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Dancing Circles Around You	By : DevilnBlue Category: S through Z > Teen Wolf Views: 26 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf, but this fanfic is mine.

Chapter List
- 1-Chapter One
- 1
Hello Hopeless Blue Kiss here with a new Stackson story for you. I honestly can’t figure out which pair I love more, Sterek or Stackson. But I had this ballet Stiles concept brewing in my head and I felt Jackson would appreciate Stiles in all his athletic glory, more. I hope you enjoy and please consider reviewing. It fuels me and gets me through bouts of writer’s block.
Dancing Circles Around You
Chapter One
Jackson parked his Porsche and spent a moment gripping and releasing the expensive, Italian leather of his steering wheel. He glared at his hands, watching them go white at the knuckles with the strain. His girlfriend pointedly cleared her throat and unlocked the passenger door.
“Come,” she ordered with a glossy smile and a flip of her strawberry blonde hair. It was the same place twice a week, after school, and it made no sense to Lydia why Jackson was being such a child about coming with her. It was never during his precious practice and when their sessions did happen to overlap, she opted to go with her best friend, Alyson.
Lydia had to bribe Jackson to watch Hoosiers for the umpteenth time to come drop her off at practice and wait for her. It was honestly less demeaning them when she forced her jock of a boyfriend to walk her tiny little dog Prada for a whole week and a half when she was sick. Besides she showed her support to Jackson in his silly Lacrosse hobby by going to every post-game party and holding up signs of devotion as she shouted encouragements during his sports matches. This was the least he could do.
They entered the bland looking building that could easily be missed. It was nestled between a shoe store and a Thai carryout place. The ugly brick façade and the faded sign didn’t help, ‘Braeden’s Ballet & Dance’ was near translucent in the daytime. However, there was a wide paned window showing it was a well-kept dance studio with scantily clad women and a handful of men warming up for practice in a well-lit room. A scowl was permanently imprinted on Jackson’s handsome face as he tried not to seem too eager to be inside the well-lit studio with the long wooden ballet barre wall mounted embedded in the mirrored wall on one side of the long rectangular room. It was all just a front as he dutifully shouldered Lydia’s heavy gym bag and Lydia dutifully ignored him, placing a glossy kiss on his cheek while reaching for her bag.
“You know the routine Jackson. Sit. Stay. Play with your phone until we’re done and be a Good Boy,” she ordered her boyfriend as if he were to be as obedient as Prada. She even had the nerve to reach her well-manicured hand out for his head to pet his perfectly styled hair before he jerked away petulantly.
“Lydia, don’t you dare touch my hair,” he half begged, half groaned out his frustration. He ducked his head away from her reach when she made a determined move closer to reach, not liking to be denied. A generous step backwards soon followed by him, wanting to get further away from his domineering girlfriend. He didn’t mind assertiveness, but not when it came to being belittled and in front of company on top of that.
Lydia pursed her glossy lips together in distaste, not liking her boyfriend rejecting the reward she decided to bestow him. Clearly, he needed more disciplining, but that could wait until after her classes. She just ignored her boyfriend for now and eagerly went to greet her best friend Allison before they both disappeared into the backroom to change.
Jackson did as he was told, but he did so reluctantly. It took Jackson a while to realize that the reason why he begrudgingly went to Lydia’s dance recitals wasn’t because he wanted to be a supportive boyfriend. He let her boss him around plenty. He put up with watching the Notebook multiple times when he’d rather watch Hoosiers during their movie nights together. He walked her damn purse dog Prada and put up with her talking his ear off. No, the reason he was so reluctant to come was a certain person that also attended the classes. Not even checking out the chicks stretching and twirling in skin-tight leotards could distract him long from that one person that had been taunting him in his dreams. Not when his eyes always seemed to reset on one individual and one individual only.
Jackson grumbled looking quickly down before their eyes could meet. His face screwed up in a scowl as he looks down at his phone and the message his best friend Danny had made. He kept having dreams about someone of the same sex as him and he wanted to see if his gay best friend could help dispel any confusion. His pale blue eyes would always settle on a troublesome individual with pale white skin scattered with moles like an inverse night sky. The jock would have never thought that there was such a lean, svelte body under the many layers of flannel shirts, graphic tees and baggy pants. Even when Stiles had ventured to a lacrosse practice before suddenly quitting, he had made sure to change before or after everyone had come and gone.
The Stiles now was a powerhouse standing there in high-waisted, skintight black stirrup dance tights that hugged every muscled plane of his calves, thighs and the small but generous swell of his ass. He was a mouthwatering vision in those tights and a simple sleeveless t-shirt or even better yet when he worked up a sweat and went topless. Those moments where he could see dusky brown nipples atop lean pectorals, a well-toned abdomen, and Adonis belt worth nibbling along.
Jackson may be bulkier than Stiles, having actually taken Lacrosse seriously to win his place as the Captain. But the way Stiles kept going like a spinning top as he did his pirouettes in session, were effortless and clean whereas some of his female counterparts gave up after a few rotations. Jackson had seen how those beanpole arms flexed and bulged with sinewy muscles as they effortlessly lifted up one female dancer after another during choreography.
Stiles was in his element here in a way he was never in the locker room or warming the bench playing lacrosse. Jackson, although slightly disappointed at lost potential, could appreciate the fact that it was pointless to join a team sport if they felt more like an outcast than a member. Here in this large, bright room, among gossiping girls and two other guys, Stiles blossomed. He smiled and laughed with his fellow dancers, helping them stretch before Braedon’s class could go in full swing. Even now he was currently stretching a young blonde’s leg over his shoulder, pushing into her to help her really stretch when Stile’s felt those heated eyes of the resident jock boring into his side again.
“Excuse me,” Stiles politely dismissed himself from his stretching partner. He walked purposely to the row of folded chairs reserved for parents and wayward boyfriends like Jackson and plopped purposely down on the folding chair next to Jackson. “Enjoying the show Jacks?” teased the brunette male. He folded one long leg under himself as he took a swig from his Gatorade bottle. Then capped it and placed his chin on his hand, looking thoughtfully at Jackson with those honey-gold eyes that were like warm pools of amber when the light hit it just right.
Stiles had seen Jackson more in the ballet studio then he ever had on the lacrosse field. But then again he had only joined lacrosse in hopes of drawing his workaholic father out to cheer and do something other than work and drinking. It was a big fat failure since he didn’t have the passion or grace to traipse around the field in lumbering gear and violent participants. He much rather preferred returning to the ballet that his deceased mother and his precious Babcia had encouraged him to pursue. He had the upper core strength and long limbs for it. Plus, he enjoyed showing his Polish granny watching him dance when he was little and the world hadn’t known the world would rip away his mother.
“Stilinski,” he growled out warningly. Teeth gnashed in a snarl that was more visual than heard. Blue eyes glared suspiciously at the teen next to him, expecting him to speak or do something other than to stare off fondly at something that wasn’t him.
“Don’t ‘Stilinski’ me when you’ve been checking out my ass for a good few minutes now. I didn’t even have to turn and felt your gaze on my backside the moment you walked in,” hissed Stiles in frustrated amusement against the palm of his hand. His words were clear enough that Jackson would clearly hear each syllable while still keeping their conversation somewhat private and causal as he continued to look at Jackson, slumped over with his head resting in his hand. His elbow propped up against his knee.
Jackson looked worriedly left and right before narrowing his blue eyes at the mischievous looking Stiles and his casualness of the situation. Any normal guy would take umbridge for being called out for eyeing them up. Any normal, straight guy would deny, deny, deny and Jackson was normal, damn it.
“I will murder you!” he hissed out as threatening as possible. His hands pantomimed choking Stiles even when all he really wanted to do was drag the teen closer to drink him in and feel recharged. He hated how conflicted he felt next to this new confident Stilinski. Stiles had always been hard to bully, being quick-witted and easy to meet tongue lashing with tongue lashing. However, it felt pointless laying hands on his classmate when he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to throttle or kiss him.
“I’m not into death, unless it’s death by SnuuSnuu,” Stiles said jokingly as he stretched out. His plain white t-shirt riding up slightly to show a bit of his happy trail. He doubted Jackson would get the old Futurama reference, but class was about to start and he was done playing with a clearly sexually confused individual. Stiles was bi-sexual himself, but he didn’t openly advertise it. He had a feeling Jackson wasn’t all the way straight, but it was not up to him to force the epiphany on his bully classmate.
Stiles did let out a frustrated sigh, acknowledging to himself that if Jackson wasn’t such a prick and taken, he would so be his type. He had a soft spot for pretty boy assholes. But not if it meant keeping him in the dark from some closeted bullshit. So, he’d walk away for now and let Whittemore cook. It was just as fun playfully flirting with his classmates, knowing things wouldn’t go there until Jackson worked his shit out.
Stiles barely managed to unfold himself and stand up gracefully ready to step away from Jackson before Jackson was capturing his wrist and forcing him back down into his chair.
“Listen Stilinski!” Jackson snarled, nose flaring and teeth gnashing. There was no one who pushed his buttons quite like Stiles Stilinski with his nonchalant attitude and devious smiles.
“Class is about to start Whittemore. We wouldn’t want to draw attention to ourselves, huh?” Stiles said nonchalantly even as he yanked his wrist back. The smallest of grimaces graced his features before it smoothed out and he dusted off imaginary lent. “Look, there goes your little girlfriend now. Try looking at her more than my ass, okay?” Stiles said flippantly even as walked off with a smirk and a bird toss in Jackson’s direction.
“What was that about?!” Lydia exclaimed loudly enough that even Jackson could hear across the room.
“Nothing. Just a little disagreement between classmates. You know the saying, boys will be boys and all that macho shit,” Stiles said with a flippant shrug and another swig of his Gatorade. “Don’t worry Lydia, I’m not the biggest fan of Jackson right now. Most don’t get me, and I don’t expect them to. We barely tolerate each other,” he reassured. Whether that last part was meant for Jackson or Lydia was not clear as he set his drink aside just as Braeden lined up her class in front of the barre against the window.
“Now, let’s begin…” Braeden said, with an authoritative air of confidence as the class fell into uniform to begin their practiced poses.
Jackson watched intently, even as one leg jiggled at his side in anxiety. He hated being unsure of himself and when he was around Stiles nothing was sure. But then again nothing was dull either. He was clearly attracted to women; they were soft and delicate and nice to look at. They smelled nice too. But there was just something about Stiles. The way he challenged him and didn’t care about the social hierarchy at school. The way even in his awkwardness he was graceful and felt like a haven.
Jackson’s eyes couldn’t help but follow the hypnotic movement of flailing arms graceful in pose as he took position after position with the others. The jock swore to himself he had never seen Stiles so focused, silent and graceful.
It was captivating seeing Stiles standing among the lean, delicate girls who tried to embody grace, but just couldn’t reach the pinnacle that Stiles was at. Jackson could faintly hear the pang of his cell phone and looked down with a grimace, not wanting to be disturbed, but curious to what Danny finally wrote out.
//You might be gay for Stiles. //
Danny’s text stared boldly at Jackson, and he couldn’t help but grimace as if he had eaten something sour. There was no way he could be gay. Especially not gay for someone like Stiles Stilinski. He started to furiously type, erase, and type some more. His fingers pounding angrily at the keys trying to deny what he knew was true. He’d never been attracted to guys before, but Stiles…
//Fuck, you might be right. //
- 1
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Dancing Circles Around You