Work Text:
He’s waited seven years for this. Seven. Fucking. Years. And, he’s blowing it, because despite spending those seven years practicing in front of a mirror to prepare himself for this moment, he’s just sitting there. Sitting there and gawking, wide-eyed, slack-jawed, and so, so close to drooling. Oh wait, shit, he is drooling.
Stiles is standing in front of his locker with the guy he’s been pining after for seven years less than a foot away and he’s drooling like an infant. Jackson clucks his tongue, shifts to fold his arms and, fuck, he should say something.
“Uh, I—shit. I—” Stiles wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “Can you, you know, repeat the question?”
Jackson Whittemore, the only person he’s ever wanted like this in his entire life, frowns deeply, his eyebrows pinching. Oh man, he’s crazy gorgeous when he’s huffy like this, his blue eyes narrowed, a hand carting through his hair, a pink tongue peeking out to wet full lips. It takes everything Stiles has not to start drooling again.
“I said,” Jackson bites, irritated, “Do you want to go the prom with me?”
Guh, it still sends him reeling the second time. “Like, you and me? To the prom? The prom? Seriously?”
Jackson’s face falls, just a slight stiffening of his jaw. “Look, if you don’t want to, I’ll just ask someone el—”
“No!” Jackson raises an eyebrow; Stiles blushes. “No, I mean,” a laugh, “Of course I’ll go to the prom with you. Oh my god, Jackson, you don’t know how badly I want this.”
A smile—a gentler one Stiles has never, ever seen before—eases onto Jackson’s face and his stance shifts, becomes more comfortable. “Yeah?”
Stiles nods, his own lips spreading into a grin. “Uh-huh, yeah. Fuck yeah.” A pause. “Pick me up at ten?”
“Ten sounds good.”
“Kiss on it?”
It’s a joke, just Stiles being stupid, but then Jackson’s in his space and his hand’s on Stiles’ face and—and—Oh. Stiles leans up against those lips, into the kiss, his first real kiss, and rests his hands on Jackson’s waist. They part sooner than he would like for a kiss that’s been seven years coming, then there’s a wolf whistle somewhere down the hall, and he figures he’s not the only one disappointed.
Jackson pulls away, saliva glistening on his bottom lip from Stiles’ overenthusiastic tongue. “Will that hold you until Friday?”
It takes a bit to find his voice, and when he does it comes out a few octaves higher than normal. But, none of that matters because Jackson fucking Whittemore just asked him to the prom and kissed him, him! “I don’t know, man. I think I might need one more.” Stiles’ grin is almost painful it’s so wide, his hands tight on Jackson. “You know, just in case I forget.”
There’s a pause, then Jackson huffs a laugh, pressing in for another kiss.