Fic: it started out as a favor, how did it end up like this?
Author: tryslora
Title: it started out as a favor, how did it end up like this?
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Stiles/Jackson/Lydia
Character/s: Stiles, Jackson, Lydia, the Sheriff, OC (Stiles’s grandmother)
Summary: All Stiles wants is a fake boyfriend so that his grandmother understands what kind of guy he likes. Well, and understands that he likes guys at all.
Warnings: None
Content Notes: fake relationship, triad, awkward family meal
Submission Type: Fic
Word Count: 2,347 words
Prompt: #210 - Favor
Author's Notes: Y’know, I don’t think Stiles’s grandmother is as clueless as he thinks. ANYWAY. Apologies for all typos-this is hot off the fingertips and absolutely unbetaed.
Stiles exhales roughly. This probably isn’t going to go well, but he’s out of alternatives and he needs to ask. “Jackson.” He waits until he has Jackson’s attention, one eyebrow arched as Jackson waits.
“Is there a point to this?” Jackson asks, when Stiles fails to find the words.
Stiles slides into the empty chair at his table. “Yeah. I need a favor.”
Both eyebrows up now. “What makes you think I’m going to give you a favor?” Jackson asks. He leans back in his chair, tilts it on two legs so that it creaks. It’s tempting to nudge it until Jackson tips, but then Stiles won’t get what he needs.
“Well, I’ve already asked Danny,” he admits. “But he’s out of town with his boyfriend. And I get along worse with Liam than with you, and Brett would kill me if I go near Mason.”
“Not giving you a hand job, no matter how desperate you are,” Jackson says dryly. He picks up his pen and deliberately turns away. “And if you turn your bi-curious eye toward my best friend again and try to fuck up his relationship, I will hurt you.”
“Fuck up his-fuck, no, Jackson, I just wanted him to-” Stiles licks his lips. “Look, I need a pretend boyfriend. For about an hour, maybe two, to go to dinner with my grandmother. On Valentine’s Day.”
Jackson snorts softly. “You do realize that Danny’s taken Ethan out of town to propose to him. In Hawaii. On Valentine’s Day,” Jackson tells him. “Why the hell would you think he’d be your pretend boyfriend?” He gestures with a pen. “For that matter, what makes you think I’d do it? I’m dating Lydia, remember?”
Stiles rolls his eyes, slumping down in his chair. He gives in to instinct and petulantly pokes at the leg of Jackson’s chair; the thump and growling glare are satisfying. “It’s kind of hard to forget that you’re dating my ex-girlfriend,” he mutters. “But given that she happens to be my best friend second only to Scott, I thought she might be willing to loan you to me. The two of you can have an intimate celebration after dinner. Hell, I’ll foot the bill if you want.”
Jackson’s head tilts as he leans forward. “This is your Grandma Stilinski,” he says, and Stiles nods. “The one who tried to marry you off to Lydia when you were only eighteen.”
“The one who is pretty much responsible for Lydia being my ex, yes, and thus available when you came back from London,” Stiles grumbles. “That Grandma, yes.”
“Why do you need a fake boyfriend?”
Of course Jackson asks that. “Well.” Stiles chews at his nail. “See, Grandma’s a bit… old-fashioned. And she doesn’t see past stereotypes. Neither does my father, for that matter. And the fact that I’ve never actually dated a guy means they both are refusing to listen to anything I say.”
“They don’t believe you’re bi.” Jackson nods slowly.
“And if I bring home a hot guy that I happen to be dating….” Stiles lets his reasoning trail off with a shrug. “At least if I fake date someone briefly, then break up, maybe Grandma will open up the options a bit when she tries setting me up. I mean, they’re all nice girls, but they’re just… she’s not finding the right nice girl. I thought I’d try to show her what I’m looking for in a guy.”
Both eyebrows fly up. “And I’m what you’re looking for in a guy?” Jackson asks.
Stiles flushes abruptly, the heat spreading across the back of his neck. “Look. I obviously have a thing for pretty people. That crush on Derek. Dating Lydia. The crush on Danny. We won’t even talk about the fact that I lusted after Allison while my bro was still dating her because that was just wrong of me. And I like strong personalities, which is also obvious from my varied history. You fit the bill.”
“Has she been trying to get you to go out with Lydia clones?” Jackson asks.
“No, they’ve all been nice,” Stiles mutters. “Too nice. They don’t have any bite.”
“You like it when your date bites?”
The flush intensifies as Stiles’s mouth works without any words. “Um. Sometimes.”
“I’ll do it.” Jackson pushes to his feet, tucks a tip under his empty coffee cup. “On two conditions. One: You go with whatever happens during dinner, and two: I choose how you pay me and Lydia back for this favor, and you do it. Whatever it is.”
Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose; this is going to get expensive, and it’s not like he loaded. On the other hand, he doesn’t think he can handle another year of his grandmother lamenting how alone he is and trying to send him on dates with people who don’t interest him. Two hours with Jackson should get the point across. He hopes.
“Whatever it is,” he agrees. “I’ll do it.”
#
This was a mistake. A horrible, terrible, awful mistake.
Jackson charms his grandmother. She gets him to call her Agnes, and he does so with a smile. He compliments her on her choice of bag, on how well put together she is. He asks after her health, and remembers things that she used to cook before dinners out became the norm. After a half hour, Stiles is positive that his grandmother officially likes Jackson better than she likes him.
“This one’s a keeper,” his grandmother says with a small, approving smile.
Jackson has Stiles’s hand trapped on the table, and he squeezes it gently, tugging until Stiles leans closer. Jackson brushes his lips against Stiles, murmurs, “Don’t worry, I have no intention of letting him go.”
It sounds a little like a threat, and Stiles’s heart is pounding, his skin flushed. Jackson’s thumb rubs along the side of his hand, and Stiles isn’t sure whether it’s meant to soothe or incite.
The Sheriff is strangely silent throughout dinner, sitting back, arms crossed as he watches them. “Didn’t Jackson have a restraining order against you once? Didn’t you kidnap him, Stiles?”
“We were in high school,” Stiles says. Under the table, Jackson’s knee finds his, pressing close. Stiles worms his hand free, reaches under the grab Jackson’s knee and finds himself trapped when Jackson’s hand covers his again.
“It was a long time ago,” Jackson says. “A lot has changed since I came back from London. I mean, we’re out of college now. Grown up.”
The Sheriff’s brow furrows. “Weren’t you dating Lydia?”
“Which time?” Stiles says dryly, then closes his mouth abruptly, because that’s getting a little too close to the truth.
“Your Lydia, Stiles?” his grandmother asks. “Why Jackson, do you two boys have the same taste in women?”
“We absolutely do,” Jackson says with a small smirk. “Beautiful, highly intelligent, and willing to take charge.”
“Oh my.” Agnes titters, her hand pressed to her mouth.
Stiles just barely resists putting his head down on the table, because oh God this might be the most embarrassing dinner ever.
Jackson finally lets go of his hand, and Stiles yanks it back, folds his hands together above the table. He has a moment’s peace before he realizes that Jackson’s hand is still under the table.
On his thigh.
And getting damned close to his crotch.
He kicks sideways, and Jackson squeezes his fingers tightly. And oh fuck this is not the reaction Stiles needs to have while he’s out for dinner with family.
“I had always wondered what happened to Lydia,” Agnes muses. “She seemed like a lovely, driven girl. You two would’ve made beautiful babies, with red hair and freckles.”
“You scared her away,” Stiles says carefully, trying not to snap. “She didn’t want to think about babies. We were eighteen.”
Agnes blinks innocently. “Well, I didn’t mean you had to have them right that moment.”
“That wasn’t the impression you gave.”
“Stiles.”
Stiles purses his lips together, takes a moment to try to think. Which is nearly impossible with Jackson’s hand almost in his crotch, and the disappointed look his grandmother is giving him.
“I only want what’s best for you,” Agnes says quietly. “She really was a lovely girl, wasn’t she?”
“When did you two break up, Jackson?” the Sheriff asks.
“We didn’t.” Jackson smirks slightly. “I’m still with Lydia.”
Agnes looks between Jackson and Stiles. “I thought you told me that bisexual didn’t mean you were promiscuous,” she says sharply.
“I’m not,” Stiles protests. “Jackson!”
“It’s not promiscuous, it’s polyamory.” Jackson’s tone is just as easy and charming as it was before. Both hands on the table now, so Stiles can breathe. Jackson leans forward slightly, politely intense. “Some people are just wired to love more than one person at a time. It doesn’t mean we’re any less devoted to each other, just that we’ve got more than two people in this relationship. And it seemed like such a perfect idea. After all, Lydia loved both of us, and I had a crush on Stiles when we were in high school. It seemed like the right way to go, for all of us.”
“If you give your grandmother a heart attack-” the Sheriff warns.
Agnes swats his chest. “Hush, Noah. I want to hear more about this polyamory. Stiles, does that mean you’re dating both Jackson and Lydia?”
“It does,” Jackson answers before Stiles can manage to get a word in edgewise. “Stiles is ours, and let me tell you,” Jackson grins at Stiles, drops his gaze briefly to his lap then back up. “We appreciate him, and we make sure he knows it.”
“So that means I don’t have to give up my hope for great grand-babies?” Agnes asks, and Stiles’s heart stops, he swears it just stops.
“Hello, darling. Dearest.” Lydia is somehow there, smelling of strawberries and vanillas as she leans in to kiss Jackson, then Stiles. She stands between them, looks at the lack of chairs, and crosses her arms. “Either one of you is giving me a chair, or a lap.”
Stiles inches his chair back from the table, and Lydia drops into his lap, her arm around his shoulders.
“Hello, Agnes, it’s good to see you again.” Lydia leans across the table to squeeze Agnes’s hand, then blows a kiss. “But really, are we talking about babies again? You should know that I’m not having them until I’m thirty. At least. Quite possibly longer. In fact, I threatened Jackson that I will find a way to make him carry the babies, since he’s the one of us best suited to be a stay-at-home parent.”
“I’m not planning on dying until I’m well over a hundred, dearie, so you’ve got plenty of time,” Agnes says.
“Stiles, maybe we should talk,” the Sheriff says, voice low, and Stiles knows that he’s seeing through the lie. Straight through it, to the heart of the matter. “I can see what you’re doing here-”
“Noah, just because your son managed to lock down these two beauties is no reason to think he’s lying,” Agnes chastises. “Just look at them. Can’t you see the love?”
“Not really,” the Sheriff says, and Stiles hides his head against Lydia’s shoulder.
She turns to look at Stiles, cradles his face in her hands and presses her lips against his, mouthing the words you said anything.
Oh. That.
He did make a promise.
“Look at that,” Agnes murmurs. “Young love, and here it is, Valentine’s Day. Why don’t you and I enjoy our dinner and let them go off and enjoy theirs. I’m certain they must have plans.”
“We definitely have plans.” Jackson’s on his feet, Agnes’s hand in his as he bends over to brush his lips against the back. “It was an absolute pleasure meeting you. I’m sure we’ll see you again.”
Agnes stands more slowly, holding out her arms until first Jackson, then Lydia embrace her. When she pulls Stiles in, she holds on hard, then sets him back from her, her hands on his shoulders. “I see the way they look at you,” Agnes says quietly. “Don’t let them go. Live. Love. Life is too short to let it pass you by, Mieczysław.”
“I promise, I am absolutely theirs in this moment,” Stiles promises. “We’ll see how long they want to keep me.”
She kisses his cheeks then lets him go.
As soon as they make it outside, Stiles rounds on Jackson, pushing him back against the outside wall of the restaurant. “What the hell was that? Were you trying to give my grandmother a heart attack?”
“She likes me,” Lydia points out. “She seemed genuinely happy for you.”
Jackson gets his hands around Stiles’s, tugs them away from his chest and pulls Stiles closer. “In fact, if we break up, she’s going to be worried about you.” One hand palms the back of Stiles’s head, holding him carefully as Jackson kisses him. “So maybe we shouldn’t break up.”
“But you. Lydia.” Stiles can’t find words. They’re just gone. Fled.
A tap on his shoulder and he turns. Lydia’s kiss is anything but fleeting, her tongue pressing for entrance as she controls the encounter. “Him. Me. You,” she says. “The word is polyamory, and this is specifically called a triad. A stable one, equal in all ways. Most of the time. As long as you both realize that in the end, I’m in charge.”
“Pretty sure we’ve always known that, Lydia,” Jackson says dryly.
“Good.” Lydia hooks a finger in Stiles’s shirt. “Come on then. You promised Jackson that you’d pay us back any way we wanted, right? You’re coming back to ours so we can get started. This may take all night. Or longer.”
“I’m thinking longer,” Jackson muses.
Stiles isn’t sure how he got from a favor of fake dating to this, but he’s not going to question it. He’ll just follow along, figure it out as they go. After all, sandwiched between Jackson and Lydia is not at all a bad place to be.
Title: it started out as a favor, how did it end up like this?
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Stiles/Jackson/Lydia
Character/s: Stiles, Jackson, Lydia, the Sheriff, OC (Stiles’s grandmother)
Summary: All Stiles wants is a fake boyfriend so that his grandmother understands what kind of guy he likes. Well, and understands that he likes guys at all.
Warnings: None
Content Notes: fake relationship, triad, awkward family meal
Submission Type: Fic
Word Count: 2,347 words
Prompt: #210 - Favor
Author's Notes: Y’know, I don’t think Stiles’s grandmother is as clueless as he thinks. ANYWAY. Apologies for all typos-this is hot off the fingertips and absolutely unbetaed.
Stiles exhales roughly. This probably isn’t going to go well, but he’s out of alternatives and he needs to ask. “Jackson.” He waits until he has Jackson’s attention, one eyebrow arched as Jackson waits.
“Is there a point to this?” Jackson asks, when Stiles fails to find the words.
Stiles slides into the empty chair at his table. “Yeah. I need a favor.”
Both eyebrows up now. “What makes you think I’m going to give you a favor?” Jackson asks. He leans back in his chair, tilts it on two legs so that it creaks. It’s tempting to nudge it until Jackson tips, but then Stiles won’t get what he needs.
“Well, I’ve already asked Danny,” he admits. “But he’s out of town with his boyfriend. And I get along worse with Liam than with you, and Brett would kill me if I go near Mason.”
“Not giving you a hand job, no matter how desperate you are,” Jackson says dryly. He picks up his pen and deliberately turns away. “And if you turn your bi-curious eye toward my best friend again and try to fuck up his relationship, I will hurt you.”
“Fuck up his-fuck, no, Jackson, I just wanted him to-” Stiles licks his lips. “Look, I need a pretend boyfriend. For about an hour, maybe two, to go to dinner with my grandmother. On Valentine’s Day.”
Jackson snorts softly. “You do realize that Danny’s taken Ethan out of town to propose to him. In Hawaii. On Valentine’s Day,” Jackson tells him. “Why the hell would you think he’d be your pretend boyfriend?” He gestures with a pen. “For that matter, what makes you think I’d do it? I’m dating Lydia, remember?”
Stiles rolls his eyes, slumping down in his chair. He gives in to instinct and petulantly pokes at the leg of Jackson’s chair; the thump and growling glare are satisfying. “It’s kind of hard to forget that you’re dating my ex-girlfriend,” he mutters. “But given that she happens to be my best friend second only to Scott, I thought she might be willing to loan you to me. The two of you can have an intimate celebration after dinner. Hell, I’ll foot the bill if you want.”
Jackson’s head tilts as he leans forward. “This is your Grandma Stilinski,” he says, and Stiles nods. “The one who tried to marry you off to Lydia when you were only eighteen.”
“The one who is pretty much responsible for Lydia being my ex, yes, and thus available when you came back from London,” Stiles grumbles. “That Grandma, yes.”
“Why do you need a fake boyfriend?”
Of course Jackson asks that. “Well.” Stiles chews at his nail. “See, Grandma’s a bit… old-fashioned. And she doesn’t see past stereotypes. Neither does my father, for that matter. And the fact that I’ve never actually dated a guy means they both are refusing to listen to anything I say.”
“They don’t believe you’re bi.” Jackson nods slowly.
“And if I bring home a hot guy that I happen to be dating….” Stiles lets his reasoning trail off with a shrug. “At least if I fake date someone briefly, then break up, maybe Grandma will open up the options a bit when she tries setting me up. I mean, they’re all nice girls, but they’re just… she’s not finding the right nice girl. I thought I’d try to show her what I’m looking for in a guy.”
Both eyebrows fly up. “And I’m what you’re looking for in a guy?” Jackson asks.
Stiles flushes abruptly, the heat spreading across the back of his neck. “Look. I obviously have a thing for pretty people. That crush on Derek. Dating Lydia. The crush on Danny. We won’t even talk about the fact that I lusted after Allison while my bro was still dating her because that was just wrong of me. And I like strong personalities, which is also obvious from my varied history. You fit the bill.”
“Has she been trying to get you to go out with Lydia clones?” Jackson asks.
“No, they’ve all been nice,” Stiles mutters. “Too nice. They don’t have any bite.”
“You like it when your date bites?”
The flush intensifies as Stiles’s mouth works without any words. “Um. Sometimes.”
“I’ll do it.” Jackson pushes to his feet, tucks a tip under his empty coffee cup. “On two conditions. One: You go with whatever happens during dinner, and two: I choose how you pay me and Lydia back for this favor, and you do it. Whatever it is.”
Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose; this is going to get expensive, and it’s not like he loaded. On the other hand, he doesn’t think he can handle another year of his grandmother lamenting how alone he is and trying to send him on dates with people who don’t interest him. Two hours with Jackson should get the point across. He hopes.
“Whatever it is,” he agrees. “I’ll do it.”
#
This was a mistake. A horrible, terrible, awful mistake.
Jackson charms his grandmother. She gets him to call her Agnes, and he does so with a smile. He compliments her on her choice of bag, on how well put together she is. He asks after her health, and remembers things that she used to cook before dinners out became the norm. After a half hour, Stiles is positive that his grandmother officially likes Jackson better than she likes him.
“This one’s a keeper,” his grandmother says with a small, approving smile.
Jackson has Stiles’s hand trapped on the table, and he squeezes it gently, tugging until Stiles leans closer. Jackson brushes his lips against Stiles, murmurs, “Don’t worry, I have no intention of letting him go.”
It sounds a little like a threat, and Stiles’s heart is pounding, his skin flushed. Jackson’s thumb rubs along the side of his hand, and Stiles isn’t sure whether it’s meant to soothe or incite.
The Sheriff is strangely silent throughout dinner, sitting back, arms crossed as he watches them. “Didn’t Jackson have a restraining order against you once? Didn’t you kidnap him, Stiles?”
“We were in high school,” Stiles says. Under the table, Jackson’s knee finds his, pressing close. Stiles worms his hand free, reaches under the grab Jackson’s knee and finds himself trapped when Jackson’s hand covers his again.
“It was a long time ago,” Jackson says. “A lot has changed since I came back from London. I mean, we’re out of college now. Grown up.”
The Sheriff’s brow furrows. “Weren’t you dating Lydia?”
“Which time?” Stiles says dryly, then closes his mouth abruptly, because that’s getting a little too close to the truth.
“Your Lydia, Stiles?” his grandmother asks. “Why Jackson, do you two boys have the same taste in women?”
“We absolutely do,” Jackson says with a small smirk. “Beautiful, highly intelligent, and willing to take charge.”
“Oh my.” Agnes titters, her hand pressed to her mouth.
Stiles just barely resists putting his head down on the table, because oh God this might be the most embarrassing dinner ever.
Jackson finally lets go of his hand, and Stiles yanks it back, folds his hands together above the table. He has a moment’s peace before he realizes that Jackson’s hand is still under the table.
On his thigh.
And getting damned close to his crotch.
He kicks sideways, and Jackson squeezes his fingers tightly. And oh fuck this is not the reaction Stiles needs to have while he’s out for dinner with family.
“I had always wondered what happened to Lydia,” Agnes muses. “She seemed like a lovely, driven girl. You two would’ve made beautiful babies, with red hair and freckles.”
“You scared her away,” Stiles says carefully, trying not to snap. “She didn’t want to think about babies. We were eighteen.”
Agnes blinks innocently. “Well, I didn’t mean you had to have them right that moment.”
“That wasn’t the impression you gave.”
“Stiles.”
Stiles purses his lips together, takes a moment to try to think. Which is nearly impossible with Jackson’s hand almost in his crotch, and the disappointed look his grandmother is giving him.
“I only want what’s best for you,” Agnes says quietly. “She really was a lovely girl, wasn’t she?”
“When did you two break up, Jackson?” the Sheriff asks.
“We didn’t.” Jackson smirks slightly. “I’m still with Lydia.”
Agnes looks between Jackson and Stiles. “I thought you told me that bisexual didn’t mean you were promiscuous,” she says sharply.
“I’m not,” Stiles protests. “Jackson!”
“It’s not promiscuous, it’s polyamory.” Jackson’s tone is just as easy and charming as it was before. Both hands on the table now, so Stiles can breathe. Jackson leans forward slightly, politely intense. “Some people are just wired to love more than one person at a time. It doesn’t mean we’re any less devoted to each other, just that we’ve got more than two people in this relationship. And it seemed like such a perfect idea. After all, Lydia loved both of us, and I had a crush on Stiles when we were in high school. It seemed like the right way to go, for all of us.”
“If you give your grandmother a heart attack-” the Sheriff warns.
Agnes swats his chest. “Hush, Noah. I want to hear more about this polyamory. Stiles, does that mean you’re dating both Jackson and Lydia?”
“It does,” Jackson answers before Stiles can manage to get a word in edgewise. “Stiles is ours, and let me tell you,” Jackson grins at Stiles, drops his gaze briefly to his lap then back up. “We appreciate him, and we make sure he knows it.”
“So that means I don’t have to give up my hope for great grand-babies?” Agnes asks, and Stiles’s heart stops, he swears it just stops.
“Hello, darling. Dearest.” Lydia is somehow there, smelling of strawberries and vanillas as she leans in to kiss Jackson, then Stiles. She stands between them, looks at the lack of chairs, and crosses her arms. “Either one of you is giving me a chair, or a lap.”
Stiles inches his chair back from the table, and Lydia drops into his lap, her arm around his shoulders.
“Hello, Agnes, it’s good to see you again.” Lydia leans across the table to squeeze Agnes’s hand, then blows a kiss. “But really, are we talking about babies again? You should know that I’m not having them until I’m thirty. At least. Quite possibly longer. In fact, I threatened Jackson that I will find a way to make him carry the babies, since he’s the one of us best suited to be a stay-at-home parent.”
“I’m not planning on dying until I’m well over a hundred, dearie, so you’ve got plenty of time,” Agnes says.
“Stiles, maybe we should talk,” the Sheriff says, voice low, and Stiles knows that he’s seeing through the lie. Straight through it, to the heart of the matter. “I can see what you’re doing here-”
“Noah, just because your son managed to lock down these two beauties is no reason to think he’s lying,” Agnes chastises. “Just look at them. Can’t you see the love?”
“Not really,” the Sheriff says, and Stiles hides his head against Lydia’s shoulder.
She turns to look at Stiles, cradles his face in her hands and presses her lips against his, mouthing the words you said anything.
Oh. That.
He did make a promise.
“Look at that,” Agnes murmurs. “Young love, and here it is, Valentine’s Day. Why don’t you and I enjoy our dinner and let them go off and enjoy theirs. I’m certain they must have plans.”
“We definitely have plans.” Jackson’s on his feet, Agnes’s hand in his as he bends over to brush his lips against the back. “It was an absolute pleasure meeting you. I’m sure we’ll see you again.”
Agnes stands more slowly, holding out her arms until first Jackson, then Lydia embrace her. When she pulls Stiles in, she holds on hard, then sets him back from her, her hands on his shoulders. “I see the way they look at you,” Agnes says quietly. “Don’t let them go. Live. Love. Life is too short to let it pass you by, Mieczysław.”
“I promise, I am absolutely theirs in this moment,” Stiles promises. “We’ll see how long they want to keep me.”
She kisses his cheeks then lets him go.
As soon as they make it outside, Stiles rounds on Jackson, pushing him back against the outside wall of the restaurant. “What the hell was that? Were you trying to give my grandmother a heart attack?”
“She likes me,” Lydia points out. “She seemed genuinely happy for you.”
Jackson gets his hands around Stiles’s, tugs them away from his chest and pulls Stiles closer. “In fact, if we break up, she’s going to be worried about you.” One hand palms the back of Stiles’s head, holding him carefully as Jackson kisses him. “So maybe we shouldn’t break up.”
“But you. Lydia.” Stiles can’t find words. They’re just gone. Fled.
A tap on his shoulder and he turns. Lydia’s kiss is anything but fleeting, her tongue pressing for entrance as she controls the encounter. “Him. Me. You,” she says. “The word is polyamory, and this is specifically called a triad. A stable one, equal in all ways. Most of the time. As long as you both realize that in the end, I’m in charge.”
“Pretty sure we’ve always known that, Lydia,” Jackson says dryly.
“Good.” Lydia hooks a finger in Stiles’s shirt. “Come on then. You promised Jackson that you’d pay us back any way we wanted, right? You’re coming back to ours so we can get started. This may take all night. Or longer.”
“I’m thinking longer,” Jackson muses.
Stiles isn’t sure how he got from a favor of fake dating to this, but he’s not going to question it. He’ll just follow along, figure it out as they go. After all, sandwiched between Jackson and Lydia is not at all a bad place to be.