K-I-S-S-I-N-G
Author: tryslora
Title: K-I-S-S-I-N-G
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Derek/Jackson
Character/s: Derek, Jackson
Summary: Derek doesn’t like it when Jackson bolts from a meeting so he follows him. Right up a tree.
Warnings: flangst? Derek trying to psychoanalyze Jackson...
Word Count: 886 words
Prompt: #6 Family
Author's Notes: This is a part of the And Omega Makes Family series. Also, I don’t own the characters or world of Teen Wolf, but I do love playing with them.
Derek doesn’t expect to find Jackson in a tree.
He follows his nose past the Whittemore house, over the extensive immaculately groomed lawn and into the woods that run along the edge of the property. Derek’s wolf leads him by scent. It isn’t just Jackson now; Derek knows when he enters a room by the way his body instantly reacts. He steps closer without thinking. His skin itches, uncomfortable in his clothes. He often touches Jackson, and for a brief moment, Jackson leans into it before pulling away with a growl.
Or he runs, like he ran from the pack meeting this afternoon. Straight into the Porsche and roaring down the street. Fleeing for home.
And a tree.
Derek stands at the base of it, fingers flexed into claws, wolf growling in his throat. Jackson’s hands wrap around two branches as he leans out, eyes flashing gold as he growls in return.
“You left the pack,” Derek says.
“This isn’t about the pack.” Jackson twists away, feet bare and pressing into the wood, holding himself with his back against the trunk. He seems comfortable there, as if he has climbed it often.
Derek’s brow furrows. “Why the tree?”
“You don’t know me,” Jackson counters. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you’re driven to be the best.” Derek ticks his points off on his claws. “I know you’re dependent enough on needing an anchor to become the Kanima, and furious enough with Stiles that you look like you’d chew his throat out if you weren’t afraid I’d kick you out of the pack. I know you hate that you’re adopted. And I know you’re mine.”
“That last point’s debatable.”
“No, it’s not.”
Derek isn’t going to get anywhere here on the ground. He remembers tree climbing from his childhood, but it’s something that seems so long ago. Wolves belong on the ground.
He uses his claws, digging into the trunk, kicking off his shoes so he can do the same with his feet, and he scrambles up to where Jackson sits. There is room enough on the branch to straddle it, facing Jackson, if he knocks Jackson’s feet down. So he does, placing his hands on either side of Jackson’s head, leaning to press him back against the trunk.
Derek growls, possessive as Jackson’s scent fills his nose. He can pick out the notes when he’s this close, the subtle something that reminds him of spring and fawn and pups. He remembers it from his mother, when she was pregnant with his youngest brother.
One hand slides down over Jackson’s cheek, past his chest, down to touch his stomach. Jackson flinches, but there is no place for him to go; his breath goes rough as Derek presses lightly. “This says you’re mine,” Derek tells him.
“That’s biology,” Jackson sneers. “It has nothing to do with us other than that we created it during a fit of hormones.”
“That’s family,” Derek counters. His hand comes back up, catching Jackson’s chin, forcing his head back and baring the tender skin of his neck to Derek’s teeth. Jackson fights, claws digging into Derek’s back, and Derek growls, grinding forward, pressing Jackson into the tree. “Mine.”
Nothing but the sound of Jackson’s breath for long moments, then a soft whine of need. Jackson shifts, dragging Derek’s head up to meet mouth to mouth, kissing as if he would devour Derek whole.
The wolf rises, begging for more, but the tree means they can’t do more than kiss. It is enough, for now, to drink in Jackson’s scent and to feel him give way to Derek.
“I know you hate this place,” Derek murmurs, nipping at his lower lip.
“I don’t hate the tree.”
“I can’t move the tree to my place.”
Derek draws back, seeking an answer in Jackson’s bewildered gaze. Blue eyes narrow, confused, as Jackson asks, “Are you moving the pack in?”
“Idiot.” Derek nips him in response. “I’m moving you in. You’ll pack your things when we get down from this tree. If we’re mated, then we’re living together. And no, you don’t get a say in it.”
For a moment, Derek thinks Jackson will refuse. For a moment he thinks that he has read Jackson wrong and that giving him an outright order will make him run the other direction. But Derek waits, trusting that Jackson is exactly who Derek thinks he is, that he finds comfort in this, even as new as it is.
“When I was younger, I climbed this tree all the time.”
It isn’t what he expected Jackson to say, but Derek nods, listening and waiting for him to continue.
Jackson glances to the side, looking down at the ground. “I figured if I came up here and waited long enough, everything would be different when I got back to the ground. The fighting would have ended, my family would be healed, all the problems would have gone away.”
“Still think that works?”
Blue eyes return to meet Derek’s gaze; slowly Jackson nods. “Yeah. I do.”
Derek reaches for Jackson, or perhaps it is Jackson who reaches for Derek. They press as close together as they can, tasting, lingering. Kissing. It is all they can do while sitting in a tree, but for the moment, it is also all they need.
Title: K-I-S-S-I-N-G
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Derek/Jackson
Character/s: Derek, Jackson
Summary: Derek doesn’t like it when Jackson bolts from a meeting so he follows him. Right up a tree.
Warnings: flangst? Derek trying to psychoanalyze Jackson...
Word Count: 886 words
Prompt: #6 Family
Author's Notes: This is a part of the And Omega Makes Family series. Also, I don’t own the characters or world of Teen Wolf, but I do love playing with them.
Derek doesn’t expect to find Jackson in a tree.
He follows his nose past the Whittemore house, over the extensive immaculately groomed lawn and into the woods that run along the edge of the property. Derek’s wolf leads him by scent. It isn’t just Jackson now; Derek knows when he enters a room by the way his body instantly reacts. He steps closer without thinking. His skin itches, uncomfortable in his clothes. He often touches Jackson, and for a brief moment, Jackson leans into it before pulling away with a growl.
Or he runs, like he ran from the pack meeting this afternoon. Straight into the Porsche and roaring down the street. Fleeing for home.
And a tree.
Derek stands at the base of it, fingers flexed into claws, wolf growling in his throat. Jackson’s hands wrap around two branches as he leans out, eyes flashing gold as he growls in return.
“You left the pack,” Derek says.
“This isn’t about the pack.” Jackson twists away, feet bare and pressing into the wood, holding himself with his back against the trunk. He seems comfortable there, as if he has climbed it often.
Derek’s brow furrows. “Why the tree?”
“You don’t know me,” Jackson counters. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you’re driven to be the best.” Derek ticks his points off on his claws. “I know you’re dependent enough on needing an anchor to become the Kanima, and furious enough with Stiles that you look like you’d chew his throat out if you weren’t afraid I’d kick you out of the pack. I know you hate that you’re adopted. And I know you’re mine.”
“That last point’s debatable.”
“No, it’s not.”
Derek isn’t going to get anywhere here on the ground. He remembers tree climbing from his childhood, but it’s something that seems so long ago. Wolves belong on the ground.
He uses his claws, digging into the trunk, kicking off his shoes so he can do the same with his feet, and he scrambles up to where Jackson sits. There is room enough on the branch to straddle it, facing Jackson, if he knocks Jackson’s feet down. So he does, placing his hands on either side of Jackson’s head, leaning to press him back against the trunk.
Derek growls, possessive as Jackson’s scent fills his nose. He can pick out the notes when he’s this close, the subtle something that reminds him of spring and fawn and pups. He remembers it from his mother, when she was pregnant with his youngest brother.
One hand slides down over Jackson’s cheek, past his chest, down to touch his stomach. Jackson flinches, but there is no place for him to go; his breath goes rough as Derek presses lightly. “This says you’re mine,” Derek tells him.
“That’s biology,” Jackson sneers. “It has nothing to do with us other than that we created it during a fit of hormones.”
“That’s family,” Derek counters. His hand comes back up, catching Jackson’s chin, forcing his head back and baring the tender skin of his neck to Derek’s teeth. Jackson fights, claws digging into Derek’s back, and Derek growls, grinding forward, pressing Jackson into the tree. “Mine.”
Nothing but the sound of Jackson’s breath for long moments, then a soft whine of need. Jackson shifts, dragging Derek’s head up to meet mouth to mouth, kissing as if he would devour Derek whole.
The wolf rises, begging for more, but the tree means they can’t do more than kiss. It is enough, for now, to drink in Jackson’s scent and to feel him give way to Derek.
“I know you hate this place,” Derek murmurs, nipping at his lower lip.
“I don’t hate the tree.”
“I can’t move the tree to my place.”
Derek draws back, seeking an answer in Jackson’s bewildered gaze. Blue eyes narrow, confused, as Jackson asks, “Are you moving the pack in?”
“Idiot.” Derek nips him in response. “I’m moving you in. You’ll pack your things when we get down from this tree. If we’re mated, then we’re living together. And no, you don’t get a say in it.”
For a moment, Derek thinks Jackson will refuse. For a moment he thinks that he has read Jackson wrong and that giving him an outright order will make him run the other direction. But Derek waits, trusting that Jackson is exactly who Derek thinks he is, that he finds comfort in this, even as new as it is.
“When I was younger, I climbed this tree all the time.”
It isn’t what he expected Jackson to say, but Derek nods, listening and waiting for him to continue.
Jackson glances to the side, looking down at the ground. “I figured if I came up here and waited long enough, everything would be different when I got back to the ground. The fighting would have ended, my family would be healed, all the problems would have gone away.”
“Still think that works?”
Blue eyes return to meet Derek’s gaze; slowly Jackson nods. “Yeah. I do.”
Derek reaches for Jackson, or perhaps it is Jackson who reaches for Derek. They press as close together as they can, tasting, lingering. Kissing. It is all they can do while sitting in a tree, but for the moment, it is also all they need.