Derek left him alone and Jackson gathered his knees to his chest, shaking. His body was a bit sore but he was sure it would heal. There were other problems at hand. The memories would only be part of it. Jackson felt like his chest was splitting open. He'd mated with the enemy. His loyalty to his pack was splintering painfully inside of him. But he hadn't wanted to. A small noise slipped out. A whine. He had to get out of here. Wherever here was. Jackson crawled to his shredded jeans and slid his keys from the pocket with shaking hands. He clutched them and stood. His knees were weak and there was still a present ache in the entire lower half of him. Jackson tried his best to ignore it as he made his way down the corridor. It was dark and dank, stone walls. All he could smell was Derek and mildew. Derek. God he didn't want to think about that. He stumbled over a crack, distracted by trying to distract himself. Jackson could have caught himself, if he'd wanted to expend the effort. But he was tired. So his knees cracked to the ground. Jackson let himself have a moment just to breathe. He couldn't lose the nerves he was barely holding onto. Not yet. He just had to get to his pack. That's what he had to do. Peter would know what to do. There had to be something. He forced himself back up.

…

"Wait," Stiles said, grabbing Peter's shoulder with his other hand. "You can't just…you can't pretend nothing is happening."
"Stiles," Peter responded carefully, "you have a lot going on right now. I'm sure you're very confused."
"We're in my bed, you're on top of me, and you went nuts, including throwing my best friend out the window." Peter was silent for several moments.
"He's not your best friend right now, right now he's the enemy."
"You were jealous," Stiles protested feebly, hands loosening.
"I was…upset." Stiles let his hands drop down. He frowned as he felt disappointment curl in his stomach. Of course Peter didn't actually want him. He was just being stupid, like usual. His eyes began to water. Of course Peter would rather Stiles be with him than be with Scott. It was a decision that made sense.
"Oh," he let out slowly, looking down so he didn't have to meet Peter's eyes. "Okay," he added, wishing Peter would just get off before his heart completely shattered. He was upset and disappointed and it really did feel like his heart was breaking.
"Stiles don't,"
"Don't what?" Stiles demanded, voice cracking. "I'm fine!" He flopped back to the mattress and crossed his arms over his bare chest. Stiles turned his head to the right and stared at his open closet. He sniffled and rubbed at his nose briefly.
"Stiles," Peter tried again, leaning closer before hovering over him.
"What?" Stiles let out, still examining his closet.
"It's not that I don't want you," Peter said very quietly.
"You don't have to try and make me feel better," Stiles huffed, eyes burning with the effort to stop the tears.
"Yes I do."

Peter touched his jaw gently, turning Stiles back to him. "It's not that I don't want you Stiles," he repeated, fingertips spreading over Stiles' skin. "I do…endlessly. But you don't understand. Things are dangerous right now." He paused, eyes closing and jaw tensing for a moment. "I cannot lose you." Stiles flushed with burning heat. It wasn't entirely unpleasant.
"You'd better not just be saying this," Stiles said after a long moment.
"I shouldn't be telling you this at all," Peter whispered, "but I can't stand for you to be in pain if you don't have to be." Stiles covered Peter's hand with his.
"You shouldn't be telling me what?"
"Stiles…you're my mate." Stiles mouth ran dry and he blinked slowly.
"What does that mean?"
"It means what it sounds like," Peter breathed, leaning even closer. The words ghosted over Stiles' neck. "You're meant for me. Just like I'm meant for you." He pressed a kiss to Stiles' throat, licking it softly. Stiles groaned and arched up, sliding along Peter's body deliciously.
"Peter please," he whispered, hearing his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Peter licked up his neck, nipping at his jaw teasingly before finally catching his lips. One arm wrapped around Peter's neck, Stiles hand clenched in the front of Peter's shirt. Peter held them both up with one arm, exploring Stiles' mouth when his lips parted. With the bit of his brain that could still function Stiles began planning. The hand in Peter's shirt released and slid to the side, moving down Peter's arm. He tugged at Peter's elbow, moaning softly. Peter eventually gave in and let them both drop to the mattress. Gaining courage with Peter's body pressed hard against his Stiles let his tongue tangle with Peter's, moaning again. The most exquisite spiraling heat was filling his chest and stomach. Shallow breaths panted out. His hips began swiveling. They couldn't move much but he had to get some friction. Peter groaned deeply. The sound rang in Stiles' ears and he reveled in it.

He clung to Peter and rocked upwards, still kissing him more than he was breathing. Peter lifted his hips away, smiling down at Stiles as he went up to one arm again. Stiles whined and went still, wondering what he was doing. Peter's hand ghosted down his chest and stopped at the snap of his jeans. Stiles stopped breathing.
"I-ah," Stiles gasped, eyes glued to Peter's hand.
"Yes?" Peter whispered, slipping open the button and inching down the zipper.
"Nnnn." Stiles couldn't even form a thought, shaking his head back and forth. Stiles gasped again as Peter pushed his jeans out of the way, fingers running over his clothed erection.
"Shouldn't be doing this," Peter breathed, hand dipping into Stiles' boxer briefs, "it's wrong. And yet…" He stroked upwards. Stiles' hips bucked as his spine curved and his toes curled.
"Oh my God," he hissed.
"It feels right," Peter added, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw.
"Please Peter…fucking please!" Peter's hand moved back down. He squeezed the knot gently.
"Not too sensitive is it?" Peter questioned. Stiles' eyes rolled into the back of his head.
"N-no…" Peter gave another squeeze before stroking upwards again. Stiles howled, shoving his head back into the mattress. He glanced his nails extending on Peter's shoulders, his teeth followed suit. Everything brightened and the room seemed to pulse around them. Peter smiled devilishly, eyes glowing red.
"Love seeing you like this," he said, kissing Stiles' lips. Stiles couldn't manage a response. He was winding tighter and tighter but loving every single second. He loved every brush of skin. Every beat of Peter's heart. If he could just live in this moment… He wound one leg around Peter's, trying to haul him closer. He needed him closer. Peter sucked Stiles' bottom lip into his mouth and rolled his hips slightly. Stiles' moan fractured in his chest and he tried to meet Peter's hands and hips at the same time. It was impossible and the dual sensation was driving him insane. He could feel release teasing at his senses. His body locked down further, preparing. Peter's hand stroked down the same time his hips rolled up, catching Stiles between. That was all it took. The tension shattered in heavy waves and Stiles couldn't even manage to keep his eyes open, or control the half formed gibberish falling out of his mouth.

It was several moments before he was aware that Peter had moved. He was off the bed, kneeling between Stiles' legs. Stiles heaved a shallow, broken gasp as Peter cleaned him off with careful strokes of his tongue. He finished above Stiles' belly button, the muscles quivering under his, before helping Stiles dress again. Once his jeans were closed Stiles let his arms drop back to the bed and laid there.
"That was so much better than-" he cut off, brain finally catching up to his mouth.
"What?" Peter asked, lying on his side next to Stiles, propping his head on his hand. Stiles thought he looked way too put together for a guy that had just given him a hand job. That was Peter he supposed.
"How long have you known?" Stiles questioned.
"About us?" God but he was clever. Stiles nodded silently, turning to look at Peter.
"It was a passing thought the first time I saw you." Peter smoothed the fingertips of his free hand over Stiles' cheek. Almost as if he was trying to further convince him through touch. "So on a whim I spared you." Stiles' heartbeat picked up and he gave a slight shiver. "When even in my obsession addled brain I wanted to see you again…I knew."
"The field," Stiles said shakily.
"Yes. She stank of you." It was nearly an apology.
"The parking garage." Peter smiled slightly.
"Of course."

…

Jackson grabbed his workout shorts and tank top from the trunk, jumping into them. He didn't bother searching out shoes. Knees still weak he rounded the car and got in. He took several deep breaths before picking up his phone. He dialed his house. His heart stopped when his mother actually picked up.
"Hello?"
"Mom?" he questioned shakily, free arm curling around his torso as it threatened to collapse.
"Jackson? Is that you?"
"Yeah Mom. I need to talk to you, please."
"Okay honey I've got a minute. What's wrong?" He let out a choked sob.
"I was attacked…and he did things to me and made me do things and God Mom I can't breathe or think and it really hurt and I'm scared and I don't know what to do. I feel so…lost." Tears were jerkily making their way down his face and his arm moved from his torso and tore through his hair. He could still smell Derek on him.
"What? Honey you're breaking up. I didn't get any of that." Jackson's head slammed into the steering wheel and he tried desperately to catch his breath.
"Mom…" he managed, breath stopping again.
"I really have to go Jackson. I'll see you in a few days." The phone clicked and he crushed his cell phone in his hand. Leaning on the steering wheel he inhaled as deeply as possible before holding it. He just had to get to his pack. Everything would be okay.

The gas pedal didn't leave the floor as he drove. He'd finally managed to stop crying but Jackson could still feel himself on the edge. On the edge of what…he wasn't sure. He made it to Stiles' house without crashing his Porsche, which was a small miracle he was sure. He scaled the wall easily, slipping inside the conspicuously open window. Peter had him by the throat before his feet touched the rug and the next thing Jackson knew he was being pressed into Stiles' desk, Peter snarling at him. Stiles was there in the next few moments which was good because Jackson couldn't breathe.
"Submit," Peter growled, "now." Jackson nodded frantically, as much as he could with Peter's hand under his jaw. He wheezed painfully when Peter pressed harder.
"What's happening?" Stiles demanded, eyebrows shooting up and down wildly as he tried to figure it out.
"Submit!" Peter repeated. Stiles tugged at his arm, uselessly. Jackson could feel the tension of the decision inside of him. Pack or mate. Pack or mate. Mate or pack. Derek or Peter. The one who made him or the one who owned him.
"Yes," he hissed, body going limp. Peter dropped him and stepped back, running a hand over his hair. He inhaled deeply as Stiles glanced between them.
"Seriously, what the…fuck?" Stiles questioned. Jackson slid off the desk and to his knees, forehead touching the carpet as he sagged in relief.
"Thank you," he rasped. The chaos was diminished greatly now that Peter had forced his loyalty. He could breathe again.
"What happened?" Peter questioned. "Why did you mate with my nephew?"

A/N: So I think this is my last double update… I mean…maybe. They're hard to do!

Anyways. Hope the Halinski made up for the angsty Jerek. The angst with Jerek isn't nearly done but it's also taking a back seat. So yeah.

Where this is headed next nobody knows…

Thanks.