"Shut up and take my pants off already. I don't care that I remind you of someone you used to have a thing for," he told the guy, his voice rough. Drunk Stiles was confident.

"You are so sexy," the guy smiled and did as he was told. "I'm going to make you scream; you'll fall apart begging for more."

"Then stop wasting time," Stiles eyed him seductively and stripped off his shirt, "and get to it already".

"Alright," the guy smirked confidently. "I've been waiting a long time for this," he pushed Stiles down on the bed and started trailing kisses down his chest.

Stiles opened his eyes, groaning. The sunlight hurt like a bitch and so did the alarm on his crappy prepaid flip phone which was blaring loudly from the pocket of his jeans, wherever they were. Fuck hangovers dude.

And apparently he wasn't even in his own bed, meaning the dream he had wasn't really a dream. Hot faceless guy was real. He groaned louder. He had to get out of there, Stiles didn't want whoever he had slept with to get the wrong idea. The guy wasn't even there, so maybe he was worried for nothing, but Stiles always had the worst luck and didn't want to take that chance.

He sat up and ran a hand through his hair. He breathed out, and grabbed his glasses. He hated them, but his left contact had torn and it was too much trouble to get new ones. He was not ready for this. This was the day he started the lame New York high school. Was he even going to be able to find the place from wherever the hell he was now? Stiles had told Melissa that he really just wanted to test out and get his GED; he really didn't want to start a new school or try to make new friends. She had told him no, he was too smart and needed to stay in school. Regrettably, he listened.

He threw the covers off of himself, grabbed his phone and turned off the dumb alarm and put on the dark wash skinny jeans (fucking skinny jeans, what was he thinking?) he had worn last night. He couldn't be himself anymore, Stiles Stilinski was supposed to be dead. He was Emmett Gallagher, and Emmett wore skinny jeans and glasses. Emmett wasn't sarcastic, he was just an asshole with a juvie record. No, Stiles wasn't looking forward to today. He had pushed his feet into the high tops he'd stolen from Scott when Jackson-fucking-Whittemore opened the door.

"You have got to be kidding me. Jackson?" Stiles scoffed with mild anger, not registering the bag in Jackson's hand.

"You're not leaving yet are you? We have so much to talk about Em," Jackson smiled, that same smug smile that had always made Stiles want to punch him.

"Do you always make a habit of sleeping with drunk humans when you, yourself can't get drunk?" Stiles sneered and Jackson's smile grew wider.

"It was the night after a rough full moon. And well it was you, I saw my chance and took it. I even went along with that whole Emmett thing," Jackson answered, looking unashamed and all too proud of himself. He set the brown paper bag down on the table.

"What?" Stiles's jaw went slack and he blinked a couple of times in disbelief. "Jeezus, Scott was right; I owe him five bucks," he wiped his mouth with his palm.

"Stay, catch up on sleep; my bed's obviously more comfortable than whatever you've been sleeping on," he suggested with a caring tone in his voice. "When you wake up we'll have some breakfast and talk about this whole Emmett thing and why you're even here in New York. And Scott's not as dim as looks."

"Even if I wanted to stay here, and I don't, I have school. I promised m- I want more than a GED," Stiles told Jackson, trying and failing to not sound thrown by his niceness.

"Living in New York is expensive. Any place that you can afford Stilinski, probably shouldn't be habitable. You're going to stay here instead. Ah, don't talk, I'm not done. If you want to finish school, that's great, but maybe give it a day, considering you're trying to leave with no shirt on."

Stiles looked down, grabbing his bare chest. "Shit. Didn't even notice that," he hung his head in defeat. He sighed. "Fine, I'll go back to bed. That doesn't mean I'm going to live here."

"Yeah you are, but we'll discuss all that, after you've woken up, over eggs and bacon that I picked up from a place down the street. Shoes off," Jackson smiled, not leaving any room for argument.

"You're enjoying this, don't be thinking that I'm going to sleep with you a second time," he scrunched his face. But he listened and sat down on Jackson's bed and pulled his shoes off with both of his hands. Normally he'd fight more, especially against Jackson, but God, he was so tired.

"We'll see, there'll be more than a second time though," Jackson chuckled, sounding all too determined. Stiles laid down and Jackson pulled the blankets over him. "But we'll do it right the second time around. You won't be wasted and it won't be so close to a full moon."

Stiles scoffed, though a slight smile littered his tired face. "Yeah, no. Not happening."

"Uh huh, we'll see," Jackson told him, so self-assured.

Jackson continued to sit there and he watched as Stiles's eyelids became heavier. He couldn't believe that Stiles was there with him. He had gotten over his stupid little crush and he didn't like that he wasn't sure what he was feeling. Fucking Stiles, what was it about him?

Stiles moved and the blankets rustled. A necklace caught Jackson's eye, some sort of black crystal. He extended his hand and touched it gently. It dawned on him, "this little fucker is what's messing with your scent".

"Shh, Isaac shut up," Stiles murmured while trying to swat Jackson's hand away.

Isaac? Jackson didn't like it.

It had been exactly a week since Stiles crashed his jeep. He had been in New York for four days now. Yeah, Melissa worked fast. The runaway went to New York, how freaking cliche. He didn't question it though. The pendant she placed around his neck had a charm on it to protect Stiles's true scent. Apparently, a fully developed spark has a distinct fragrance that attracted a dangerous kind. The necklace would come off when it was no longer needed. And Stiles had no clue what that meant. God, did he hate being out of the loop. Stiles hugged Melissa goodbye and got on the Greyhound before he could chicken out.

Jackson took his phone from his pocket and dialed a memorized number. "You need to come over. We have to talk. I think there's something going on back in Beacon Hills." He paused to listen. "Yes Derek now, Stiles in town with a new identity and a new scent."

Sorry it took so long. I was busy. I'm writing this as I go and I had half the chapter written when I realized it wasn't the best fit. Had to start over. I do hope to have longer chapters as I go along. And as usual, unbeta'd. Sorry for any mistakes, I tried. And as much as I ship Sterek, Stackson is a very close second. Sterek or Stackson, what do you guys think?