A/N: i saw a tumblr post with a hand-drawn picture of the word "TEAM" in bubble letters where the negative space in the A was filled in to make a lower case i, with an arrow pointing to it that said "there it is, the 'i' in team, hidden in the a-hole." the post was captioned "Stiles presenting Jackson with a graphic."

so of COURSE i had to fic it. and apparently i've just been in a very sub!Jackson mood lately because, really, that boy just needs a firm Dom to keep him under control and take good care of him. ;)

Jackson looked down at the sheet of paper that had suddenly appeared in his lap, then over to the person who had put it there.

"Really, Stilinski?" he asked flatly. "Really?"

Stiles grinned and laced his fingers behind his head, leaning all the way back in his seat so that his t-shirt rode halfway up his stomach, dark treasure trail on display. If the chair weren't literally built into the desk, he would've fallen over backwards by now. It would serve him right.

"What?" Stiles said, oblivious tone completely at odds with how fucking smug he looked. "I thought you'd appreciate it. You love self-portraits."

McCall in the row behind snorted into his notebook, and Erica in the row ahead didn't bother to muffle hers.

"Anyone with a face as flawless as mine would," Jackson maintained. "And there's definitely an 'I' in this team because 'I' am the only one who can actually score. I nearly threw my back out last game carrying you losers to the win."

"Oh, I thought it was from trying to support the overblown ego," Stiles said. "But I suppose a head so full of hot air and nothing else can't be all that heavy, can it?"

The teacher came down their row, shooting them all disapproving looks, but there were only two minutes left before the bell and her lecture was already finished so she had no real reason to shush them.

Stiles winked at her just as she walked past, then put on his most innocent face when she whipped back around. McCall was practically smothering himself to keep from laughing by the time she gave up trying to glare Stiles into confessing all his sins and returned to her desk.

Jackson rolled his eyes; as if Stiles batting his eyelashes was at all convincing. Please. He crumpled up the obnoxious graphic and threw it at Stiles. It hit him in the chest and he fumbled a bit but ultimately caught it.

"Look at that," Jackson said, feigning a tone of surprise. "You are actually capable of catching things sometimes! If only you made use of such dubious skills on the field."

"You know, I would," Stiles said thoughtfully, finally abandoning his languid sprawl. He leaned forward into the aisle instead, elbows on his knees, and brought the paper ball up to tap against the pink swell of his bottom lip, "but admittedly, most of my talents lay elsewhere."

"You say that like you have any talents," Jackson pointed out. "Hope you're not including drawing on that imaginary list." He leaned into the aisle too, meeting Stiles halfway so that he could flick the ball out of Stiles' hand (and directly back into McCall's face). "Bit of advice there: Keep your day job."

He snatched up his backpack right as the bell rang. He swung it up on his shoulder and walked backwards through the desks so he could call back, "Try not to suck as much as usual during practice today. I don't know how much more of dragging you losers around my back can take."

Jackson's back hit the wall of the locker room showers, still beaded with steam even though everyone had finished their showers and cleared out by now. The tiles were cool and slick against the bare skin along his shoulder blades, but the body against his front was hot.

"Can you take that?"

Jackson bit back a whimper, trying to keep himself from arching forward. He couldn't help but tilt his head to the side though, offering up his neck until he felt the familiar sting of blunt teeth. He hissed.

"That's right, baby. I know just what you like. I know exactly how much you can take, don't I?"

Stiles' voice was barely more than a low growl, rumbling against the soft spot right behind his ear. He could feel the vibration of Stiles' chest against his, even through Stiles' t-shirt and flannel. The scrape of his jeans was a torture against Jackson's bare cock where Stiles had shoved his knee forward, spreading his legs apart.

As Stiles rolled his hips forward, just enough to drag the rough material over his cockhead, Jackson whined. He pulled fruitlessly at the grip Stiles had on his wrists, pinning them above his head with one hand, but there was no give and he went slack again.

Stiles' other hand found his nipple, pulling. Jackson jerked.

"When I ask you a question," Stiles said, lips brushing against his throat, "I expect you to answer it. You know that, sweetheart."

Jackson nodded frantically because he did know that, he did. "Yes, I'm sorry. Yes, I'll—"

Another sharp pull.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir!" Jackson gasped

Stiles' lips found his neck again, moving softly over his pulse point. Gentle, wet suction made Jackson's entire body tingle, the zing of it racing through every inch of him from that one point of contact.

"There we go," Stiles purred. "That's better. See how easy that was? I know you can be a good boy when you want to be. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, sir," Jackson said.

"Mmhm, that's right. You may be the big man out there on the field," Stiles said, low and smooth in his ear. "But in here, I give the orders, and you follow them. You can do what you're told for me, can't you baby?"

"Yes, sir, yes," Jackson told him eagerly. "I can be good. Please let me be good for you."

Stiles shushed him and Jackson pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth, holding it there to keep any other words from escaping. He could be good. He stayed quiet and still as Stiles' lips traveled up his neck, across the line of his jaw, to his lips. The kiss Stiles gave him was simple, almost chaste, a dizzying counterpoint to the press of his thigh between Jackson's legs.

"So pretty like this," Stiles murmured. His free hand, the one not deliciously tight around Jackson's wrists, found his neck. It came to rest there, wide palm burning hot against the delicate skin, a gentle but insistent pressure that had Jackson shuddering.

"If only my art skills were up to the task, I'd paint you a portrait of you right now. All cracked open and desperate for me. Such a sweet, needy thing you are." Stiles nipped at his lip, just a light sting. "Alas, I've been reliably informed that pursuing that particular career path would be unwise."

A thrill of apprehension ran down Jackson's spine, but Stiles didn't sound upset with him. His lips, where they pressed into his cheek, were quirked up into a grin. Still, Jackson arched into him, rubbing against the hot bulge in Stiles' jeans with his thigh in apology for his sass earlier.

The hand around his wrists loosened and fell away. But Stiles hadn't told him he could move, so Jackson kept his arms where they were. Stiles' hand traced down one of them, the light touch tickling against the inside of his elbow and across his armpit, then across the ridges of his ribs. It finally came to rest on his hip, pushing him back against the wall.

"Don't worry, baby," he chuckled. "You're not in trouble this time. You're lucky I like your smart mouth." He gifted Jackson with another kiss, deeper this time. Then: "If only Scott knew that my true talents lay right here. Isn't that right, baby?"

"Yes, sir," Jackson said obediently, aching for another kiss, the sting of teeth, friction against his cock, the touch of Stiles' bare skin. His arms were still raised. "Please, sir."

Stiles' thumb rubbed over his throat, following the motion of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. "Please what, sweetheart? Tell me what you want."

"I want to make you come," Jackson said, breathless with how much he wanted it.

Stiles made a tutting noise. "No, baby boy, not this time," he said, then kept talking over Jackson's plaintive whine. "I know, I know, baby. But you weren't very nice in class earlier."

Jackson knew he shouldn't argue. He should accept Stiles' judgment, that's what a good boy would do, but he wanted...

"Sir—"

Stiles shushed him, the hand on Jackson's throat tightening just a bit as a warning.

"Shh, baby boy, it's okay," he said. "You're being so good for me now, I won't leave you like this. So today I'm going to get you off, and tomorrow, if you're really good, I'll let you suck my cock. How does that sound?"

Jackson nodded, already planning out how he could earn the time on his knees tomorrow. He'd leave the gel out of his hair in the morning, Stiles always loved when he did that.

One more lingering kiss. "Good boy," Stiles said against his lips. Jackson whimpered into his mouth. "Now turn around me, sweetheart. Show me that pretty little ass of yours."

There wasn't much room to turn around in; Stiles stayed in close, making sure that Jackson had to drag over every inch of him to face the wall. The tiles were cold against his exposed front, used to the hot press of Stiles' chest against it, but he pressed into the sensation anyway and shifted his hips back.

Stiles' approving hum reverberated through his chest to Jackson's back as he pulled them flush together, arms snaking around his chest. The sleeves of his flannel were rolled up, putting his corded forearms on display, and Jackson let his forehead thud onto the tiles.

"So good for me," Stiles whispered into his ear. Jackson wasn't sure if the wave of pleasure that rocked through him came from Stiles finally wrapping firm, dry fingers around his cock, or from those words alone. "So perfect. Even when you get smart with me, baby, you're still my perfect boy."

Jackson shook, clutching at Stiles' other arm tight around his waist. Stiles' hips moved behind him, grinding against his ass as he worked him over slowly, deliberately. When precum wasn't enough, Stiles brought his hand up to Jackson's mouth and he licked it obediently, relishing in the praise Stiles kissed into the nape of his neck.

Stiles was all around him, blanketing him, closing him in, shielding him. In this little space, it was hot and quiet and safe, and could barely breathe with it. Nothing existed but Stiles' hand, pushing him higher and higher, and Stiles' lips, soothing and sweet, and the insisted press against his ass that was the proof that Stiles wanted him too.

"That's it, baby, go on," Stiles said, voice just the tiniest bit strained now and breath hot against the shell of Jackson's ear. The motion of his hand sped up, grip tight, twisting at the head just the way he knew Jackson liked. "I know you wanna come for me. You've been so good, you deserve it. Go on, Jackson. Come for me."

Jackson's shout echoed around the empty locker room, bouncing off the tiles and the lockers until it came back to him, muffled by the pounding of his pulse in his ears as pleasure rocked through him. His knees gave out underneath him, but he didn't fall. Stiles would never let him fall. Stiles was holding him close, stroking him through it, murmuring praise in his ear until Jackson thought he might have flown apart if Stiles wasn't there to hold him together.

He came to his senses slowly, rising up through the fog of bliss and white noise in his head. Stiles had lost his button-up, and it took Jackson a few seconds to realize that it was on him now, the warm and soft against his skin and the smell of Stiles' aftershave strong and comforting.

Stiles was smiling at him, brown eyes warm and fond. He rubbed his hands briskly up and down Jackson's arms.

"You okay there, hun?" he asked. "Are you cold? How are you feeling?"

Jackson just hummed at first, too tired for rational thought. But Stiles had asked him a question. He was supposed to answer those. He took stock of himself. "Okay," he said. "Tired."

"You should be, after that," Stiles said, chuckling. "Come on. Let's get you dressed. Then I'll show you one of my other talents."

"What's that?" Jackson asked vaguely, letting Stiles lead him back to the locker room proper and gently manhandle him into soft sweatpants. Any time Stiles' face came within three inches of his own, he got a kiss. It made him smile.

"Cuddling," Stiles said brightly. "I could be a professional cuddler, no problem. I am going to take you home and cuddle the fuck out of you. Sound good?"

Jackson nodded, already longing for his bed and Stiles' arms around him as he fell asleep. Another kiss, lingering as Stiles pulled him in close against his body. Jackson didn't know if Stiles had taken care of himself while he was flying or if he was just not interested in finishing today, but there was no urgency in the way Stiles held him, just tenderness.

Stiles took him by the hand to lead him out, walking backwards down the empty school hallway to pull him along in the direction of the parking lot. He pulled a crumpled ball of paper from his pocket and shook it open. It was the stupid drawing he'd given Jackson in class.

"You know I made this just for you out of the kindness of my heart," he said, all wide eyes and batting eyelashes like he'd been with the teacher earlier, but with a hint of a smile on his lips this time that made Jackson feel warm all over. It was a very different kind of teasing than they indulged in when other people could see.

"Kindness of your heart, right," he said through a half-smile of his own.

"Damn right," Stiles said solemnly. "You should have it framed and hung up on your bedroom wall to remind you of my special brand of expressing affection."

"As if I need reminding of that."

Stiles laughed and reeled him in for a kiss. Then he nuzzled into Jackson's neck, coaxing a hum of contentment from him.

"Or," he said, "you can keep it with you."

"And why would I do that?" Jackson asked, fingers finding their way into the belt loops of Stiles' jeans, making sure he didn't move away again. It was too delicious to have him this close.

The light nip of Stiles' teeth on his earlobe caught him off guard. Tired as he was, the brush of breath against the rim of his ear still made him shiver.

"To remind you," Stiles said, "that tomorrow, I will be in your a-hole."

Jackson's groan echoed through the halls, but Stiles' laughter was louder, and Jackson was feeling too warm and fuzzy and content to even be mad about it.