Derek likes that Jackson is still terrified of him
(oh nonny. nonny, I like you.)
Whenever Jackson is around Derek he smells of fear. Stinks of it, a high note scent that layers over everything else, sharp and salty, a tinge of submissiveness that speaks to the predator in Derek, that appeals to the Alpha, and he can't figure out how to make it stop.
Even Derek can admit he hadn't been at his best with Jackson - slamming him against the locker and marking him, the fucking black goo - but he can't be blamed for all of it when Jackson had turned out to be the kanima, in the end. There were those who had gone through worse. And it's all over now, all sorted out; Derek isn't even that intimidating, once the initial creepiness wears off - as Stiles is so fond of telling him - but Jackson never stops smelling of fear. Jackson never stop smelling of fear, and it's beginning to drive Derek a little insane.
What could make someone so afraid, Derek wonders. A boy like Jackson, striving for perfection and so often attaining it, at least on the surface; a boy who found a place to belong when he had none; what could make him think unconditional acceptance --
The realization does hit, eventually.
Derek pulls Jackson aside after the next pack meeting. Waves off Stiles's questioning look and Lydia's raised eyebrow. Derek should maybe pay a bit more attention to the humans in his life; they seem to at least have Jackson figured out.
It's easy, now, to catch the other scent Jackson puts off around Derek, the one so easily masked by fear, overwritten. Cleverly hidden, if you're not looking for it. Derek never looks for it. Doesn't usually want to know, if he's being honest. Makes life easier. But Derek couldn't stop thinking about it, about Jackson. Spent most of yesterday fisting his cock and imagining the warmth of Jackson under him. Thinks about everything he could do to make Jackson bruise.
"What," Jackson says, a touch of belligerence, a stammer of that fear. "Why does everyone else get to go?"
"Oh," Derek says, and puts his hand on the back of Jackson's neck. Runs his fingers over the scars the never did heal. "I don't think you want them here for this."
"You'll like this," Derek says, as he's pulling on his gloves. "I promise."
"Please," and Jackson begs, even as he trembles. Even as he stinks of fear. "Please."
The fear never does quite go away. But Derek makes his peace with it.
