Notes: This is set immediately after Chapter Two of The Feel Of Heat And Metal On His Skin, and is in Jackson's POV.
The Art On His Skin – Interlude 1
Jackson's fingers were clenched so tightly in his towel that if he were still human, it probably would have hurt. He headed to the showers, trying to ignore the way he'd had to back down from Stilinski, like he couldn't break that annoying face in about three seconds flat.
He didn't know what Danny saw in that guy. And maybe he was still a little bitter about Danny snapping at him during lunch, but Jackson was entitled to be. Danny shouldn't have gotten annoyed at him for one harmless comment. Jackson was Danny's best friend, he should be way more important than his boy-toy. Even if Stilinski had already lasted longer than any of Danny's other mistakes.
The worst part was that Jackson knew Stilinski was actually right. He didn't want Danny involved in their shit, none of them did. Danny was safer not knowing and Jackson was going to make him suspicious.
"Enjoy your shower." Stilinski's voice echoed across the locker room, and he could hear the smirk in it. Next time he was alone with that bro-thieving asshole, Jackson was going to wipe that expression from his face. "The water is nice and hot today."
He stopped in his tracks for a moment, fighting against the urge to go back and slam that fragile human face into his own locker until he agreed to stop talking. He felt the sharp sting of claws biting into his palm and he took a deep breath, willing them away.
Jackson glanced around quickly, but no one except McCall had noticed. Danny was looking at his idiot boyfriend, paying more attention to him than to Jackson again, and the rest of the team didn't give a shit about what was happening around them. But there was McCall, making one of his weird faces and shaking his head urgently; telling him 'no', like Jackson wanted the kind of reaction he'd get if he wolfed out as post-practice entertainment.
Idiot.
Although, maybe he should shift. Maybe if Jackson suddenly sprouted fangs and claws, Danny would manage to drag himself away from Stilinski for ten minutes. And okay, no, that was stupid. But what was the deal there, anyway? Danny had never spent so much of his time and attention on any of his past boyfriends. Jackson had never had to fight for Danny to hang out with him before, not ever.
He stripped off the last of his clothes, taking more aggression out on his underwear than fabric of that quality deserved, and stepped into the shower area. Only one of the showerheads was free, the first on his left.
No. Just, no.
He could still smell Stilinski's arousal – and God, his spunk – stinking up that corner. And that was another thing – he could smell Danny had been turned on, even if he didn't want to think about why, but he couldn't smell anything more than that. What kind of a grade-A dick was Stilinski? Getting off then leaving Danny hanging?
If Jackson didn't know better, he'd think the odor of Eau De Asswipe was actually getting stronger. Someone else would just have to switch showers; Jackson was not getting any closer to that stench. He moved automatically to the opposite corner, as far as he could get from images he didn't need. Of course, it was occupied by the only other person in the wet area who could tell what had happened – and whom Jackson couldn't intimidate.
Isaac grinned at him, all teeth and mockery. Asshole.
The next showerhead, although not as far away as he'd like – which would be at least several miles – had Walters standing under it.
"Walters…you're in that corner," Jackson said, firmly. When Walters didn't move right away, he barked, "Now!"
Two birds, one stone. The slimy jackass shouldn't have tried perving on Lydia.
"What? No!"
Jackson just crossed his arms, raised his eyebrows, and nodded pointedly at the free shower.
"Why?"
"This is my lucky shower," Jackson lied.
"Really?" Isaac asked, eyes twinkling. "I could have sworn you used that other shower last practice."
He glared at Isaac, who just looked at him innocently. Jackson wanted to pull his stupid curls out of his head and feed them to him.
"Really," he ground out. "You're imagining things, Lahey."
Walters glanced between them, looking confused. "I think Isaac's righ—"
"Watching me in the shower, now, Walters?"
"What? No."
"Do you want to be responsible if we lose our first game this season?" Jackson knew he was laying it on a little thick, but Walters' eyes had widened and he looked uncomfortable.
"That's not for months—"
"Do you?" Jackson cut him off with a snarl.
"No, of course n—"
"So let me have my goddamn shower."
Since Walters just stood there, gaping, Jackson dragged him across to the empty corner, shoving him at it just hard enough to propel him towards the wall. He slid just a little, right where Jackson had aimed him, until he caught himself with his palms on the tiles where the nauseating stink of Stilinski and sex was most pungent.
"You are such a dick sometimes, man," Walters complained, but he turned on the water and didn't try to argue anymore. "Why do you get to decide which fucking shower I use?"
Making his way back to the newly available shower next to Isaac, Jackson smirked. "Because I'm the fucking Captain and I said so."
When Isaac spoke, it was so low that Jackson knew human ears would miss it. It didn't matter though, because the amusement in the obvious dig was clear. "Co-Captain."
"Fuck you, Lahey."
Asshole.