Stiles and Jackson eat, and a whole lot more. Derek teaches Jackson about something - after the fact.

A/N: Well, more banter, more snark, more angst. I'm not sure how long this is going to be yet. Also, I changed part of canon (not that mating is mentioned in canon, but whatever).

Un-beta'd as well.

Chapter 2

Stiles wasn't joking about being famished. Jackson spends a minute watching Stiles stuff his face until he realizes how quickly the pile of food is disappearing from the plates. Jackson sniffs the food; it doesn't smell like greasy, fast-food restaurants. It smells like time and patience, and like someone made sure to cook everything perfectly.

He would know with or without werewolf powers.

"Stilinski-"

"Stiles," Stiles interject, smiling with a mouthful of toast.

"Stiles. Did you make this?" Jackson asks, filling his empty plate with sausages and eggs.

Stiles chokes violently before pounding himself on the chest. "No, of course not." He coughs again, face red from the strain.

He's lying. Jackson can hear the erratic pulse, can smell the insecurity seeping through Stiles's pores. But maybe pointing that out will make everything uncomfortable (or more so). What the heck—

"You're lying," Jackson announces, biting into a sausage.

Stiles squints, licking his lips nervously. "I can't cook. I didn't make this. Dunno what you're talking about. Why would I spend three hours in my kitchen, and then rush here through traffic and nearly get five speeding tickets just to make sure your first meal is a proper one – even when I wasn't sure you'd be alive once I got here-"

"I think you just said a tad too much there, Stiles." Jackson grins, biting into the sausage, eyes trained on Stiles's every twitch and grimace.

Jackson never hated Stiles. He just never understood how he could be so carefree, so happy after dealing with his own family trouble. It didn't make sense.

Jackson had, basically, lost both his parents and regained new ones that were mostly okay, and he couldn't even smile some days because he knew something was off. Stiles lost his real mother, a mother who loved and cherished him, didn't abandon him, and yet, he hardly shows that it bothers him.

"Yeah, well. You look like shit," Stiles retorts, biting into more toast.

Jackson stabs the eggs with a fork. That kind of hurts his ego. "I think anyone would after being bitten and thrown in a basement."

Stiles narrows his eyes. "But you look like-like super shit. Like someone took a dump on your entire body. You look like actual feces."

Jackson makes a disgusted face, scowling at Stiles. "Can you not discuss bodily fluids while we eat? Thanks."

If Jackson wanted to feel worse than he already does, he would have called Derek (like he's supposed to) and dealt with him.

"What? Can't handle a little potty-talk now that you're a big, bad wolf? I'm shocked." Stiles smirks, munching on hash browns.

"How does it not bother you?" Jackson snaps, dropping his fork with a clang. The sausages just look like pieces of – Jackson covers his mouth. Maybe this is a side-effect of being turned?

Stiles stares, mouth wide and of course full of half-eaten food. "Why'd you stop eating? Isn't it good?"

Jackson glares. "No." Stiles can't tell that he's lying; that's the point.

Stiles needs to understand that Jackson doesn't want to be treated like he's weak anymore because he's not. He doesn't need Stiles here. Stiles came of his own volition; Jackson owes him nothing more than what he already gave him. Lydia. Stiles should just leave, and go take the girl of his dreams before someone else does.

Instead of continuing to argue or calling Jackson out on his lie like Jackson expects, Stiles drops his fork too, and crosses his arms.

"I'm sorry if my cooking is bad. I didn't know what you liked, but I knew you wouldn't enjoy fast-food because of who you are, where you live, the car you drive. I don't know those things, probably never will. So I can't make things as amazing as your private chef probably does. I tried though, at least, so you should at least eat some more, and I'll throw the rest away."

Stiles watches Jackson, waiting for his, no doubt mean, response.

Jackson's heart is banging against his chest. He can't believe Stiles would be this ignorant, this stupid. How could he not hear the lie in Jackson's voice? There is so much wrong with what Jackson's been accused of he doesn't know if he should even bother correcting Stiles. Maybe it's better if everyone thinks he's cold and stuck-up forever. Even though he's been trying to change.

Fast-food isn't a problem for Jackson; he loves it actually. It just has to be certain places. Jackson doesn't have a private chef because his mother loves cooking, and that's why Jackson knew Stiles had made it. Didn't Stiles notice the home-made lunches he brings to school every day? Probably not since they never sit together.

Stiles is glaring hard.

There are so many things that Jackson wants to say, but his heart rate is speeding now, and his breathing is getting laboured and his vision is blurring and-

"Fuck you, Stilinski!" Jackson spits at Stiles instead.

Stiles needs to get the message and get the hell away from Jackson before Jackson turns and accidentally rips him to pieces. That would be counterproductive.

Stiles's entire face screws up with the amount of pent-up fury he's holding in. "What?! You're the one being an asshole, and you're mad at me?"

Stiles pushes away his chair, and Jackson hopes this means Stiles is leaving, but Jackson is never that lucky. Also, Stiles is an idiot who doesn't know when to quit.

Stiles puts his fists up and gestures for Jackson to do the same. "Come on. Unless you're afraid I can beat you even with your 'new strength'."

Jackson scoffs. Stiles is the biggest idiot to ever-

Jackson's claws start protruding through his skin, slowly creeping out past his bones and muscles. It feels as though he's being cut from the inside out. He grips the table roughly, not daring a look at Stiles, each claw making Jackson's vision blur with the strain of the transformation.

"I could beat you even without this, and you know it. Now, take your shitty breakfast and leave before I get angry," Jackson grits through his teeth. He can't hold the change off for much longer.

Stiles - blind or carrying a death-wish - shuffles over and punches Jackson hard enough to split his lip. Blue eyes, even bluer than usual, snap Stiles's way, and Stiles takes in a weak breath. Hopefully Jackson won't have to bite Stiles's head off to get the message across.

"I told you to leave! LEAVE NOW!" Jackson roars, digging his nails into the table to avoid swinging them towards Stiles. The odour is back, hundreds of times more intoxicating than before.

Stiles gulps, and glances somewhere behind Jackson. He's most likely deciding whether he can get to the front door before Jackson shifts. "Oh, no. You're changing, aren't you?"

Jackson shakes with the effort to ignore the stinging of his lip. He can feel the skin already melding back together, healing cell by cell, leaving only blood in its wake. He howls, nails chipping away at the wood on the table.

"Get. Out. Now," Jackson warns, his fangs slowly forcing his human teeth to move aside in his mouth.

Stiles just stares, frozen, and his big, brown doe eyes never leave Jackson's face. He's standing much too close to Jackson. Jackson can smell the fear meshing with the already enticing smell that is Eau De Stiles. If Stiles doesn't get away now, this would have been all for naught.

He doesn't want to admit that he's glad Stiles came to check on him; it made him irrationally happy. But if that sliver of joy means Stiles is in danger now because of Jackson's failure to be instantly perfect at controlling his werewolf side, then it wasn't worth it.

Stiles watches Jackson, and Jackson focuses on the wood of Derek's table being shredded like paper.

Jackson likes that Stiles hasn't run yet; it makes Jackson feel significant, cared about. And isn't that just sickening? Jackson thought he dealt with all those feelings. Derek sure didn't make him feel welcome or wanted, and that had helped him go through with the ritual of turning.

Stiles steps closer, and Jackson snarls to keep him away.

It doesn't work. It makes Stiles move closer. Jackson can only dig his claws deeper into Derek's destroyed table. And then Stiles moves in a flash.

Stiles has bad ideas.

Stiles is an idiot.

Or so Jackson's logic says.

His wolf is thinking the complete opposite when Stiles grabs Jackson with both hands and plants a wet, sloppy, inexperienced kiss on Jackson's lips.

For a moment, the wolf inside is satiated, but it's just a moment. It's almost enough for Jackson to regain his composure until he sees how disheveled Stiles looks. His lips are so swollen he looks like he's been stung by bees.

Jackson wants.

There's nothing else besides unadulterated want in his mind, not even anything specific like wanting Stiles's neck or his blood or his cock. Jackson just wants it all.

XXX

Jackson smells Derek's scent long before the Alpha returns; Jackson just can't help himself when Stiles is so open and trusting of him.

Stiles is pinned to Derek's fridge with Jackson's leg moving against the bulge in Stiles's jeans - back and forth and back and forth - his wrists trapped between half-formed claws, and his lips wrecked from Jackson's biting kisses. Jackson edges away reluctantly, barely able to form the thoughts necessary to warn Stiles of Derek's arrival.

Stiles is an idiot though, like Jackson has known for a long time, and he drags Jackson back in, cupping the back of his head and licking at fangs, tongue and skin. You'd think Stiles is the one newly turned into a werewolf.

"Well, well, well. I don't know if I should be mad or relieved," Derek says dryly from behind them.

Stiles pulls out of the kiss to look over Jackson's head, but Jackson growls and pushes him away from Derek's line of sight.

"Hey now, I'm not trying to steal your mate," Derek explains, crossing his arms.

"Mate?" Stiles and Jackson say at the same time.

"I guess I shouldn't have let Stiles come here. I didn't expect this to happen." Derek rolls his shoulders, looking annoyed (also known as his default expression).

"The first wolf – or human in this case – to exchange blood with you after you change becomes your mate. And it doesn't matter if they love you or not, or even if you're related distantly, that person cannot be unbound from you unless they die."

Jackson glares, disbelief painted across his face. Derek smirks. He stands on his toes to pretend to get a look at Stiles, and Jackson buries Stiles further against his neck.

"Can't. Breathe," Stiles gasps.

"Sorry," Jackson mutters softly. He pets Stiles's hair, and then stops when Derek quirks an eye in to express a non-verbal I told you so. "So me and Stiles…"

"Are mated, yes. Unless you kill Stiles or yourself." Derek turns to leave. Looking over his shoulder, he adds, "We both know which you're more likely to choose."

Jackson growls and Stiles wraps his arms around Jackson. "It's okay, man. I'm not that bad. You can totally ignore me and pretend we aren't dating or whatever mated means in wolf-speak."

Sighing, Jackson looks away from Stiles. He can't make Stiles believe it otherwise.

"You'll never be good enough for me."

That's what you should be saying to me, Stiles, Jackson thinks.

Stiles doesn't know where to look, eyes wide and upset. "Yeah, fine. I figured that's how you'd be. I'll just—"

Stiles storms out while Jackson breathes in the last of Stiles's scent, drawn to it like a moth to flame. There's only one way to make this right for everyone, and Jackson isn't afraid to go through with it this time.

TBC