(Note: I just really needed to write this in the middle of the night and well..This is what I ended up with. )
Obsessing.
Scratch that.
Loving Lydia Martin for most of one's life gave one time to think. (or not, depending on your opinion) about things. And sometimes those thoughts rounded their way to sexuality. Specifically, his own. Which Stiles never actually labeled himself in. Didn't corner himself into some box of standard way of thinking.
I mean, why waste energy choosing when Lydia was the only one on your mind?
But even when watching porn Stiles would notice..Things.
The girl for instance, he never lingered too long on the rest of her, not that he had much of a choice given his crappy quality free shit he found online, it was always what was between her legs that everyone wanted to see.
Sometimes he found a vagina (cunt always seemed so dirty and unflattering and actually kind of off-putting) that was, for lack of better wording, attractive. One he wouldn't mind getting to know better if he was given the chance.
And others were outright terrifying and scared Stiles off that particular porn site for at least a week. Or a few days. Okay don't judge he's still a hormonal teenager here.
If you wanted the full and honest details sometimes Stiles would form an opinion on the guy's cock too.
Some where terrifying just in their size. With veins that looked nanoseconds away from popping open. Stiles really felt sympathy for all straight females and gay males and really any one who had to take that up inside them.
Other times, thank god, the guys penis was just.. a penis. Hard, thick and raring to go. Cut, sometimes not, and Stiles found himself forming an opinion on that one too.
While uncut did provide some interesting possibilities, he decided that a cut cock was definitely his preference. More familiar equipment to work with.
(Not long afterward that particular train of thought was quickly abandoned and never admittedly accessed again.)
Stiles found himself attracted to her, no doubt, but the 'female' (having breasts/vagina/etc) aspect was surprisingly low on his list on What Physical Traits Stiles Loved About Lydia, i.e;
Her strawberry blonde hair which was always styled impeccably and managed to look downy-soft.
(one could argue that Jackson's hair was also a shade of blonde and probably just as soft.)
Her rosy, plump lips. Even when pursed in distaste. Even at him.
(Jackson's lips were sinfully full and in every expression besides smiling seemed to purse in a perfect little pout.)
Her slim stature, which did nothing to diminish her strong personality, filled out each and every outfit to perfection.
(Even though he forgot it often, being intimidated by everyone of every size, Stiles did have a few inches on Jackson, who always seemed to toe the line of built musculature and model slim in a way that made you want to hate him.)
Her smooth, blemish free skin that matched every other body part that could be perfected. Either by hard work or by sheer force of will against nature.
(Jackson's physique was obvious by the way he strutted around the locker room. Needless to say, though Stiles would anyway, his skin was somehow pale and sun-kissed and freckled and stretched smooth over every dip and curve.)
All of this, in hindsight, contributed to the utter and complete lack of surprise Stiles felt at his current situation. Or in general, the chain of events that eventually led him and Jackson to this current one. The one where their limbs were a tangled mess, perspiration cooling to a slight stick when they inhaled in unison and their chests brushed, pulling apart with a quiet noise. Where Stiles could lay there with his armed wrapped protectively around Jackson with neither of them outwardly acknowledging it.
(because even with all his cockiness and smug masks he was still a boy who slept in a blanket of doubt and used insecurities as his pillow, and he needed someone, Stiles, to protect him from the world, or at least himself.)
While Jackson lightly dozed, Stiles could admire his full lips and dark lashes and dusting of freckles. His strong arms, curve of his waist, slender legs and feet that were still so manicured to perfection that any other moment aside from post coitus Stiles would make fun of him for it. Left to himself and his boyfriend, His Boyfriend, Stiles remembered vividly everything he (practically) loved about the jock. From his eyes full of soft, gentle emotions rather than jagged pain and suspicion. His lips forming words and noises of pleasure and affection rather than defensive tones and sharp words. His laugh and swagger and every cheesy example from any pick of romantic comedies. Stiles loved watching a fairly tale, no matter how stupid it was in reality, come true. Despite all that, name any horrible cliche you could imagine and Stiles would apply it to Jackson with the same passion he gave every pursuit.
(Even their physical relationship was spectacular. If Stiles did say so himself. While Jackson was better. Whether he was topping and pumping fast, sweat glistening down his neck and hairline that shimmered with every delicious snap of hips and jab to Stile's prostate. Or whether he was on his back, squeezing garbled babble from Stiles and out through his dick and milking him with muscles he had no idea could tighten in that way.)
The power of his emotions. The intensity of their relationship (in all aspects)..
It was mind blowing, boner inducing, earth-shattering on a bad day.
Considering all that, Stiles was never surprised how he fell for Jackson.
(Who really wasn't all that different from Lydia) Except that he actually noticed Stiles.
Who could admit maybe the feelings were slight transference or in some way he was settling for someone else because he waited this long and Lydia wasn't happening.
But if he took a step back and examined each moment he spent with the other, just the two of them or not, he never found himself wishing that Jackson was anyone else but himself.