
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12306096.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Stiles_Stilinski/Jackson_Whittemore
  Additional Tags:
      Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Deepthroating, Come_Swallowing,
      Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Season/Series_01, Hate_Sex
  Series:
      Part 7 of 2017_Kinktober_Collection
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-10-09 Words: 1604
****** Trade You ******
by red_crate
Summary
     Jackson presses up against Stiles, breath ghosting along the shell of
     his ear when he asks, "Do we have a deal?"
     Stiles isn't proud of the shiver that goes down his spine or the fact
     that he's fully hard in Jackson's grip now. He's a virgin and
     sixteen, surely that excuses him for some things. He makes a sound,
     not exactly coherent, but definitely not negative.
     Jackson smirks again, predatory and way hotter than it has any right
     to be. "Good."
Notes
     Written for Kinktober day 8: deep-throating
     Almost as soon as I saw the promt, I thought of these two boys. This
     is PWP, and I scraped together the flimsiest of flimsy reasons for
     this to happen but whatever. Jackson would choke so pretty on a cock.
See the end of the work for more notes
 
Stiles is yanked from the hallway and into the boys’ locker room during class
change.
“What—” He is about to ask Scott what's wrong, but then he gets shoved up
against the wall. “Uh, you're not Scott.”  Or Derek  , given the wall slamming.
Jackson sneers. “No shit, idiot.”
He reaches over to turn the lock on the door, and Stiles suddenly has visions
of bloody noses and tight spaces. Instead of getting an intimate introduction
to his fist though, Stiles watches with confusion as Jackson straightens
Stiles' shirt with efficient little tugs on the hem.
"Now that we've established you know who I am, you can answer my question."
Stiles crosses his arms. "Yeah, I don't think so, asshole."
The way Jackson grinds his teeth makes Stiles smirk. When Jackson slaps his
hands to the wall either side of his head, Stiles barely even flinches.
"Oh no, I'm so scared." Stiles rolls his eyes. "Sorry, dude. I've been around a
lot scarier than you lately. Gonna have to do more than shove me around a
little."
Something crosses Jackson's face, a wince almost. He shakes his head once and
refocuses on Stiles. "Derek?" When Stiles' eyes bug out at the name, Jackson
grimaces. "That's right, I know about Derek. And I'm guessing he has something
to do with Scott."
Stiles groans, wiping a hand over his face. As frustrating as it is that
Jackson knows there is a common denominator between Scott and Derek, this is
not something he has time for.
"Look, stay out of it, and he won't have any reason to mess with you."
Jackson snorts. "It's a little too late for that."
"What are you talking about?" Stiles looks Jackson over, noticing the sweat
along his hairline and the fact that he has circles under his eyes. It's
unusual for Jackson to look anything but perfect. "Dude—"
Jackson interrupts him by huffing. "None of your business. Tell me where I can
find him."
That sounds like the worst idea ever. Stiles may not have any real love for
Jackson, but it's not like he wants the guy to get tangled up in all this
werewolf business. Jackson hasn't been doing a great job of keeping himself out
of things though. Stiles doesn't think they've interacted this much since
middle school. Something in his expression must give him away, because Jackson
gives him one of those  I'm-killing-you-in-my-mind  glares.
"Fine." Jackson takes a deep breath. "What if I trade you?"
The flip from murderous rage to smarmy is, frankly, impressive. His posture
changes, and instead of leaning in with intimidation tensed in his shoulders,
Jackson is sort of slouching in very close proximity to Stiles.
"You give me what I want, and I give you something you want."
Stiles flinches when a hand cups his junk through his jeans. Jackson smirks and
grinds the palm of his hand against where Stiles' dick is betraying him.
"But you don't like guys." That's all Stiles can come up with. His brain is
kind of busy freaking over the fact that someone is touching him so intimately.
Jackson presses up against Stiles, breath ghosting along the shell of his ear
when he asks, "Do we have a deal?"
Stiles isn't proud of the shiver that goes down his spine or the fact that he's
fully hard in Jackson's grip now. He's a virgin and sixteen, surely that
excuses him for some things. He makes a sound, not exactly coherent, but
definitely not negative.
Jackson smirks again, predatory and way hotter than it has any right to be.
"Good."
This whole time,  THIS IS A TRAP!  has been playing in a loop in the back of
his mind. The thrill of having Jackson, of all people, rubbing at his dick
sends a shot of fear through him that does absolutely nothing to deter the
arousal flooding his system. The sight of Jackson going to his knees in front
of him nearly makes Stiles white out.
"So you're gonna..." Stiles runs a hand over his scalp, looking down at
Jackson.
"Shut up. Stand there. And don't fucking touch my hair." Jackson gets Stiles
jeans open and his cock pulled out quickly. He's giving Stiles that murder
glare again, so Stiles figures he must be serious.
"Sure." Truthfully, Stiles would agree to just about anything at this point
though. His underwear is already damp, and precome glistens on from the slit of
his cock..
Jackson holds eye contact for a few more pointed seconds before focusing on the
cock in front of his face— seriously? Stiles cannot believe this is happening.
The first pass of Jackson's tongue up the shaft has Stiles biting back a
whimper.
"God, don't tell me this is your first time." Jackson sits back on his heels,
giving Stiles a very unimpressed look. "Of course it is." He answers his own
question before threatening, "You better not come without warning me." The
fingers gripping Stiles' balls do a lot to underline his demand.
" O-okay." Stiles nods his head, holding his breath as he waits for Jackson to
either continue or not. Also, he'd appreciate it if his balls were handled with
a little more care.
Does this count as hate fucking?
Thankfully, Jackson lets go of his sac and takes the head of Stiles' cock in
his mouth. It's hot and wet, and Stiles never really believed a tongue could
feel that good. He sure as hell believes it  now. Stiles bites his lip, and
pictures gross things like Derek's infected arm, roadkill, and anything else
that could distract him enough to keep from blowing his load immediately. The
cut of Jackson’s cheekbones when he sucks harder draws another moan from
Stiles.
Jackson has one hand around the shaft of Stiles' dick—stroking it in time with
the bob of his mouth—and the other on Stiles' hip to keep him pinned against
the wall. The reflexive desire and need to rock forward into the warm wetness
surrounding his dick is intense, but he does his best to keep still. He has a
feeling that if he did one thing Jackson doesn't like, that he'd be pushed back
into the hallway with his dick hanging out, no release, and dying from
mortification.
Stiles stares at the row of lockers across from him. They have practice after
school today, and he's going to have to come in here and see Jackson and not
say anything to Scott about it.  Will Scott be able to smell it? Will he know
Jackson got on his knees for Stiles in exchange for information?  Stiles groans
and shuts his eyes. He can't seem to catch his breath. He can still hear the
sloppy sound of wet suction though, and it’s almost enough to make him come.
The head of his cock keeps bumping the back of Jackson's throat each time he
sinks down on it. When Jackson pulls back and takes a deep breath through his
nose, Stiles looks down. At first, he thinks Jackson has some other
incongruously scathing remark to make, but Jackson is just readjusting his
position. He watches Jackson let go of his cock and take both hips in hand.
Fingers dig in hard, maybe in warning, and Jackson is looking up at Stiles now.
"Oh shit." Stiles whispers the words, realizing what Jackson is trying—no, not
just trying, but definitely succeeding—to do.
He watches Jackson in awe as his cock head slips further and into the tighter
grip of his throat. Tears spring up at the corners of Jackson’s eyes. Combined
with the flush of his face, Stiles has the weird thought that Jackson looks
beautiful like this. He’s  pretty .
“Jackson…” Stiles gasps his name out as the pressure in his balls builds. He
can feel his cock twitching inside Jackson’s mouth, nudging down the back of
Jackson’s throat. And suddenly, he can’t hold is orgasm back any further.
Jackson pushes Stiles’ hips hard against the wall, but doesn’t back off. Stiles
cries out as Jackson swallows around spurt after spurt of come. Stiles’ knees
buckle.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Once Stiles is finished, Jackson pulls off. His mouth is blood red and shiny.
There’s not a trace of come anywhere.
“Get it together, Stilinski. I may be amazing, but it’s just an orgasm.”
Jackson stands up, and tucks Stiles’ cock back into his underwear.
Stiles stares at him dumbly. “You’re voice is wrecked.”
Rolling his eyes, Jackson says, “Tell me where to find Derek, shit for brains.”
That is enough to get Stiles back into gear. He does his jeans up. “You’re
really killing my afterglow.” He glances up at Jackson. “Look, you really don’t
want to get involved with this shit.”
“We had a fucking deal. Now tell me.” Jackson works his jaw.
Stiles shakes his head, and thinks about lying to Jackson. It’s not like he
could really do anything to Stiles for it. There’s no blackmail here, not when
it was Jackson giving the (spectacular) blowjob. But maybe Derek could scare
him off for good.
“He hangs out at the burnt out Hale house in the preserve.”
Jackson stares at him like he’s stupid. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Stiles shrugs. “He’s kind of dramatic like that.” He gives Jackson a pointed
look.
“Fine.”
Just before Jackson slips out the door, Stiles catches him by the crook of the
elbow. “Hey, be careful.”
Jackson gives him an incomprehensible look before pulling away from him and
disappearing back into the hallway.
“What the fuck just happened?” Stiles blows out a breath of air, still reeling
from the last ten minutes.
 
End Notes
     Come_cry_with_me over Stackson.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
