Ask Me No Questions, I'll Tell You No Lies
Chapter Two
Jackson waited like a predator, Stiles's schedule already memorized in his mind. Like yesterday, Jackson hid in the East hall's janitor closet, knowing that his prey would pass it during his free period.
His blood still boiled at the thought of the young man waltzing through the woods the night of a murder, especially given the brutality of said murder, was idiotic and dangerous. He had gotten to school early, intent on asking Stiles about his destination after his departure last night, but was unable to find him. Instead, he harassed McCall (mainly because he could, but also because he was a little envious) and had walked off when some of his lacrosse teammates called for him.
Before he walked into the building he had given the grounds one more speculative glance, searching for buzzed brown hair, and almost gave up, until he spotted the object of his search holding up McCall's shirt. He knew there had to be some explanation for the behavior, Beacon Hills was liberal but not that liberal, but it didn't deter the jealousy that flowed through his body. It only fueled his anger about last night.
The thought of Stiles hurt or even the possibility that he could have been the next victim made Jackson's stomach clench (a reaction he didn't want to analyze), which is why he yanked the oblivious teen into the closet as he passed the door.
"Jesus Christ, you've got to stop doing that," Stiles shrieked out, clutching his chest as Jackson pinned him to the nearest wall.
Jackson brushed it off, used to Stiles's skittish behavior. "Were you there last night?" he demanded, his face contorted in anger.
Stiles's face went blank. "I was at home, watching … the home shopping network. Amazing channel, really. Great deals on these awesome portable brooms. You should definitely look into getting one," Stiles said, trying to maneuver himself out of the closet.
Jackson caught Stiles before he could make his escape. Pulling him back into the closet, he backed the skittish teen up against the wall.
"Stiles," Jackson started, "were you out in the woods last?" Jackson's tone was calm, no hint of cockiness present.
A calm Jackson was a dangerous Jackson, a fact that Stiles had quickly learned during the brief time together. "You know, I can't recall. I had some bad cheese last night and woke up feeling wonky today. I should go to the nurse, have her check that," Stiles said, once again trying to make a getaway, only to be met with solid body of his blonde lover. "I'm not getting out of here anytime soon, am I?" he nervously questioned.
Jackson shook his head slowly and moved in closer, disregarding any and all pretenses of personal space. "Stiles, I'm only going to ask this one more time: where were you last night?" the blonde teen asked.
"I went for a jog," Stiles said, avoiding eye-contact.
"In the woods?" Jackson questioned, observing Stiles's every move.
"No, I was no where near the woods. I ran through town. It's my thing, you know, running through the town," Stiles answered, once again becoming fidgety.
"You were in the woods, weren't you?" Jackson asked.
"Yeah I was in the woods, alone, no with me, just my self. Went for a jog, because, I wanted to, um, get in shape for this season. Get a little buff, like you. You've been working out Jacky, haven't you," Stiles said, trying to switch to a more flirtatious tone.
Jackson ignored his attempts. "You were with McCall, in the woods, weren't you?" he said.
"You know, you're eerily good at this whole interrogation thing. I think I am totally going to hook you and my father up," Stiles once again tried to minimize the blonde's anger.
"Stiles, please just tell me you weren't looking for the body of that woman," Jackson said, hoping that maybe that wasn't actually the case.
Stiles's face noticeably darkened, and for the first time since Jackson had yanked the other man into the closet, the blonde was becoming nervous.
"So what If I was? Remember Jackson, ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies," Stiles said, pushing the other man away from him.
Jackson shook his head disbelievingly. "That so doesn't count here. You could have been hurt. What if you hadn't found the body? What if you found the murderer?" Jackson asked. "What would you have done then?"
Stiles's face flushed. "Yeah, hadn't thought through that angle," he admitted. "I don't get why you care so much Jackson. Last I heard you were with Lydia last night. Figured you were pretty occupied."
Jackson ignored the statement. It finally started to dawn on him how his actions looked from his lover's perspective. He was the one who dictated their entire arrangement, made the rules without giving any thought to Stiles. And he was the one who constantly enforced it, pulling his walls up and clinging to them whenever Stiles managed to worm his way farther into his life or his heart.
He wasn't ready to be out. He wasn't completely sure that he was even gay, but it was clear that his feelings for Stiles weren't some weird form of experimentation. Everyday they were growing, and it scared him. He was wanting things that he knew would never fit into the cookie-cutter All-American boy image he had spent years perfecting.
But he still couldn't get the image out of his head of Stiles lost in the forest, of him being hurt or dead. And it still made him sick to his stomach. He needed this, these moments with Stiles. They kept him going, gave him strength; he couldn't sit back and let Stiles's reckless actions cause the younger teen to put himself in jeopardy.
Swallowing hard, Jackson replied. "Just tell me what happened last night," he said.
Stiles let out a defeated sigh, then answered the question. "I ran into my dad on the preserve. He made me go home. It's not like I was in any life-threatening danger," Stiles said, his voice wavering towards the end. "Why do you even care? Weren't you with Lydia?" Stiles asked.
Jackson shrugged his shoulders, unsure of whether to respond with honesty or to lie. Eventually, he settled somewhere in the middle. "We communicated for a bit after you left," he said, failing to mention that he bailed on his girlfriend to lay awake half the night, think of Stiles.
Slowly, Jackson moved towards Stiles and ran his hands under the other man's shirt, caressing the warm skin beneath the thin cotton. Stiles's eyes bugged out and let out a deep moan.
"I know what you're doing," Stiles said, his own hands mirroring Jackson's, delighting in the way the man's face lit up with ecstasy. "You're avoiding my question."
"Oh yeah," Jackson said, biting Stiles's ear. "If you know what I'm doing, then why are your pants still on?" he asked, set on fixing that.
"You do realize how cliché this is right now, right? Screwing your secret boyfriend in the janitor's closet during free period, not exactly unique," Stiles said, resolve rapidly crumbling.
Jackson ignored Stiles's use of the word boyfriend and the electric jolt it sent through his system. Instead, he dived head first into their actions, thankful that nothing had happened to Stiles and that he was safe.
~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~
As always, their time together wasn't perfect. Like them, it was jagged and rough and messy, yet there was a fluidity to their connection. After they had stopped talking and let their bodies lead the way, the anger and the tension had melted away, leaving the teens to immerse themselves in their joining.
Just as so many of their pleasant interactions had been ruined, their most recent was not immune. As both boys redressed, leaning against the wall for leverage, Jackson's phone let loose another beep, causing Stiles's face to darken and Jackson to stiffen.
The beep signified a text message from Lydia Martin. Over the course of their arrangement, Stiles had come to know and hate that beep, any affection for Lydia having been washed away as he fell deeper and deeper into the depths of Jackson Whittemore. Whenever that beep sounded, it meant that Lydia wanted something, and that usually meant that Stiles would become a second thought, once again.
Spurned by the noise, Stiles dressed faster, his once clean-cut outfit taking on a look of untidiness and wrinkles. Jackson also picked up his pace, his gaze darting between the phone and Stiles.
"Thanks for the fun, I guess," Stiles said, his voice uncharacteristically cold. "Should do it again sometime soon," he continued, lacing up his shoes.
Jackson finished dressing first and moved towards Stiles, painfully ignoring the way the younger teen flinched as he approached. "Don't be like that," he said.
Stiles scoffed and whirled around as he made his way for the door. "Be like what? I know the score, don't worry," he said. "Have to keep up appearances and such. But hey, text me later, we can set something up," he finished, his tone betraying the intent of the casual words.
Jackson went to respond, attempting to find the words that would calm Stiles down, but was powerless to stop the other teen from leaving the closet, the irony not lost on him. Letting a large sigh loose, Jackson reached over to his bag and withdrew his phone, dreading whatever Lydia was about to ask him to do.
AN: This whole chapter was supposed to the first episode, but I decided to break it down into little chunks; it's a lot easier to do it that way.
What do you think? Do you love it? Show it! Review please!
.
