Work Text:
Stiles cackled as Jackson slid across the ice for the fifteenth time, groaning in defeat.
“Why did we agree to this ridiculous charity event anyway?”
“You’ll heal, you big baby.” Stiles dragged Jackson over to the wall and propped him up, “And you know we’re doing it to give Peter an excuse to anonymously donate a chunk of money without his name leaking to the charity where they might dare acknowledge his contribution.”
“I hate all my fathers.”
“You only have two?”
Jackson made a face, “Your dad is as bad as all my parents are.”
“As he should be,” Stiles nodded, “now get your ass up and remember that figure skates HAVE TOE PICKS.”
“If you would just let me use the skates I’m used to this would be so much better.”
“And you rejected the simpler routine because, and I quote, Theo is not allowed to show you up.”
Jackson pouted, “Well, he isn’t.”
“Which means you need toe picks you arrogant prick. Now get up and back to jumps.”
“I’m in pain.”
Stiles sighed, “I’ll give you potion after.”
“Okay, three more falls and that’s it.”
Stiles rolled his eyes but agreed. It only took five minutes for Jackson to collapse onto the ice in defeat. Stiles sang out toe piiiiiick and then bolted from the rink. The werenima tried to follow quickly, but ended up face-planted in the center of the rink.
They took to the rink as often as they were able to get time and space. Jackson was slowly working towards the footwork and jumps in the new program and even let Stiles talk him into a throw. Stiles didn’t point out how much of the success was his own magic stabilizing it all. It wasn’t a competition so he felt less guilty about the lie.
Theo had taken to showing off in hockey practice, footwork going strong as he weaved through the team. He was working with one of the freestyle skaters, still able to use his normal skates.
Jackson ended up punching him and having to skate suicides.
Stiles laughed when Jackson showed up complaining about soreness after that practice. No one ever really figure out if Coach knew about the supernatural and who on his team was, but he seemed to know how to make the shifters suffer like they were still human.
They were making good progress on the routine and Stiles was able to make it through with minimal magic. Jackson was doing good not falling using the figure skates. Overall, it was better than Stiles had ever expected it to be when he was given a few months to teach Jackson the routine.
Stiles was pretty sure Jackson was going to murder him by the fifteenth time the song restarted.
“I want wine now.”
“Nope,” Stiles laughed and offered a hand to get Jackson off the ice, skating away when he refused. “No alcohol and skating. Makes you extra bleed-y.”
“That’s not — ” Jackson groaned, “I heal. Fast.”
“Then you don’t get drunk either sooooooo,” Stiles spun in place next to him with a laugh. “Either you can get drunk and end up bleeding a lot or you don’t get drunk and it’s pointless to have the reisling.”
“I am NOT the one with the riesling! That’s you.”
Stiles laughed and leaned over Jackson, “Nah, you might be doing the main throw and lift, but you’re definitely doing most of the riesling choreo.”
“The what?”
Stiles pulled out the remote and restarted the song. He did a few motions as the instruments kicked in, “We’re equal on this part, but once the words start, you just kinda,” he moved his arms, “and I do the acting. Which tends to be more of…”
Stiles skated backward and mouthed along to the words, tugging at his hair and pivoting, “Honey you know I don’t like the riesling, when have you ever seen me drink riesling?”
The skate continued with Stiles singing the man’s part the whole way through. When he got to the heavy footwork section pretending to block rain from his face, Jackson moved to sit cross-legged in the center of the rink. The quick footwork as the piano flowed into the romantic melody made Stiles smile.
“See? I have Mr. Cabernet’s part and you are Mr. Riesling.”
“Fine.”
Jackson was working hard to make his waltz jumps look as elegant as Stiles’ were, and he had talked Boyd into letting him skate early, offering commentary — though it was mostly critique — from the wall.
He knew that his months of learning wouldn’t bring him equal to Stiles’ years of learning, but he wasn’t about to let himself fail in front of the team and Stiles. The jumps were getting better, he needed less focus on staying upright.
Jackson was finally feeling like he had it down and celebrated, and then he ended up flat on his stomach on the ice.
“I would say toe pick,” Stiles laughed, “but I’m pretty sure that was just you sucking at skating. Not the jumps, those were pretty good.”
“Fuck you.”
Stiles hummed, “If you make it through the charity show without falling, I’ll let you fuck me.”
“And if I fall?”
Stiles tapped his lips. “I wouldn’t mind flipping the bet.”
“So you’re saying that either way, we fuck.”
“That is exactly what I am saying, or offering,” Stiles skated up to him and dropped to his butt, “it would be nice to be sore from something besides the ice.”
Jackson reached out his hand to shake, “You have a deal.”
“Really?” Stiles laughed, “Awesome!”
“Why do you think you’ll win?” Jackson paused, “Sabotages don’t count.”
“Dude you still can’t even grapevine with the toepicks.”
Jackson stood up and brushed off the ice, “That’s because you dumbasses called it a grapevine when it isn’t. Every other sport in the world would not classify that as a fucking grapevine. You’re twirling, you aren’t doing a grapevine.”
“Technicalities, man, whatever makes you feel better though.”
“A grapevine is when you go in front behind in front behind… not spin left spin right spin left.”
Stiles rolled his eyes and ran through a grapevine slowly, “I don’t get what you mean.”
“Bullshit.”
“I was thinking we could just switch that section anyway.”
Jackson stopped and narrowed his eyes. “But, Lydia — ”
“Didn’t actually make the choreography. I might have lied a little.” Stiles tilted his head, “You barely agreed thinking she had.”
Jackson tried to catch up with Stiles and crashed into the wall.
“I set up most of it and she just approved,” Stiles stopped near him, “The original one was an insult and the revision was pushing my skills at points. Honestly, I’m pretty sure I pissed her off.”
“Your existence pisses her off.”
Stiles made a face, “I should have let her insult you.”
Jackson groaned, “I think it would have hurt less.”
“Just be happy I’m not putting you on any of the spin trainers.”
“Those are easy,” Jackson snorted and stood up, “ooooo spinny spinny.”
Stiles crossed his arms, “I’m so making you do it now.”
“After we do the flippy jumps,” Jackson stood up and held out his hands.
Stiles glared, “I can not believe you think flippy jumps is better than the actual fucking names.”
Jackson shrugged and shook his hands, “come on, I want us better balanced before I show you how easy that platform is for a superior being.”
“You are superior to nothing, Jackass.”
He laughed.
Jackson did not make it very long on the platform before tapping out, and Stiles laughed the entire time Jackson recovered. They went out to the diner after Jackson finally calmed down from the spinning enough to walk straight. Some things weren’t fixed by werewolf or kanima healing, and nausea clung to Jackson like a second skin.
“How exactly will this help?” Jackson groaned, “Grease sounds terrible.”
Stiles shrugged, “I don’t know, Mom used to bring me here after rough practices. The curly fries always made me feel better.”
“That’s not how stomachs work.”
“It’s how my stomach works,” Stiles laughed, “if you’re worried, get some toast.”
It was one of the first times they spent together outside of pack and practice. The conversation was initially stilted when they ran out of things to talk about that weren’t skating and supernatural.
“So,” Stiles broke the silence, “we suck at being friends, huh?”
Jackson flinched a bit.
“Nah, man,” Stiles waved it off, “I get why.”
Jackson looked down, “I don’t.”
Stiles let out a loud bark of laughter, “Really? Dude, oh my god, we’re like…” he motioned between them.
Jackson clenched his jaw but wouldn’t look up.
“I mean, we were at each other’s throats all through high school. For fucks’ sake, you had a restraining order on me for kidnapping you.”
Jackson slouched a bit at that, “Yeah, sorry about that.”
“Eh, you got it dismissed and it’s better now,” Stiles chuckled. “Plus, it gave the neighbors something to talk about for a while. We were the talk of the town for months.”
“It lasted like a week,” Jackson scoffed. “They milked that for most of the year.”
Stiles laughed, “The theories I heard were ridiculous.”
“Well, when the dismissal reason was lacrosse prank gone wrong what did you expect?”
“What else were we going to use?” Stiles shrugged, “town like this, you just pick something mildly logical and cling to it with your whole chest.”
Jackson smiled, “I mean, secret gay lovers and trying to sort out which adult was forbidding us was a great run.”
“Yeah,” Stiles tossed a napkin at Jackson, “how dare you try and corrupt the innocent scamp of a sheriff’s kid.”
“Innocent, huh?” Jackson smirked.
“So innocent.” Stiles nodded, “Absolutely angelic.”
Jackson smiled and nodded, “Definitely not a sarcastic asshole.”
“I think we can be good friends, though,” Stiles made eye contact, “I mean, I’ve managed to patch things up with Theo for the most part.”
“You call the laundry incident patched up?”
“It could have been a deadly strain.” Stiles defended.
Jackson held up his hand and ticked off the steps, “You created and grew an entire batch of wolfsbane, carefully dried and ground it up, then mixed it into his laundry soap. He took three weeks to figure out why the hell everything burned.”
“My only regret is how often I saw his dick that month.” Stiles made a face, “Especially since he had that rash.”
“It was pretty bad.” Jackson laughed, “and he did stop trying to act like the left hand at gatherings so I guess it worked.”
“If he had listened to me sooner, the pack wouldn’t have suffered, too.” Stiles finished off his drink. “I had warned him that between your bio dad and me, the pack was set on vengeful fuckers capable of left handing.”
Jackson shook his head, “It wasn’t just the pack. Coach suffered too.”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “Coach chose to take on the hockey team knowing who was part of it.”
“He still insists Greenberg and Bilinski are terrible influences on me.” Jackson smiled, “and I agree, terrible, terrible influences.”
Stiles huffed and started eating again.
“So you think I can talk you into trying hockey?”
“You can try, after the show.” Stiles pointed, “But I gotta warn you, the last person that tried lost a tooth to a puck and I ended up with stitches from my broken stick.”
“You broke a hockey stick? I thought you said it’s been over a decade since you played.” Jackson tilted his head, “You were like, ten pounds back then.”
Stiles shoved more fries into his mouth and nodded, “Yeah, it was the initial thought before figure skating. But they decided I’m safer with less projectiles.”
“I think everyone that knows you would agree, and quit being gross.”
Stiles stuck out his tongue.
“Maybe we’ll stick to air hockey.”
“Probably a safe plan.”
They made it a habit to do things together after that and Stiles started to see the side of Jackson he wasn’t used to. It was adorable. Stiles was finding himself wishing so hard for the sex jokes they made to be real.
His smile when he would make it through the footwork could melt the ice.
Stiles was in trouble.
The more time they spent together, the more he saw of Jackson's sweeter side. His crush was getting worse and worse.
He started stumbling over his steps in practice, and Stiles was pretty sure he hadn't cursed out Boyd this much since high school.
His potions and salves could only take away the physical pain, not the embarrassment.
That required a talk with Scott.
“So,” Scott crossed his arms, “why are you drunk on a Tuesday night and lying in your grass instead of the chair?”
“Not drunk, and the chair is evil.”
“The chair is evil?” Scott laughed and sat next to him, “I can see it. Must be haunted, huh?”
“Don't be silly, it's obviously evil, not haunted. If it was haunted, I could fix it. But it's evil and must be destroyed.”
Scott hummed. “We'll burn it in the next bonfire.”
“As we should,” Stiles agreed.
They sat and stared at the clouds for a bit before Scott spoke up, “sooooooo, what's with the not- drunk cloud gazing?”
“I hate him.”
“So a new crush, got it.”
Stiles ripped up some grass and threw it at Scott.
“Tell me what happened,” Scott brushed off the grass and laid down shoulder to shoulder with Stiles, “start with the dumbest stuff.”
“His stupid teeth.”
Scott laughed.
“I don't get it, he's Jackson. I'm not supposed to like Jackson. Tolerating him, yes. Crush? Never.”
“Well, what's the plan?”
“Be the good girl they always wanted me to be.”
Scott wrinkled his nose.
“Conceal, don't feel,” Stiles sang, “let it goooo, let it goooo.”
“That's not how that goes. Please never sing again.”
Stiles yawned and closed his eyes, “Sure thing, Scotty-boy.”
“And tell him. He might surprise you.”
Stiles was pretty sure Scott told Jackson. Jackson had shown up in a ridiculously tight outfit for their practice with throws.
It was bad enough when he was only feeling the power behind it.
Now he could see the muscles.
“So Lydia mentioned a lift she thought we could try,” Jackson skated to the wall and grabbed his phone, “she said you'd look good in a twist lift.”
Stiles considered the ramifications of jinxing her hair a sickly green.
“She also showed me these that she thought would work for you lifting me,” Jackson held up his phone. “But then I went looking and saw this and I think we’d pull this off.”
“And where in the song am I pretending you won’t look like a dying swan?”
Jackson tilted his head and muttered the lyrics, “I’m thinking maybe the broadway section for that. If we can balance well enough I can actually point when it says point out.”
Stiles tried to remember the moves during that section and when he looked up to say no, Jackson looked too excited for him to say no.
“Awesome, and when do I toss you in the air?”
“Never, if I get my way,” Stiles laughed, “but we can replace the one throw for the twist lift if you manage to not break anything when we try.”
Jackson sneered, “No promises.”
Stiles laughed and dragged Jackson into footwork drills, skipping the music in favor of chanting out the lyrics with claps. The alarm on Stiles’ phone went off and they went through the full choreography.
It was near the end when Jackson started singing along when Stiles hit the ice, hard.
Jackson stopped quickly and hovered over him, “Stiles! Are you okay?”
“Mmmmm,” Stiles groaned, “I’m fine.”
“Okay, good,” Jackson grinned super wide, “Hey Stilinski?”
“What?”
“Toe pick!”
Stiles reached out and swatted at him but couldn’t help joining in on the laughter. He brushed himself off and groaned as he stretched.
“Can we try some of the throws?”
“Not here,” Stiles motioned to the room where he normally taught lifts, “The ceiling is too low for supernatural strength.”
“I wouldn’t throw you into the ceiling! Plus that’s like two full stories!”
Stiles sighed, “Dude. I trained with Liam. I promise you, two stories is not enough height.”
He considered telling Jackson a few times when they would go to the diner after their practices. Jackson had a certain look when he talked about how his team was doing.
Years had matured the man into this, someone happy and proud when the other team mates were making progress.
He’d get a small blush and his eyes would light up with pride.
Stiles choked back the words each time and decided to wait until the show was done. He didn’t want to try to do another pairs skate with someone who couldn’t stand him. He learned that lesson the hard way.
“Absolutely not,” Stiles crossed his arms, “That’s disgusting.”
“It’s a kilt,” Lydia tutted.
“No, it’s a single-color kilt. The one lone thing you don’t hate with plaid. And you removed the plaid!”
Lydia pursed her lips, “That’s not even your costume.”
“But it’s someone’s costume and you ruined the character of the kilt!”
Jackson sighed, “Plenty of people wear plain kilts, Lydia please just show us our stuff.”
“Now before I do, remember that this is a fashion thing, Jackson.”
“What exactly are you going to put me in?”
Stiles looked around a bit and then started laughing.
Jackson finally saw and turned with a sigh. “Lydia.”
“Whittemore,” she smiled.
“No,” he pointed at the matching bodysuits, “I refuse.”
“Too bad,” she smiled, “we had a budget, my job was to meet the budget. This was one of very few matched sets I could find in your sizes.”
Stiles didn’t bother pointing out that, of all the participants, he and Jackson would be the ones Peter would be most likely to toss more money for. He also didn’t point out how most of the costumes looked new.
“And so you put me in a sparkly green abomination?”
“You and Stiles have very different coloring,” she pointed between them, “and I refused to let you both be in all black.”
Stiles made a face but didn’t question it, Lydia had bullied him into some of his best costumes. “So what’s this from?”
She shrugged, “Some ice show. I didn’t ask questions except for the cost and shipping.”
He nodded, “These are wonderful, they’ll catch the light perfectly.”
Stiles gently shifted the fabric and watched as the little reflections from the stone speckled the walls and Jackson’s skin.
“Theo will never shut up about this,” Jackson groaned.
“Oh don’t worry, I have a plan to get even if he’s a prick!” Stiles grinned.
Jackson narrowed his eyes, “Are you always ready for revenge?”
“Always be prepared, Jackson, always.”
The final practices left Stiles feeling excited and stressed.
Dress rehearsals were the worst.
But they were doing great with the program and Stiles couldn’t help but beam as Jackson finally managed to get his grapevines down without falling.
They were able to get the throws without Stiles needing to cheat with magic, and it felt amazing to fly like that.
Every time they held hands and embraced, Stiles was torn between happiness and despair at the fakeness of it all. It felt incredible and they fit together amazingly, fingers intertwined just right.
“I hate this song,” Jackson groaned, “I’ve heard it eighty million times.”
Stiles laughed, “such is the life of a dancer, dude. You should see what we did when I competed. We used to take fifteen second clips of a song and play it on a loop until I could get the steps for that specific portion down, and then occasionally just pop in a different section.”
“Why would you torture yourself like that?”
Stiles shrugged, “I don’t know, Mom used to say it was a brain trick. A way to make my brain be nice to me. It worked, even if I ended up hating songs because of it, but I swear some of my routines I could still skate if I zoned out enough.”
“She really was as cool as I remember, wasn’t she?”
Stiles paused and looked down, “Most of the time, yeah, but the last bits make it hard to remember the best moments sometimes, you know?”
Jackson nodded and hugged him.
“Welcome to the Beacon Hills Charity on Ice Show!” Stiles smiled as he yelled out to the small crowd. “Featuring members of the Frozen Cyclones,” he pointed to where the hockey team was gathered, “my wonderful coworkers here at Beacon Rink, and our young skaters! We do still have snacks and souvenirs you can snag, but it’s safe to say that the local groups will be very pleased with their coming funds. Thanks all for the donations!”
He skated the border of the rink to wave at everyone and hand off the show to the first group. He was snapping on his skate guards and spotted Peter was off to the side with a put-out look. He fooled no one in the pack.
The music blared through the speakers and everyone had fun with the whole thing. Stiles considered organizing these more often, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to deal with Lydia through it.
Finally, it was their turn.
Stiles dragged them onto the ice and put on his show face, over-acting each motion and drawing the crowd into the story of it all, loving the energy in the room as the song went through their bickering movements, a back and forth play that seemed so much more natural than Stiles had expected at the start of the learning process.
Jackson almost fell halfway through, but Stiles helped him stay upright.
They made it through Stiles’ being thrown and spun in the air, and then Jackson was beaming as Stiles effortlessly pressed him up into the axel lift, letting him carefully balance and point ahead of them.
As they stood in their final pose, Jackson leaned in and whispered, “So I guess you get to fuck me then, huh?”
“You didn’t fall, though.” Stiles looked over with a raised eyebrow.
“I felt the magic,” Jackson winked.
Stiles leaned in and kissed Jackson in the center of the rink. Lydia was standing at the edge of the rink snickering.
“Get out of here, and don’t rip your costumes, I already have buyers for them.”
Stiles and Jackson carefully left them hung up in the changing area and headed home.
Neither bothered to see how Theo’s skate went, even if Stiles loved the song he was stuck with. If the emo-chic costume was anything to go by, it would be a fun show.
Stiles barely had the door open when Jackson pulled him into another kiss, “you do want this, right?”
“So, so much. Oh my god, yeah.”
“Good.” Jackson hauled Stiles over his shoulder and kicked the door shut. He was up the stairs and into Stiles’ room quickly.
“But I still say you didn’t fall,” Stiles laughed, “and I really, really want you in me.”
“I think I can manage that,” Jackson agreed as he dropped Stiles onto the bed.
Stiles dragged a box out from under his bed and dug out a bottle to toss onto the bed. He tugged off his shirt and held his hands out towards Jackson. “Come on, get over here.”
Jackson mirrored him, pulling off his shirt and climbing on top of Stiles. He gently bit Stiles’ neck and growled.
“No fair.” Stiles raised his hips against Jackson. “Oh my god, yeah, right there.”
Jackson laughed and bit and sucked harder. There would be a dark bruise on the base of his neck. Stiles tried to move a bit to kiss Jackson’s neck in return, but Jackson pinned him in place to continue making the mark darker.
Stiles moaned and tilted his head to give Jackson easier access.
Jackson finally pulled up and tugged Stiles’ body into the position he wanted — the perfect way to leave a matching mark on the other side of Stiles’ neck. Stiles gripped the edge of the bed, doing his best to roll his hips against Jackson’s.
Jackson had Stiles pinned too much to be able to move much, and that made the lack of friction he could gain maddening.
He just wanted them naked and grinding.
Jackson stopped that from happening. He held Stiles in place while he kissed all over Stiles’ torso.
By the time Jackson leaned back up to get them naked, Stiles felt ready to burst.
“Fucking finally yes, naked now.”
“I could keep our boxers on if you’re feeling impatient.”
“No, no, no, totally patient.”
Jackson smirked and Stiles quickly reached down to squeeze himself to avoid getting off.
Before he could react, Jackson shredded the rest of the clothes and flipped Stiles onto his hands and knees in a quick movement.
“Oh my god, fucking shifters, man, so strong.”
“Nah, you’re just easy to move.”
“Excuse you, I’m mostly muscle.”
Jackson lightly slapped Stiles’ ass and then pulled his cheeks apart. He drizzled a little lube on his fingers and started to tease Stiles’ rim, leaning over to cover Stiles with his bulk. The heat and protection lit his senses on fire, and Stiles had to focus both on his magic and not coming as Jackson’s fingers pressed into him.
He collapsed onto the bed and Jackson followed right behind him, pressing him into the bed. There was barely any space to move, and Jackson was focused on kissing Stiles’ shoulder and getting him ready.
Stiles was pretty sure he had never been more ready in his life and he was pretty sure Jackson was dragging this out just for fun.
“Please, come on,” Stiles begged.
“Impatient,” Jackson whispered against his shoulder.
“No,” Stiles whined, “I’m patient, but this is torture. Please come on just fuck me.”
Jackson growled, shifted backward, and slicked himself up. Stiles rolled onto his back and wiggled until Jackson could easily press into Stiles. Jackson was slow in his first thrust, carefully holding Stiles in place as he did.
“You are a demon.”
“I’ve been called worse,” Jackson chuckled, “often times by you.”
Stiles tried to calm himself with deep breaths. “You deserve it.”
Jackson hummed and pressed the rest of the way in quickly. Stiles melted into the mattress and didn’t put up much fuss when Jackson pinned him by the wrists.
Stiles couldn’t help but sink into the feeling, the strength of Jackson’s body pressed against him, thrusting in him, holding him down. It was so much all at once, and Stiles was one massive open nerve and he wasn’t sure if it was amazing or painful.
He pulled up and kissed Jackson, moaning as the shift put more pressure on his cock, and the taste of Jackson was pure bliss.
“Hurry up, hurry the fuck up,” Stiles whispered, “I’m so close.”
Jackson slid his hand into Stiles hair and tugged, “Then cum.”
Stiles reached down and stroked himself a few times and spilled over their chests. He kissed Jackson as the last of his aftershocks swept through him, groaning as Jackson filled him with cum.
“Grab a plug from the box, I don’t feel like showering.”
Jackson laughed and did what Stiles said, quickly wiping them up with the ripped shreds of their pants.
“You staying?” Stiles stretched and yawned.
“Planning on it,” Jackson moved so they were both under the blanket.
“Good, I plan on dates soon,” Stiles squinted at Jackson, “so many dates.”
Jackson kissed his temple, “I’m more than happy to do that, I’m going to spoil you Stilinski.”
The first way Jackson spoiled him was re-doing the entire arcade section in the rink, complete with a ridiculously expensive air hockey table. Stiles almost passed out laughing when he walked in to find the godzilla-themed monstrosity that Jackson picked out.
Stiles still ended up almost hurting Jackson when he let go of the paddle once.
They found that dating worked better for them than friendship had, and definitely better than being enemies. Stiles loved that he could research until he crashed and know that Jackson would protect him. Jackson loved that everyone he felt like family around were starting to really be family.
It wasn’t long before the dates turned into a set schedule, some normalcy in the chaos they normally dealt with.
The pack, for the most part, weren’t surprised that they got together and stayed together.
Peter tried to play overprotective dad one time and Stiles laughed.
Jackson liked to be the first to show up for hockey practice on the days when Stiles was there before, and he’d learned how to do some moves with Stiles while using his hockey skates so it wouldn’t mess up the team practice too much.
They had just finished a little skate around and Jackson was holding Stiles in his arms near the exit, going between gentle kisses and talking quietly about the week.
“Seriously?” A groan shot through the silence.
“I will skin you alive, Raeken. And then I will turn the skin into shoes and make you wear them.”
Coach laughed, “Bilinski, have I told you how much you disturb me?”
“I believe the normal word you use is profoundly disturbed, Coach.”
He nodded, “I need a better thesaurus.”
Stiles laughed and then gave Jackson one last kiss before leaving the rink.
“So what, you two are fuck buddies now?”
Stiles was about to turn around but he heard a crunch.
“Dating,” Jackson corrected, “and I will continue to punch you if you keep the attitude up. Might set a record.”
Stiles laughed, “I heard the record is at least three times, Jacks.”
Theo groaned. Coach didn’t even need to blow his whistle before Jackson took off to skate suicide drills again. The wink he shot Stiles told him that Jackson had no regrets.