiles. "Again."

Jackson and Derek watch as Peter turns and saunters back over to the window. He flashes them one more predatory smile before jumping out. Jackson stares at the open window, and feels sick. He glances at Derek, and sees a similar look on his face.

Jackson wants to say something, but nothing comes to mind.

"I should go," Derek says, looking back at the floor again.

Jackson's mouth falls open, and he stares in shock as Derek makes to head back out the window. "Wha—wait," He grabs Derek's arm. "You can't actually be serious—" Derek gives him a look, and Jackson drops his arm. "You know what I mean. You can't leave. Not after... not after that! I mean, you're not even gonna give me some kind of explanation?"

Derek shakes his head. "Jackson—"

"No, you shut right the fuck up," Jackson snaps, pointing his finger in Derek's face. Derek's eyebrows raise in surprise, and Jackson throws his arms up in the air. "Jesus Christ, what do you want me to say? You want me to say 'sorry'? You want me to say I didn't mean it, about using you or about any of the shitty things I've ever said to you? Fine, alright, I'm sorry." He looks at Derek, suddenly aware of how exhausted he is. "Now will you please just stay?"

Derek gives him a hard look. "That was my uncle, Peter. He's the alpha, he's the one who attacked you and Lydia at the video store, and the school," Derek takes a seat on the edge of Jacksons bed, and rests his forearms on his knees.

"Oh," Jackson says. It takes him a moment to process that—he thinks a part of him had been expecting Derek to leave anyways. "What the hell is an 'alpha?'" Jackson takes a seat next to Derek on the bed.

"The most powerful and dangerous of my kind," Derek mutters. "Scott and I beta's... the alpha—Peter—is the one who turned Scott in the first place."

Jackson's eyebrows raise on his forehead. "Yeah? So, he could turn me too, right?"

"No," Derek snaps, turning and glaring at Jackson with blue eyes. Jackson jumps a little. Derek's blue eyes fade quickly, and furrows his brow. "Sorry, I didn't—" Derek turns away again, his jaw tight. "Yes, he could turn you." He says. "But you'd be his—part of his pack, I mean." Jackson can hear the bitterness is Derek's voice. It makes him feel sort of pleased, in a sick way. "Obviously if that's really what you want, go ahead, but I think if you talk to Scott about how he likes it, you might find that being Peter's puppet isn't as glamourous as it sounds."

"Alright, alright," Jackson says, rolling his eyes. "Forget it."

"What?" Derek looks back at him. He looks surprised.

"Have you known about Peter the whole time?" Jackson asks. "That he was the alpha, that he was the one..."

"Killing people?" Jackson nods. "No. I knew it was an alpha, but I didn't know who the alpha was. That's what I needed Scott's help for." Derek glances down. "It was the day when you trashed my living room. That night Stiles and I went to the hospital, checking up on an old lead..." Derek says quietly. "Peter was there. I mean, he was always there, but he was supposed to be catatonic." Derek snorts humourlessly. "It was him the whole time. The murders... Laura..."

Derek just stares off at the wall, and Jackson sees how tired he is. He puts his hand on Derek's back. After a moment, Derek turns to him, and Jackson kisses him. There's something in the way Derek kisses him back that kind of hurts. If there's anything Jackson knows, it's what desperation feels like. The way Derek kisses him, Jackson can tell he's looking for something. Something like what Jackson used to go to him to find.

Jackson wishes, for about the first time in his life, that he hadn't always run away from talking. Maybe if he hadn't, he'd have something to say to Derek to make him feel better. Be able to offer him something more than his bed, and his hands and his mouth.

As it is, his hands are inside Derek's jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and then throwing it aside. And Derek is tense, but he lets Jackson lie him back on the bed. He pushes Derek's shirt up, and his mouth trails along his chest.

Derek groans, quietly, as Jackson continues down to his stomach, and his fingers drift down between his legs.

This isn't what Derek needs, Jackson knows that. But it's all he has to give.

It's almost one o'clock in the morning, and Jackson thinks he might be about to fall asleep. He'd needed a few minutes after the third—or maybe the fourth?—time they'd done it, but a few minutes had turned into 10, which had turned into... well, Jackson wasn't sure, because he wasn't facing the clock anymore and there was no way he was going to turn around and look. He's much too comfortable like this, lying on his stomach with Derek next to him, close enough to kiss should he have the urge. Derek is running one hand slowly up and down his back, and Jackson feels his eyes close.

A moment later, a thought occurs to him, and he opens his eyes again. "Hey, if Peter came back the night I trashed your house, where were you before that?" He asks. He feels Derek's hand still on his back. "You'd already been ignoring me for like four days at that point."

In the dark, Jackson thinks he sees a guilty look on Derek's face. "Well... I needed a few days. After Scott..."

"He said he'd keep his mouth shut—"

"That wasn't the point—"

"And why the hell did you trash my car!?"

Derek groans, rolls over onto his back and covers his face with his hands."Again with the fucking car—look, send me the bill alright? I'll take of it, jesus christ." He shakes his head. "I had to make sure you would stay away, Jackson. Peter is... dangerous. The fire changed him. Revenge is the only thing he cares about." Derek set his jaw, and gave Jackson a hard look. "I couldn't let you get caught in the crossfire."

"So your plan was to just avoid me forever?" Jackson asks. "How's that going?"

Derek huffs. "It was going fine until you fucked Stiles," He crosses his arms and stares up at the ceiling.

"I didn't fuck him," Jackson sneers. He turns onto his side, facing Derek. "I just sort of... jerked him off, or whatever."

Derek continues to frown up at the ceiling. "Well," He just says. "That's..."

"Better?"

"—still bad," Derek looks at him, and Jackson thinks he's frowning a bit less.

"Slightly less though," Jackson leans in and kisses Derek's neck. "You feel slightly less angry," He kisses alongs Derek's jaw line, and bites lightly at his ear lobe.

"Slightly," Derek allows. He puts his hand on the back of Jackson's neck, pulling him towards his mouth. "Just... don't do that again, alright?"

Jackson nods. "I won't," He murmurs. He pulls back a bit, and looks Derek in the eyes. "But you can't do that again either." He tells him.

Derek sighs, and rolls his eyes. "Yes, I promise not to lay another hand on your precious Porsche," He says.

Jackson feels his face start turning red, and he's about to rip into him when he realizes that Derek's smiling. The anger slips away, and he shoves at Derek's chest. "That's not funny, asshole," He says, but Derek's grinning at him and it's too hard not to grin back. "I'm serious, next time something happens we're gonna talk about it like normal fucking adults, okay?"

Derek laughs, and covers his mouth to stifle the sound. "I'm sorry, Jackson—" He says. "It's just, I don't really think either of those words really apply to us,"

"I don't know about that," He raises an eyebrow, "I mean you're definitely old enough to be adult," Derek stops laughing. His face falls back into its default-glare so easily that if Jackson hadn't seen it for himself he never would have believed it was capable of smiling at all. "You've got to be at least what, 25, 26?"

"I'm 22," Derek tells him. He sounds defensive.

"Legally an adult," Jackson runs his fingers over Derek's furrowed brow, and kisses the corner of his mouth. "Emotionally, however, we're probably about equal,"

Jackson expects Derek to deny that, but Derek just kisses him back. He turns and presses Jackson back on the bed. Derek's kisses are soft, and his touch is gentle. Jackson doesn't fight it—doesn't fight him. Doesn't push against him, doesn't demand more. Tonight, this feels like enough.

Jackson lies on his stomach, and hugs his arms around his pillow as Derek pushes into him again. His head is buzzing with that overwhelmed too-fucked feeling he's come to love. Lazy calm and warm pleasure, the sweetest burn.

Derek kisses the back of his neck as he fucks him, slowly, softly. In an effort to keep himself quiet, Jackson bites down on his bottom lip so hard he tastes blood. When Derek leans in and kisses him, Jackson wonders if he tastes it too.

When they're both finished, lying next to each other in the bed, sweat-drenched and breathing hard, Jackson rolls over and lies back down against Derek's chest. He feels Derek give a slight start, but neither of them says anything. After a moment, Derek puts his arms around him, and Jackson lets his eyes close.

As he starts to drift off to sleep, Jackson can feel Derek running his fingers through his hair. He thinks that maybe this was what Derek needed, after all. What they both needed. Maybe.

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