Work Text:
1
He has no idea what time it is, his eyes are burning and the words in his political science textbook are all blending in. He lets out a quiet groan before reaching his latest cup of coffee. It's almost reached his mouth before someone grabs it from him. He makes vague grabby hands before looking up to see the face of the coffee thief.
"I'm cutting you off, Stilinski."
"Jackson!" Stiles switches the direction of his grabby hands from his unreachable coffee, to Jackson's shirt, pulling him down so he could kiss him.
"Mmm, hi love."
"Hey," Jackson says pulling away to examine his face, looking at how exhausted he is. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"
"Um, no?"
Jackson sighs and looks heavenward. "It's almost one. You stopped replying to my texts around two this afternoon, so I can only assume you've been in here since then. Pack up, it's time to go."
"But I've really got to finish--" Stiles feebly argues. Now that he's out of his library daze, he knows how exhausted and unproductive he's being. He just wants to go home and sleep for days. He can't let Jackson win so easily though. It's the principle of the thing.
"Tomorrow," he says firmly, beginning to pack Stiles' things for him.
"I really should..."
"Thank me for leaving the warmth of our bed to drag you back home? Don't bother, it's a thankless job but someone's got to do it. C'mon," With Stiles' things all packed, Jackson's helping him into his jacket and zipping it up.
He throws Stiles' backpack on his shoulders and lets him lean on him as he steers them in the direction of his car. They don't live far from campus but he drove because it's late and he can.
"You really love me, don't you?" Stiles asks murmuring into Jackson's shoulders.
"Mmm, something like that."
Stiles pinches his side, softly. "Jerk."
"C'mon let's go home."
2
Jackson is at the party for all of ten minutes before he hears it, Stiles' voice very loudly claiming victory. Rolling his eyes, he follows it to a room right outside the kitchen where there's a game of beer pong going on.
He immediately finds Stiles at the far end of the table standing next to Scott, in jeans that look painted on and a fitted band tee with a dark plaid shirt thrown over it. Jackson still doesn't get the plaid, but Stiles, fucking Stiles, somehow makes it work. He looks good.
Jackson comes up behind Stiles, wrapping his arms around his waist and hooking his chin over his shoulder.
"I told you already, I have a--" Stiles starts to tell before turning around and seeing Jackson. He immediately lets out a happy sound, before planting one right on Jackson's lips. "Hiya, baby."
He tastes like beer but Jackson kisses back anyway before pulling away and narrowing his eyes.
"You told who?" He hates when people hit on Stiles. He gets it, he does. He probably gets it more than anyone seeing as he's actually dating him, but he doesn't like it.
He glares at everyone in the room, but no one’s paying attention to him and the one person that does manage to meet his eyes looks away quickly. He smirks.
"Down, boy." Stiles says, rolling his eyes.
Jackson growls, a quiet little thing, playfully nipping at Stiles fingers. He watches as Stiles' eyes darken, his eyes focused on his fingers in Jackson’s mouth.
He pulls his hand back, tugging Jackson's lip as he goes. He clears his throat.
"We should... We should go, right? It's late. I'm tired. You're tired. So that means we should get out of here." Stiles rambles, stopping only when he sees Jackson smirking.
"Why do you think I'm here? Scott SOS'd you an hour ago."
Stiles narrowed his eyes. "I'm not sure if I should be more upset that Scott SOS'd me when I'm perfectly sober or that you took an hour to get here."
Jackson grabbed his hand before dragging him off, ignoring him. "C'mon, say your goodbyes so we can go."
Stiles caught up, so he wasn't being dragged anymore as they weaves through the crowd, and replied with a simple, happy, "Okay."
They went.
3
Not every night is easy. Stiles still wakes up with nightmares. Stiles won't admit it, but Jackson knows, being away from Beacon Hills helps. Sleeping in bed beside him helps. Locking their bedroom door at night helps.
This is one of those nights. Jackson rolls over and finds the other side of the bed empty. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes he glances at the clock, 2:35am. They hadn't even been asleep for an hour.
Pulling on boxers, he leaves the bedroom checking each room for Stiles and finding him in the corner of their small dining room. Jackson sinks down to his knees in front of where Stiles is curled, staring at his hands.
"Alright, Stiles?" He asks, not expecting an answer though Stiles looks at him briefly before looking back down at his hands.
Jackson's hands cover Stiles' shaking ones, holding them tight.
"Count with me." He says before waiting for Stiles to start counting before joining him. Together they count to ten, Stiles collapsing even further into himself when they've finished.
"Come back to bed," Jackson says, standing and helping Stiles up, not even blinking at the added weight of Stiles leaning heavily on him.
"We can finish that season of Breaking Bad tonight. And tomorrow's Wednesday, no self-respecting person goes to class on a Wednesday." He deposits Stiles in the middle of the bed, dressing him in his comfiest sweats before gently moving him to his rightful side of the bed.
It’s not until they’re three episodes in that Stiles pauses the TV and looks up at Jackson.
“Real or not real?” He asks with a small smile on his face. Jackson just rolls his eyes.
“Real. Now press play Peeta, it’s getting to the good part.”
+ 1
It’d been a long day, as most of the days after the full moon tended to be. This one seemed particularly excruciating. Jackson had woken up late tired and cranky after having slept through his alarms. He'd driven to class to make up for the lost time, only to find not a single parking space available and had ended up having to park two buildings over. After barely making lecture on time, he freaked when he realized he left his flash drive at the apartment. Fully prepared to have to just fake it this class, he checked his email to see a new one from Stiles.
From: [email protected]
Subject: ur flash drive dumbass
I saw you left this on the counter. Here’s everything from your anally named “This Week” folder. Have a good day.
Love you Jacky xox
From: [email protected]
Subject: thx asshole
Don’t call me Jacky. Love you, too.
The rest of his classes were tough and boring and he barely made it through them.
When Jackson gets in, the apartment is quiet. He lets out a small sigh; dropping his backpack on the floor by the kitchen counter. He trudges to the bedroom, sees the lump under the covers and smiles. He strips down to his briefs before crawling under the covers next to Stiles.
He slips a leg between Stiles' and burrows into his chest, breathing in the scent of Stiles, of them, of home.
"Mmm, Jax," Stiles breathes, half asleep. He starts lazily scratching Jackson’s back, letting his warm body burrow even closer in. “How’s y’r day?”
“Long,” Jackson says, pulling the covers completely over their heads. “S’better now.”
“Well, I am to please,” Stiles yawns. “Okay. Back to sleep now?”
Jackson presses a kiss to Stiles’ neck, “Back to sleep now.”