***DISCLAIMER*** This fic contains derogatory terms that have been used towards both men and women. I do not condone the use of them, though I felt they were appropriate with the language and tone of the story. They are not copious, but they are present. ***DISCLAIMER***

A/N: I really don't even know what this is. :P All I can say is that I sat down last night to write paper for my television studies class and this is what popped out instead. It's more or less a direct response to the feedback I got for Nightcall. It's longer, a little deeper, and I decided to try my hand at Jackson as more than just a minor character. ^^

Title stolen from Bedroom Hymns by Florence + The Machine.

There's a certain amount of leeway that comes with being genuinely attractive. In general, you're allowed to demand more, do less, and want after whatever you'd like. Jackson has known this since the seventh grade- finding out that a charming smile could bypass any rowdy behavior, a feigned interest could warrant any gift he wished, and the new intricacies of flirtation granted him access to anywhere, anytime. Growing older and entering into the hierarchies of high school only worked to reinforce these ideas.

Having become captain of the lacrosse team for the social standing as well as to keep up his physicality, it had been all too easy to rise to the top in the three short years leading up to his senior year, and now that he was top dog, it was time to harvest all the fruits of his labor. As the years went by and Jackson learned the full range of what this influence could attain, he found that there was only one thing he really wanted- one thing he craved above all else.

Intimacy.

The power, the attention, the sway he held over all the students in Beacon Hills High, all served but one purpose- to fill that void. Jackson didn't care about his designer clothes, his expensive car, or the hordes of people that wanted to be his friend. Here and now he had one desperate need and the way he best knew how to fill it was quite simple. Sex.

He'd lost his virginity at fifteen- accidentally seducing his French tutor and just going with the flow when she'd started to touch him. Saying he enjoyed it would be implying there was more to it than a way to subdue the boredom he constantly felt on the periphery of his life, but he had seen the worth of such an act, had seen the way that he could actually make it worth the time and effort, and from there on he unashamedly became something of a slut.

For the next three years he burned through the girls and women around him like wildfire, never staying long, never giving back, just consuming as he went. He'd felt guilt at first. Afterwards he'd lie awake, smelling sour, feeling dirty, wondering what the hell he was doing, but it didn't take long for him to figure out that the harder he went at it, the brighter he burned, the more he took, the less those feelings came to bear. If he fucked long enough, hard enough, good enough, he'd only have the space in his mind to feel sated and content- for the handful of minutes it took to fall asleep.

Lately he's been growing bored with the usual fare though, unamused by the simplicity of the game. He'd been spending weeks trying to figure out what exactly to do about it, how he'd cope if even this reprieve began to slip away too, when he came up with the solution, or when the idea had been planted for him. He'd been sitting in the cafeteria, ignoring Lydia's heated looks from across the table and doing his best to pretend he was listening to Danny's riveting story about the never-ending angst fest between Derek Hale, captain of the baseball team (and someone he's not ashamed to admit he had once considered a threat, before he found out how anti-social and outright damaged the other boy was) and the lovesick sophomore, Stilinski that followed him around like a lost puppy.

Usually Jackson made a point of treating Danny slightly better than everyone else around him, knowing he was one of the few genuinely good people out there, but being confronted with the failings of a system he had committed quite religiously to, had taken up the lion's share of his brain and he'd slowly started to tune the other boy out. "I don't understand why they don't just admit it to themselves and get the melodrama over with already. The whole school knows they're madly in love or whatever. I swear Derek's just holding back because he thinks his father would have disapproved. Lord forbid an alpha male have a fag for a son." Jackson's attention is grabbed the second the word is spat out, eyes widening, aware that this conversation just became very serious. "Don't look at me like that. You know that's how they think of it."

Jackson nods his head slowly, buying a little time to think of something to say, and trying desperately to keep himself from going to that selfish place, though he can feel his attention waning already. "Hale just needs to grow a pair and start being his own person. His folks are dead- approval or not, it's all in his head." He chooses to ignore the irony of what he's just said because, truth is, he only barely got that sentence out. The second Danny brought it up, a light went off in his head and immediately he began plotting out a way to get out of this rut he was in- seeing immediately what he could take from this and find for himself an advantage.

Jackson knows he's selfish, knows that really, he's not much of a good person, but at this age, he's not all that worried about trying to change it, about trying to change himself. People like him as he is. A lot of people like him here and now. He's narcissistic. He's an asshole. He's popular. Until he stops thinking of ways to make it benefit him, he's working with what he's got.

And now? Now he knows exactly what he needs, what's going to make this continue to work for him. The nature of the game's still the same, he just has to readjust his strategy. He's seen all there is to see for the females of this town. He's had smart girls and successful girls. He's had rich and poor and dirty and sweet. He's had twigs and curves, dark and light, even a cougar or two. He's grown bored of it all.

The solution? Up the ante.

There's better stakes with the opposite gender, and who knows? Maybe there's even better sex too. The odds of rejection, though he figures they're still pretty slim, now have some weight. Guessing wrong on another boy's willingness to experiment could lead to a bid for usurping his position, the ruination and reversal of his status, even a beat down if severe enough. Honestly- it thrills him.

Jackson might be shallow, but that doesn't mean that he's not still clever and with his new plan in place, he knows that he has to start small. He's never been with another guy before, never thought about them that way, but the first thing he does when he gets home is lock himself away in his room, turn down all his blinds, and set up his laptop. Fetching a pair of headphones, he dives straight into an endless black hole of porn.

He spends hours going through the depth and breadth of it- examining pictures and watching videos of every fetish that's made it big. He finds his dick twitching to attention at light bondage and sub/dom dynamics and so he follows the vein of it, coming across and reveling in, the hundred and one different ways to explore a sexual relationship with undertones of humiliation and power plays. Watersports- intriguing, scat- way too far, snowballing and spanking- makes him wet, puppy play- too much hassle.

Towards the end of the night, he's certain he's attracted to other men, and stripping down to his birthday suit, he climbs onto his bed and takes a few minutes to release all the pent up energy, masturbating for the first time in years, his index finger buried to the first knuckle in his entrance. He comes down all too quickly, knowing that solo doesn't cut it for him anymore, but now more familiar with the sensation of penetration, something he figures he'll need to be, in order to be successful. And after he cleans himself up, he also knows the flavor and consistency of semen.

He decides to pick out an easy target first- someone he knows he can have, someone who'll lay back and let him get his ground before moving on. It's not a hard pick. He knows, off hand, all the boys who look at him a little too long in the locker room and showers, knows the boys who get handsy when they're drunk, knows the boys that are all too eager to please. He's not surprised at all to find it's somebody off the team- the adrenaline rush, competition, and violence of sports having always had an undercurrent of homo-eroticism for him, it's not easy to imagine it being so for someone else.

His name is Scott McCall and he only got promoted to first line a few weeks ago- Greenburg having pulled out after his less-than-secret affair with the coach went south. He's dopey, simple, and most of the time, not all there. Jackson knows he's a bit of a stoner, having seen him round back of the school with a joint on more than one occasion, but now that he's made varsity, he's going to have to submit to random drug tests. Jackson knows an in when he sees one, knows he can turn the threat of blackmail into a strain of loyalty. He just has to offer to keep the secret.

He orchestrates it easily- making McCall bring in the equipment all on his own, while he shouts obscenities and undoes half the work as he goes along- feigning some light hazing for the rest of the team. They all head inside, get showered and changed, and leave by the time McCall's got it all hauled in and put away. Jackson dallies at his own locker, waiting impatiently as the younger boy takes his time, wrapping a towel around his waist, but keeping his hair and skin dripping. He watches Scott out of the corner of his eye as he starts to strip out of the practice gear, waiting until he's down to his jockstrap and cup, before sauntering over. "Hey, Eleven!"

McCall whips his head around, clearly surprised at being addressed, looking over his shoulder before realizing that they're alone. He stands straight, hands fidgeting at his sides, obviously wanting to try and cover himself up better, but instead staring straight ahead, swallowing thickly. "Oh, hey. I-uh… didn't see you there." Jackson smirks, knowing Scott's been sneaking glances, and he makes it clear, scoffing loudly as he draws up just inches short of the other boy.

He gives Scott a slow once over, appreciating the tanned skin, clear muscle definition, and smooth lines. He doesn't bother being subtle about it- even bites his bottom lip when his gaze flicks back up- and leans back against the cool metal, running a hand through his hair and stretching his arms, aware of how Scott notices his towel slipping lower. "Look- I heard, around here, you're the one to talk to… about trying to—relax." Jackson pantomimes lighting up, quirking his eyebrows when Scott takes a second to get it.

"Oh! Riiight." Realization blooms slow over his face and he gives a lopsided smile before turning to rummage through his back pack. Jackson finds himself almost feeling bad about this one, unable to keep himself from thinking of the other boy as an adorable, if somewhat simple minded, puppy. No one feels good about taking advantage of puppy. Still- he extinguishes the sympathy quickly enough- contemplating the unbelievably round globes of Scott's ass- the soft peach fuzz showing in profile, the malleable flesh jiggling minutely with each movement. He finds himself wanting to just lean down and sink his teeth into them, hard enough to leave a bruise. "Here we are!" Scott withdraws from the locker, a thin spliff between his fingers, a proud smile stretching his lips. "You wanna go first?"

Jackson pushes himself up from the lockers, readjusting himself through his towel and trying his best to sound self-deprecating. It's hard. "Actually… it's been a while. Mind if I shotgun?"

"Ya! I-I mean no. No I don't mind." Scott fidgets in place for a second before reaching into his backpack again and producing a lighter. He smiles- too wide- and puts the joint in his mouth, the end wobbling while his brow furrows and he tries to get the flame to catch. It takes a few tries, but soon he inhales deeply, keeping it in his lungs for a second, before letting it stream out of his nose, his whole body slouching into a familiar ease.

Tired of biding his time, Jackson waits for the right moment before practically pouncing, placing his hands on Scott's shoulders to hold him still and stepping up into his personal space, carefully wrapping his lips around the joint, going down far enough to brush the tips of their noses and only just barely keeping back from smiling as Scott's eyes go cross-eyed following the movement. Jackson takes his sweet time siphoning the smoke, shuttering his eyes, massaging the tips of his fingers into Scott's shoulder blades, and giving another Eskimo kiss before pulling off.

He doesn't step away though, letting his hands trail down Scott's chest, nails scraping across his nipples, as he exhales right back in Scott's face. "Mmm, that's just what I was looking for." He licks his lips, keeping his gaze hooded, but looks up at Scott through his lashes. His hands have come down to rest at Scott's hips, and with a simple roll of his shoulders, Jackson's towel slips to the ground. "C'mon McCall, take a load off. Relax with me."

Scott takes another deep drag, his eyes inevitably traveling downwards and sticking. "I—" He looks over his shoulder again, his toes wiggling nervously as he hesitates. Jackson's tired of waiting though, plus he figures that wasn't exactly a 'no', and hooks his thumbs through the sportswear, dragging them down Scott's legs and dodging the cup as it clatters to the floor. He stays crouched, examining Scott's quickly filling cock with a critical eye, gauging just what he's about to get himself into.

As far as his first run-in goes, it's an easy one to take in. Scott's crotch is really no different than his- though, clearly, the boy's never heard of manscaping- his dark bush wild, curly, and framing his erection like a lion's mane. He's about average length and girth too- circumcised, the head a deep cherry color. The whole of it grows harder under his attention and starts to curve hard to the right instead of up towards his belly like Jackson's, stopping just a few degrees shy from a comical bend. Jackson hums softly once it seems to be full, running his hands up McCall's equally unkempt thighs, letting his fingers come round to brush at his taint lightly before fingering his balls. Scott's got a classic coin-purse scrotum, but it tightens when Jackson cups him, and already he can smell the arousal wetting the erection in front of him. His own mouth waters at the prospect, his body reacting quickly to the evident victory.

"Why don't you just sit back, and relax?" Jackson emphasizes this by pushing gently at Scott's hips and the other boy takes his direction without comment- backing up to sit on the edge of the bench running down the center of the aisle. "Good boy." Jackson can't help it as the words fall from his lips, heady from the mix of marijuana, arousal, and good-old-fashioned pride. His first pass at a guy and it only took five minutes to get in his pants. He smirks before leaning forward to place a wet kiss to Scott's cockhead, one hand gripping at his base to maneuver the crooked erection, the other sliding back down to massage at his taint.

Scott falls back onto one elbow, moaning softly before putting the spliff back to his lips, and taking a much shallower drag, unable to keep himself from exhaling sharply when Jackson tongues at his slit. Scott's legs spread wider once Jackson wraps his lips around the shaft and begins to suck in earnest, working the curve inside the pocket of his cheek as he bobs. Jackson feels himself start to leak when he moves further back to finger at Scott's entrance, and once the pre-cum starts to flow in earnest he reaches between his own legs every so often to gather it up and slather along the rim of Scott's hole.

The other boy continues to smoke as Jackson goes down on him further and further, getting louder and louder, spit leaking from the overstretched corners of his mouth, making it messier and messier. He eventually closes his eyes and just lays down, putting one arm behind his head, and rubbing his stomach with the other, in between drags. He doesn't make any noise besides the occasional muttered curse and a long string of soft grunts and groans, pushing himself down onto Jackson's fingers greedily.

It doesn't last long, Jackson's jaw beginning to grow tired, discomfort outweighing the pleasurable fullness after about five consecutive minutes. Besides, he can feel himself edging closer and closer as Scott continues to spear himself on his fingers, hungrily going down to the third knuckle and mewling when he scissors. He pulls his left hand off of Scott's shaft, gripping his own tightly and stripping it at a rough pace, while crooking his fingers to brush against Scott's prostate, almost gagging when it makes the boy buck against the back of his throat.

It only takes a little more maneuvering, bearing down on that little node and letting the other boy fuck into his mouth. Scott isn't even present enough to warn him when he gets close, just wraps his knees around Jackson's head, arching off the bench and dropping the butt of the joint as shoots down Jackson's throat- hot and thick. Jackson swallows it, all of it, easily, coming when Scott clenches so tightly around his fingers that it's almost painful. Though the build-up and release were admittedly rushed, Jackson takes his sweet time coming down, laying his face against the inside of Scott's thigh, letting his cock slowly slip out of his mouth as it softens- panting, sweaty, sticky, debauched in every way possible, and for the first time in too long, content.

Scott becomes his new Lydia- always at hand should he need a quick pick-me-up. They always start out by sharing some weed, mostly in Scott's bedroom while his mother's at work, but that's only the front, eventually devolving into heavy petting, frottage, and eventually some relaxed finger-fucking. It doesn't take long to wear out though- the conquest over. As much fun as it is to sit atop a thrown and count your money, it never measures up to the thrill of the initial venture, of seizing something, dominating it.

Eventually Jackson's ready for a fresh hunt, but this time it doesn't take him far. He's been taking stock of all his options, knowing all the while that Scott wouldn't sate him long, and he's made a bit of a mental list, narrowed down the field from the guys he knows are curious, the ones he thinks he can nab, and finally the ones he actually wants to fuck. He has standards, after all, and it turns out, not many people meet them.

He knows for a fact that Danny's gay and that, at least at one point, he was interested, but he's not prepared to go there, not eager to burn that bridge for more reasons than one- not all of them things he can articulate. After him, Derek Hale and Stiles Stilisnki are the surest bets for swinging his way. Derek's most likely off the table- if he won't give it to Stilinski, Jackson's pretty certain he's not gonna give it to anybody else. Still, the possibility is enough to warrant a try. Stiles would be easy to get- a virgin for sure, and aching for anything but. Jackson knows he's committed, emotionally, to Derek (for what reason he can't fathom- the two are always bickering at each other) but catch him when he's desperate enough, or angry enough, and it'll be a cinch.

On the more ambiguous side of things there's that creepy kid, Matt. Jackson's never really gotten a vibe from him one way or another, but he knows he's a strange, kinky, exhibitionist bastard, and if he was venturous enough to rub one out through his jeans, under his desk, in the middle of class- a little guy-on-guy is probably in his ballpark.

When he had a fling with Allison, Jackson caught Chris Argent looking a time or two. He's just been recently widowed, and he knows objectively that that's a low blow, but the guy's a DILF, and Jackson's sure Chris' gaze was more than analytical when he caught Jackson sneaking out of Allison's window in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs.

His last bet isn't much of a gamble, but it's one he's excited for nonetheless. The Lahey boy, next door, has always been a little bit in love with him, and he thinks it's about high time to collect. His name's Isaac and for the longest time, he's just been there. Since Jackson was a kid Isaac had been an obligatory invite to birthday parties and sleepovers- living just a stone's throw away and never having been good at making friends of his own.

Isaac's always looked up to him with something like hero worship in his eyes, and while it certainly helped to inflate his ego on a daily basis, Jackson had never paid it much mind. He supposes he always knew it was more than just assumed friendship- could see the way Isaac always leaned into his gravity, eager to please, desperate for attention, easy to satisfy. But it was confirmed during an eighth grade game of seven minutes in heaven where Jackson had begrudgingly frenched the other boy in a dank closet, and Isaac had been thoroughly keen.

It's a Saturday afternoon when he decides to cash it in, watching from his bedroom window as Lahey mows his lawn, sweat dampening his curls and making them frizz. He looks so… edible like that- cheeks flushed, hair mussed, eyes lucid. So Jackson heads to his closet- pushing aside all the name brand articles to rummage around at the bottom where he keeps a heap of unflattering jeans, cum soaked underwear, socks with holes, and discarded women's wear that'll never be returned.

He pulls out an awful, mustard yellow t-shirt with red, blue, and green LEGO blocks on the front and puts it on, pleased with how the sleeves strain against his biceps and the hem rests just above his belly button. Shucking his jeans and quickly after, his boxers, he pulls on a loose pair of grey basketball shorts that really play up the dangle and then heads out, grabbing a vitamin water on his way. By the time he gets to their yard, Isaac has just finished putting everything in the garage, and brightens visibly when Jackson comes into view.

"Hey! I saw you toiling away out here and though I can't make lemonade, I thought I'd offer you this." Jackson trots over to Isaac's side, making sure to put a little extra sway in his step, knowing he's been "caught" when the other boy has to visibly try and keep his attention on Jackson's face.

"Thank you! That's- that's so nice of you." Isaac accepts the bottle with a shy duck of his head, a small smile on his lips. He cracks the cap off, and raises it to his lips, swallowing down a third of it before pulling off with a satisfied sigh. Jackson lets his eyes track the beads of sweat rolling from the other boy's forehead, down his neck and into his shirt, openly staring at his Adam's apple too, when he drinks.

"Ya,well." Jackson does his best at a half-hearted shrug, knowing he missed by a long shot, but certain that Isaac won't notice or care. "It's a scorcher today." He drops his volume a measured level and catches Isaac's eyes, making sure to take half a step forward. "Wouldn't want anything to happen to you." Jackson makes aborted movements with his right hand before placing it on Isaac's upper arm, smiling as sweet as he can manage.

Isaac smiles back, much more genuine and open, swallowing thickly, and taking four separate tries to get the lid screwed back on his drink. "I... you-" He toes at the cement for a few seconds, his lips quirking as he tries to fight a grin. He closes his eyes, takes a small breath, and comes back more centered. "I like your shirt, reminds me of when we were little."

Jackson can't help himself from puffing up in pride. Nothing beats the satisfaction of knowing you just hit your mark. "It's one of my favorites. You gave it to me for one of my birthdays." He smiles, thinking back to the day. He'd honestly thought it was tacky and the color was awful, but Isaac had looked so pleased with himself, that he'd decided to keep it. And he did, all these years, even if it had sat at the bottom of a pile of shit. "It's so comfy—" Jackson wraps his arms around himself here, swinging his torso back and forth. Maybe it's a little overkill, but he can't help himself. He's starting to have fun with this one. "I still sleep in just it most nights."

At that, he stills himself, ducking his head and stealing glances over at Isaac. The other boy's eyes widen and he starts to fidget, hands coming down in front of his crotch, in what he probably thinks is a subtle gesture, but which just makes his situation more obvious. "I-uhm… It's really hot!" Isaac grimaces, pulling at the collar of his shirt and looking pointedly away.

Jackson knows he's just about got the other boy right where he wants him and starts to push his advantage. He takes a few steps forward, moving into Isaac's personal space bubble, but keeping his head down. "We could… go inside. If you want." Isaac looks around the yard, scanning for what, Jackson doesn't know. He chews the inside of his cheek and checks his watch a few times, but eventually he just nods and turns to lead the way.

Funnily enough, for all the times Isaac has been in and around his house, Jackson has never been inside the Lahey's one-floor bungalow. He follows close on Isaac's heels, biting his lip every time the other boy spares a glance back, and swallows back all the acidic barbs that come to mind when he takes in the tacky furnishings. "Uhm, my bedroom's pretty small… and it probably stinks, but—"

"Heey, preachin' to the choir here, Izzy." Jackson places his hand on Isaac's shoulder, pleased when he blushes anew at the nickname.

Isaac turns back, gesturing ahead of him and starting back up. "It's just down the hall then." They pass a dark bathroom and a linen closet on the way, and at the end of the hall, Isaac opens up the door, right to a dressed down set of mattresses. "You can- you can go first." Nodding, Jackson steps past him and through the doorway, unable to stop himself from making a small noise of surprise once he's inside. The width of the room is only maybe three people across, though it seems to run along about half of the back of the house. At the end of it a closet with dark sliding doors hangs open, clothes, a gym bag, and school things spilling over- the pungent smell of teenage boy radiating from it. In between the make-shift bed and it, a half-height book case sits beneath a window, overflowing with paperbacks and cd's. And that is it.

Jackson could probably fit this space inside his own room ten times over and he feels some of his façade fall away. Isaac stands just in the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes downcast. "It's not much, but… it's mine." The last two words come out in a rushed whisper and Jackson falters for just a second.

"It's- cozy." Isaac grimaces, like he's all too aware that he's being patronized, and stays silent. In an instant, Jackson knows he should have done this back at his place, back where it's cold and clinical- all mansion, no home. Here, it's too real. He didn't want to know all this. He makes a split decision to do his best and salvage this, to just force his way through, so he grabs Isaac by the wrist and pulls him inside- closing the door behind them before guiding the other boy's hands to his bare hips. "I like it. It's… you. And I like you."

Isaac huffs sharply at that and hesitantly presses their foreheads together, unable to make eye contact. "I like you too." Jackson wasn't planning this, can feel his heart picking up as he starts to panic. There's too much here. This isn't fooling around, this isn't even taking advantage of a crush. This is wrong, and though he doesn't listen to his conscience much, it's not hard to make the decision to back out of this. Before he can pull away though, Isaac kisses him- chaste, tentative, as ever, sweet. And then it's over.

The kiss deepens, but doesn't pick up pace, the both of them just standing there, panting as they exchange breath after breath. Jackson finds his hands traveling to Isaac's nape, his fingers looping through the curls and scratching at his scalp. The other boy lets out a pleased sigh, pressing his weight into him, and Jackson swallows, hard. He can't- this isn't- he steps back, bumping into the bed, and for a second Isaac looks confused, but then Jackson pulls off his shirt and drops his shorts- kicking them towards the closet.

Sex. This is what he wants, this is what he came here for. Jackson crawls onto the bed and lazily starts to stroke himself, staring intently as Isaac's brain seems to short circuit for a few seconds before he comes back to himself. He checks his watch again before undoing the clasp and sitting it beside the mattresses. Then he grabs at the hem of his shirt and pulls it over the top of his head, sneezing as grass clippings flutter to the floor. If Jackson were a different sort of person, he might have laughed, he might have stopped touching himself, scooted to the edge of the bed and pulled Isaac between his legs to kiss as his slight shoulders and whisper affections.

Seeing as how he isn't he just switches grips, willing his flaccid length to perk up, feeling ridiculous, probably looking like a human taffy pull. Isaac apologizes quietly, shaking his head to make a few more clippings fall loose, before toeing off his shoes and working the button of his jeans. When he wriggles them off, he's left in a pair of bright blue briefs, a vintage Batman insignia super imposed over his bulge. He blushes and squeezes his knees together, scratching nervously at his head. "They're actually my lucky pair…" He smiles softly and looks away again. "I guess they really work."

"They'd work much better off." Jackson feels a lump in his throat when he sees hurt flash quickly across Isaac's face, but he shakes it off when the other boy nods and shimmies out of his underwear, nervously holding onto his wrist and biting his lips. "So, you're a natural blonde." Jackson quirks his brows and gives a trademark smirk, letting his eyes roam over Isaac's lanky frame. Unlike Scott, there's no hidden definition- thin arms, chicken legs, and sharp hip bones, but somehow it works for the boy.

"I… I know it's not much." Isaac shrugs and hurriedly comes to kneel on the mattresses, hands tucked beneath his armpits. "My brother used to tell me that Lahey's were late bloomers, but I think that might just be all I've got." Jackson sticks his tongue in his cheek, placing his hands on Issac's thighs and rubbing circles into them with his thumbs. In truth, Isaac is smaller than most guys he's seen. His cockhead is a soft pink, round and perfectly symmetrical, shaped more like a button and less like the traditional mushroom cap. It's pillowed right in the center of his uneven scrotum- one testicle hanging significantly lower than the other.

To be completely honest though, Jackson couldn't care less. He moves his hands around Isaac's back to cup his ass, each of his cheeks fitting wholly in a palm. He massages and pulls at them for a few seconds before grabbing on tightly and flipping them over, laying the both of them on their sides, with his front to Isaac's back. "That's all I need." He whispers hotly into Isaac's ear before nipping at the shell and grinding into him.

Isaac squeaks and then sighs breathily, letting out minute moans as Jackson quickly grows hard, rutting against his taint. Jackson uses one hand to gnash and separate Isaac's ass and the other he brings around front, placing his fingers gently on Isaac's shaft and jacking the skin in time with his thrusts. Isaac spreads his legs, holding one high up in the air, and contorts his head round to kiss Jackson again, this time much more sloppily, but still with just as much intent.

Jackson can feel his pulse thundering, blocking out all the other noise in the room and he thrusts harder and faster to try and match it, gasping each time his cockhead catches on Isaac's opening. Isaac begins rocking back into him, mewling and sighing and moaning like he's dying, bringing his free hand down between his legs to ghost his fingertips across Jackson's cock as it slides and squelches across his skin. Jackson keeps furiously beating him off, fingers slipping in precome, thumb massaging the spongy tip roughly. The mattresses are creaking with every movement, creating a symphony of degenerate sounds, and he's sweating so profusely, he swears it's hotter in here than outside, and the room stinks like B.O. mixed with dirty underwear, but Jackson feels so fucking good he thinks he just might explode.

Isaac keeps mouthing and tonguing at his lips, though he stopped reciprocating a good ten minutes ago, and he finally had to drop his leg, but now he's squeezing his thighs tight, creating more friction for the slick channel. Jackson can feel his balls tightening, but he fights to hold it back, screwing his eyes shut in an addictive sort of agony as the pressure in his urethra builds and builds and builds. "I'm gonna come. Fuck! Isaac, I'm gonna come." He's still working the other boy as hard as he can, but he can't hold this back- he can't- he can't-

White bursts behind his eyes as he groans so savagely his throat goes raw, his hips stuttering, his hand still sliding slowly up and down Isaac- his whole body on auto pilot as he comes down. He's not sure how long it takes for him to work through the aftershocks, but when Jackson opens his eyes again, Isaac's snoring softly against his chest, arms tucked neatly between them, their groins gummy as they mash together.

Jackson swallows heavily and takes a slow breath, pulling his arm out from beneath Isaac and then slowly inching away, careful not to fall right off the edge of the bed. The room reeks of sex, the smell a physical thing- something he can taste on the back of his tongue, and though they've evidently been stopped for some time there's still a thin sheen of sweat on the both of them. It makes him feel that old guilt- makes him feel dirty and wrong. He has to get out of her, get away from this.

Jackson tries his best to be quiet as he slips his shorts back on, but feels a heavy pit in his stomach when he looks at the ugly, yellow shirt. He flexes his fingers several times, forming fists and releasing them quickly, not knowing what the hell he's still doing standing here, pondering the significance of a stupid fucking shirt, when Isaac could wake up at any second or Mr. Lahey could come back home. Gritting his teeth and shaking himself out of it, Jackson turns on his heel and goes out the way he came in, quiet as he can manage, leaving the shirt behind.

On the way back to his house, he decides, then and there, that Isaac was a one-time thing. He tells himself it was weird, rubbing dicks with someone he knew as a kid. He tells himself that the incessant kissing put him off. He tells himself that he only wants the best, as he always has, and as such he, by default, has to be a size queen. He tells himself that it's never going to happen between them again.

It makes his mouth taste sour.