Chapter Text
Scott still wasn’t sure if this night was real or a really elaborate dream. Not even as he rocked out in the front row with the rest of his friends on the roof of the Blue Moon Hotel.
He watched Derek. Derek Hale, the man he had been making out with in a loft a few hours ago, wailing on the electric bass on stage. Like every other Triskleion show he wasn’t wearing a shirt (the band had gone for Bunny masks this time…Derek’s was a tasteful purple Scott had picked out) and every time he turned the triskelion tattoo in the center of his back flexed. Scott really didn’t believe his luck.
“Best fucking night ever!” Stiles yelled in his ear. Scott could only nod and smile in agreement.
The brunette was still smiling as he made his way over to the bucket full of ice and water bottles in the corner while the band took a quick break.
“I have to say Scott…this is a much better way to win me back than the endless mixed CDs.”
Scott jumped when he heard Jackson’s voice right behind him.
“What are you doing here?” Scott asked.
“Enjoying the show.” Jackson smiled easily…confidently.
“Enjoy it then.” Scott brushed past him gripping his bottled water. Jackson grabbed his wrist and pulled him back slamming them together.
“Dance with me.” Jackson held him close.
“What about your date?”
“Don’t worry about him.” Jackson whispered, “I want you.”
Jackson kissed him softly but intently. A month ago (hell a few hours ago) Scott would be feeling nothing but joy at the prospect of getting Jackson back. Now he didn’t feel much of anything. Actually yes he did. Pure fucking frustration.
He pushed the blonde away roughly, “Go to hell Jackson.”
“You don’t mean that Scotty.” Jackson told him.
“Pretty sure he does.” Stiles was by his side in an instant along with the rest of his friends.
“Butt out Stillinski.” Jackson gritted at him.
Before Scott could tell him off properly a familiar blonde shadow appeared at Jackson’s side and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Not now And--” his sentence was cut off by Not-Now-Andy’s fist connecting with his nose.
“I told you my name is Anderson!” he growled.
They invited him to the after party.
“There you are.” Scott said as he slid open the patio door.
Derek (shirt back on) was leaning against the balcony of the suite the band had rented for the night.
After the concert a select few had been invited into the hotel to continue the party. Scott had been searching everywhere for Derek while his friends partied inside.
“You found me.” Derek said. Something was off.
“What’s wrong?” Scott asked as he walked closer. He closed the door behind him.
“Why do you think something’s wrong?”
“You’re being weird…standoffish like you were at the beginning of the night. I think we’re past that don’t you think?” Scott smirked and touched Derek’s hip. The older man pulled back, “What’s going on?”
“I don’t want to play games Scott. I had enough of that with my ex.” Derek said.
“Who’s playing games?” Scott asked in confusion.
“I saw you…with Jackson.”
It all made sense now.
“No you didn’t.”
“Scott.”
“Derek.”
“Don’t try to mess with me Scott.”
“I’m not. You saw Jackson kiss me. You didn’t see me push him away and you didn’t hear me tell him to go to hell and you definitely didn’t see Anderson punch him.” Scott said.
“Who’s Anderson?”
“Someone with a deadly right hook apparently and who’s as done with Jackson Whitmore as I am.” Scott told him.
“Really?”
“Definitely.”
Scott closed the distance between them and captured the older man’s lips in his own for the third time that night. Just like before the kiss escalated quickly. They only stopped when the cheering started.
“Yeah Scotty!” he distinctly heard Stiles yell.
He gave him a very specific finger in return.