Jackson's hands are quivering at his sides and his knees are weak. His brain is one thin stream of disbelief and painful arousal, which only turns him on more. At 7:59 he gets out of his car and crosses the dark yard. There's no lights out here. If he was looking up and feeling poetic he would have been able to see the stars. Jackson's only thinking about one thing. He's only thinking with one thing. He doesn't think about the past few hours curled tight in his bed, thinking about Derek and ghosting his hands over himself, pinching every so often. He thinks that he has no idea what's going to happen now. He's scared and he likes that. The door falls open as he climbs the porch steps and Derek fills the doorway. Jackson jerks to a stop, no other option but to take him in. Jackson starts at the floor, and wonders how even Derek's feet look powerful. Black jeans cut off the pale skin, smothering it until his waist. The ripples of muscle in his stomach and chest are enough to put Jackson to shame. He catches another breath at the thought. He wonders why Derek is doing this to him. Doing this for him. He knows Derek isn't fond of him. Maybe that's why. Derek reaches out a hand, sliding it under the hem of Jackson's shirt and pulling him forward wordlessly by the front of his jeans. Jackson can't help but make another small sound of anticipation. His eyes are glued to the dips and swells of Derek's back, which might as well have been made of stone. Some smooth stone. Marble maybe. Jackson can't think. He can't even…wait for whatever is going to happen.

Derek stops in the middle of what used to be a sitting room and releases Jackson's pants, taking a couple more steps before turning. His hands settle on his hips, automatically drawing Jackson's eye. His dick twitches painfully and he clenches his hands in response.
"You take a lot of pride in your appearance." It wasn't a question and not only did Jackson not know why the fuck they were talking about this he didn't know how or even if he was supposed to respond. He had the sickening feeling that the water was about to close over his head. "Expensive clothes, perfect hair, even," Derek paused, sniffing the air, "cologne. Which I can hardly smell over your arousal by the way." Like that was Jackson's fault. "Tell me Jackson. Did you pay for these things? Or did your parents?" Jackson stiffens. Why he thought they weren't actually going to do much talking is beyond him at this point.
"They did," he grits out, fists impossibly tight. Derek makes a 'tsk' noise while a slight smirk spreads across his lips. He obviously already knew the answer.
"Did you pay for any of it? Your shirt?" Jackson shakes his head, anger building. "Take it off," Derek says then. Those three words sweep away his anger so unexpectedly that Jackson doesn't move, left trying to catch up. "I said," Derek growls, stepping closer, "take it off." Jackson flinches, body flying into motion as he struggles to comply. "I don't like repeating myself," Derek warns him, expression dangerous. Jackson shivers, shirt balled in his hands.
"I'm s-sorry." Derek does nothing more than make a slight sound of acknowledgement, eyes traveling up and down Jackson's torso.

Jackson can only guess he's staring at the scratches still there. Jackson knows they're still there because he's been rubbing them and digging his fingernails into them, delighting in the angry red as he writhed in his sheets.
"Your shoes?" Derek questions next, looking up. Jackson doesn't bother shaking his head. He drops his shirt to the floor and yanks his shoes off before dropping them as well. He curls his toes in his socks against the floorboards. "Even brand name socks. Really?" Derek drawls. Knees weak, Jackson yanks off the latest offensive garments. Derek steps closer before rounding him. He walks around Jackson very slowly and by the time he appears again Jackson is panting, hands once again balled at his sides. "Better," Derek admits quietly. "Still not good enough." He walks around Jackson again and goes still, standing behind him. Jackson's dying to know what he's thinking, what's going to happen next. He waits a few prolonged agonizing moments before Derek's hands land on his shoulders, kneading so hard he cries out. Derek licks a line up the back of his neck and Jackson arches in response, rolling to the balls of his feet in shock. His knees give out before Derek's reached the hairline and he falls to a rather boneless heap on the floor, on top of his discarded belongings. Derek's expression is unreadable when he looks back up. "You look good on the floor," Derek comments after another moment. Jackson knows it's not a compliment. He has a feeling that it has more to do with the fact that Derek could put him on the floor with so little effort. He looks down at him for another long moment before speaking again. "What about your pants?"

Jackson's totally naked in no time at all but Derek seems content to leave him standing in the middle of the room. "Hands and knees," Derek finally offers. He smiles slightly, eyes taking on a different light suddenly, "Like a dog." Jackson pauses long enough for Derek's smile to vanish. He has the thought that he shouldn't push Derek if he has no idea how far Derek can be pushed before snapping. Jackson knows without a doubt that he does not want to see Derek snap. The floor is rough under his knees, his hands land on his shirt haphazardly. As soon as he's actually down a small shiver runs through him. God this position. It's making him…so…he can't even think. Derek passes him, going for the stairs. He stops in the doorway and turns, one finger crooking. Jackson glances to the floor before crawling forward. Heat flushes over him as various areas curl even tighter in burning arousal. He's so turned on he thinks he's either going to explode or faint. He's never felt like this before, yet Derek has hardly laid a hand on him. Derek continues moving forward, stopping at the stairs and taking a seat. He makes the movement lazy and graceful at the same time. Derek snaps his fingers and points to his shoes. "Come here," he adds. Jackson forces himself to meet Derek's eyes because the smug, controlling expression smothering his face is making him feel even worse. He loves it. He stops in front of Derek and hovers, unsure. Derek heaves a sigh and reaches forward, yanking Jackson's wrist off the ground. Jackson wavers dangerously before leaning back and sitting awkwardly. "Do I really have to give you instructions here?" Derek demands, pressing Jackson's hand over the snap of his jeans. Jackson swallows roughly before shaking his head.

A/N: Hai. So it's been pointed out that this is more S&M or BDSM than masochism… To me the lines kind of blur. Derek is dominant because that's the only way I can see it happening. Jackson is dominated because he's weaker and wants what Derek is offering. Oh I'm also going with humiliation for the masochism as well. Anyways. I'm far from an expert on the subject. Hope this helped a bit.

Thanks for reading my twisted little bunny.