Chapter Text
Danny knows of his boyfriend's reservations on this date with Jackson intimately, so he goes the extra mile for Stiles. He helps him dress nicely for the date, to a restaurant Stiles isn't terribly attached to so if the date goes completely pear-shaped, he won't be upset about never going back to the establishment. He sneaks a bug—one not entirely unlike the ones seen in spy action movies—on the collar of Stiles' polo, hidden from sight, one that will remain active as long as Stiles has his phone on him, capturing the audio around him and especially the dialogue of conversation he and Jackson undoubtedly would have. The tech wizard that he is, with a healthy dose of paranoia about his loved ones' safety, he'd put a program on Stiles' phone that would take a lot of digging for Stiles to discover it. Stiles has no idea of the amount of surveillance Danny has on him at any given time, which only drives home how much Danny had truly missed, given how distressed Stiles had been that day he' come to Danny's office to break up.
As if Danny would ever let that happen.
Danny, for all the politeness and kindness he projected to the public, is a protective and possessive creature at heart, and he'd be damned if he let the love of his life go for something stupid, or over Jackson fucking Whittemore.
Danny is like a dragon with a hoard, and right now he's trusting someone else with it.
It's as easy as breathing to hack into the cameras at the restaurant to watch the date. His heart squeezes with sympathy as he observes Stiles' uncertainty and uneasiness, not at all used to being around Jackson without at least one other friend to act as a buffer. Jackson hasn't done anything to Stiles, aside from snark at him, for years, but that doesn't quiet the conditioned response of years of bullying. The trauma is not so easily forgotten or forgiven.
The conversation is stilted at first—there hadn't been any from the moment Jackson picked Stiles up from their home until they arrived and spoke to the hostess about their reservations—but eventually it smooths a bit as Jackson decides to delve into a the topic of Stiles' work as a translator. Danny relaxes as he listens, eyes on a device he's been tinkering with over the past few weeks, in between his many work projects, one that he intends to use to help promote a calming subaudible frequencies, hopefully to help with Stiles' ever-present but usually manageable anxiety. Sure, part of his anxiety is a common result of ADHD, but a lot of it isn't. Stiles is very high-functioning despite it, but if the device can help soothe him and put his mind at ease, even the slightest bit, Danny sees no reason to stop the little side project. All the better if he can profit off it. Every now and then, he'll glance at his monitor to make sure things are chugging along well enough, and that there is no additional stress apparent on Stiles' features.
Thankfully, Stiles appears to have relaxed and gotten into a groove of sorts by the time their entrees arrive. Jackson is covering the bill, despite Stiles' halfhearted protests to at least split it. Jackson won't hear of it. Danny approves of the meal he sees on Stiles' plate, glad that Stiles still seems conscious of the dietary needs he'd been assigned by the doctor they had changed over to when they moved out of Beacon Hills into San Francisco. They'd found that he was and still is anemic, and the combination of his different medications only makes it harder for him to regulate his hormone levels and vitamin deficiencies. Dietary changes, while annoying, was the easiest thing to change in his lifestyle, and Danny showed solidarity in changing his own habits so Stiles didn't feel like he was missing out on anything.
It also gave him perspective on how the Sheriff felt when Stiles had taken over micromanaging his dad's diet to save him from alcoholism and heart failure. While it didn't make him stop the micromanaging, he had lightened up a bit and often pretended not to notice when Noah snuck things he shouldn't eat. With the noticeable leniency, Noah also stopped having such intense cravings and tried less, as well as tried harder to be conscious of his choices without Stiles breathing down his neck.
When Stiles leaves in the middle of his meal to go to the restroom, Danny receives a text from Jackson asking how he thinks things are going. It shouldn't surprise Danny that Jackson is fully aware they're being spied on. Without waiting for a response, the blond sends another message asking about some of the meal choices Stiles had made, and Danny gladly explains in the briefest terms about Stiles' health issues in the past year or so. There is plenty left unsaid so that Stiles can elaborate if Jackson decides to ask the lanky man himself.
Stiles takes a few minutes longer than expected to return from the men's room, and Danny snorts when he switches cameras to see that he has somehow been wrangled into escorting an elderly man who appears to have dementia back to a family in the corner on the opposite side of the restaurant. He shoots a message to Jackson, assuring him that Stiles hadn't dipped and would be back as soon as he escapes the harmless clutches of the elderly man.
Jackson flicks his index finger in a lazy salute aimed at the nearest camera pointed at him in acknowledgment. Stiles scurries over, embarrassed, some minutes later, babbling about what had happened, ever the worrywart, even if it is about being accused of ditching a date he hadn't wanted in the first place. Danny imagines he's worried that leaving Jackson too long would result in Jackson's less savory parts of his personality to crop up and sprout with spite, bite his head off with a sneer; he used to act that way with Danny, too, before he finally got comfortable in their relationship and came to realize that Danny wasn't going to get angry over little mistakes, misunderstandings, and inconveniences.
After dinner, and a truly indulgent dessert that Jackson insists they share, making that pretty blush Danny so adores spread across Stiles' pale skin, likely halfway down his chest. Danny smiles and watches, completely enamored with his boyfriend even as he's on a date with another man.
His boyfriend and his undeniably attractive best friend.
He has never allowed himself to think of Jackson as anything other than his best friend from middle school on. Even so, he never could deny that Whittemore is an exceedingly pretty man, even with the shit personality of his teenage self. There had been one time in college, before Danny had even considered asking Stiles on a date; a very drunken one-night-stand that thankfully didn't ruin their friendship. It had only been sloppy kissing and handjobs, both of them too drunk to do much more, but it had been the closest to having sex they ever had been, and it was also the awakening Jackson apparently needed to finally realize he was something other than the straightest straight to ever straight.
Danny had told him several times in different phrasing, but why would Danny ever know? It wasn't like Danny was gay or anything.
Danny tunes back in when Stiles convinces Jackson, with very little effort, to go on a walk with him after dinner, something Danny is very well-versed in; sitting still in a restaurant takes a lot of effort on Stiles' part, and so they'd started the habit of taking a walk, even if for only a few minutes, to help burn off excess energy before they head home. It's also a sign that Stiles is enjoying himself more than he thought he would; he would have allowed to Jackson to take him home immediately after, excess energy be damned, if he had had enough of the evening.
Jackson acquiesces with very little cajoling. They walk close together, arms almost bumping into each other as they go, and Danny has to work some tech-wizardry magic to switch between cameras along the streets and buildings to follow their progress. The audio still comes in clear as ever, allowing him to listen on their conversation even if he can't watch from the occasional CCTV blindspot.
As Danny had predicted, Stiles uses this time, after the first few minutes of their quiet walk, to drop the demisexual-bomb on Jackson. He starts explaining what it means, then nervously babbles on to explain what it means for him specifically—even if they develop the emotional connection that Stiles requires for his libido to kick into gear, it doesn't mean he will actually ever want to have sex. As it stands, he and Danny aren't particularly sexually active. The sex is great, of course, and they usually go several rounds when they do have sex, but it's not something that drives their relationship. Sometimes, all Stiles can manage is a couple blowjobs, sometimes only a handjob, and sometimes he's willing to do those things but not receive them. It's a delicate, unpredictable situation, and a lot of people didn't understand, hadn't understood, nor are they willing to accept r work around these “eccentricities.” Unfortunately, in today's society, sex or the lack thereof can and has been a huge deal-breaker.
Danny knows he wouldn't have gone long without telling Jackson. It had taken a few dates before Stiles had been comfortable enough to confess to Danny, scared that it would mean the end of their relationship before it truly got the chance to begin; he'd said he didn't want to push himself to do something Danny may have been expecting to happen—he hadn't—and that he would be heartbroken if they got so far along, and Danny got too tired waiting for something that may never happen—he wouldn't.
With Jackson, though, with their prior history, he's going to nip it in the bud. He may never want to have sex with Jackson, and if that was a problem, if it was a deal-breaker, better to address the issue now and cut ties rather than drag it out and possibly sign himself up for future pain. Additionally, he doesn't like feeling like he's leading anyone on—something past significant others have accused him of.
Danny had found their names and ruined them socially. Anonymously, of course, so it wouldn't blow back on him.
Stiles knows it was him anyway.
To Jackson's credit, he listens attentively and doesn't attempt to interrupt or ask questions until after Stiles has reached a natural end to his anxiety-riddled babbling ramble. Danny can't see them at this point, irritated that he doesn't have eyes on the situation at such a critical point, but he can hear them. He turns up the volume just to be sure he doesn't miss anything. He closes his eyes, waiting.
“Consent is very important to me,” Jackson says. There's a rustling of fabric, and his voice gets a little closer, calm and serious. It's a great start to his response to Stiles' very important confession, and Danny silently applauds him. “When I was in high school, I was a horny little fuck, and if I hadn't been dating Lydia for the majority of those years, I probably would have been one of those stereotypical manwhores. Some things have happened since then that, while I won't elaborate in detail right now, put a lot of perspective on a lot of facts of life. Sex is not the most important thing in life. While making love with you would be a definite bonus, it is not the goal. I know what it's like to be taken advantage of, and I know what it's like to want to meet someone's expectations even when it is detrimental to my own well-being. I would never put you in that position, not knowingly, and if I ever make you uncomfortable, I fully expect you to tell me.”
He pauses. There's a few breaths from both, and Danny listens with quiet breaths of his own. Jackson continues, “If you can't. If you're not in a place where you known you can tell me anything and not be persecuted for it, tell Danny. Danny will always make sure both of us are safe and cared for, but he's not afraid to kick the living shit out of me when I need it.”
It startles a short bark of laughter from Danny, echoed by Stiles on the other end. The tension breaks a bit, and Danny feels his shoulders relax a little. If Stiles is laughing, then everything is still going okay. Jackson is doing a great job on this date. He'll have to remember to commend him later.
“I just want to make sure you know,” Stiles says. “Right off the bat. I didn't do it with Danny, because I was scared, and I hated it, but Danny's also not the type of person to explode and rant and rave about being deceived and led on, or try to blackmail you into doing what he wants anyway.”
Danny's brain skids to a halt. He nearly fumbles his gadget onto the floor. That one is new. Why hadn't he heard of that one? Who the fuck tried to blackmail Stiles into—
“I assume their bodies aren't able to be found?” Jackson says, voice low and deadly.
“Danny took care of them, and the ones he didn't had already been dealt with by Dad.” Stiles is quiet but matter-of-fact. “Their bodies can be found, but only because they're in prison.”
Well that answers that, then.
Danny resolves to look into the matter more later. It's the least he can do for his Stiles, even if the culprits are already being punished.
“My point is, I don't want you to do anything that you're not completely 100% on board with,” Jackson declares, effectively veering away from the darker side of their conversation. “If you're never ready to have sex with me, if we go further with this relationship like I'm hoping to, I have a hand, and there's free porn on the internet. I do have a question, though.”
“What's that?” Danny can tell by Stiles' tone that he's fully relaxed, no longer terrified of rejection or a public angry confrontation. He can imagine the softness on his face as he allows himself to sink from that pique of worry and anxiety, and calm gently, open to the conversation with Jackson in a way that he hasn't been all night.
It tells Danny that he is open to more happening between them, and smug satisfaction coils in his belly.
“Are kisses off the table?”
There's another pause, and Danny thinks it's from surprise. He doesn't detect a change in Stiles' breathing, but he's not completely sure. He damns the surrounding businesses for not having the correct camera angles, preventing him from seeing his boyfriend.
“They're...not completely off the table,” Stiles replies hesitantly. “They're more like on the edge of the table.”
“Do they get further toward the middle of the table depending on when I ask for them?”
“Maybe. I'm not sure... I didn't kiss Danny probably until the third or fourth date.”
“Does it matter what type of kiss?”
“What do you mean?”
“It doesn't have to be a mouth kiss, Stiles. I could kiss your cheek. I could kiss your forehead. I could kiss the back of your hand like the princess you are.”
“P-princess—?!” Stiles splutters, outraged, and Danny chuckles to himself.
“Princess. You're definitely pretty as one,” Jackson tells him, teasing, and probably wearing a shit-eating grin on his face, blue eyes wicked with mirth. “Answer the question, Stiles.”
“I don't know that I'll want kisses from a bully, Whittemore,” Stiles huffs, and Danny sees him cross his arms in his mind's eye, pouty and flushed and reluctantly enjoying the teasing, completely unaware just how cute he is like that and how much more tempting he makes himself.
“I promise I can make it worth your while, gorgeous,” Jackson purrs, and now Danny's sure that Stiles is nervous and flutter in a completely different way, and red as a tomato. Compliments are a sure-fire way to sweeten him up to anything you ask him for. “Answer the question, Stiles.” His voice has dropped an octave, and Danny shifts, affected in a way that he knows Stiles won't feel until much later.
“Cheek kisses are probably okay,” Stiles responds, voice quiet. “Forehead kisses. Danny likes to kiss the end of my nose a lot for some weird reason.”
Because it's adorable, Stiles.
“Hand kisses would have been okay until the princess comment, you jerk, so now I'll probably just punch you if you try it.”
Jackson laughs, and then they're moving again and coming back into frame. Danny relaxes a little. A smile breaks across his face when he sees that Jackson has managed to finagle his way into lacing his and Stiles' fingers together, holding hands as they head back toward the restaurant, probably to go back to where Jackson parked his expensive Porsche in the back of the parking lot. Danny knows for a fact that he owns an SUV as well; he breaks out the Porsche when he's trying to impress someone.
Stiles is definitely someone worth trying to impress, but he's also ridiculously easy to impress. He's a lover of the simple things, the more meaningful things. Stiles is more interested in the different controls on the radio than he is with the car itself, and Danny almost chokes on his laughter at the perceived fail on Jackson's part.
The banter on the drive home is far more characteristic of both men, and it sets Danny at ease. He allows himself to sink into his tinkering, only half-listening to them now that he knows everything is going well. His boys are getting along, and there's some hope for the future that is tinged with a hint of excitement.
When the security system around the house beeps as Jackson's car passes over the sensor upon entering the driveway, Danny sets down his side project, closes down the surveillance equipment, and gets up to meet them at the door. He opens it and leans casually against the doorframe. He can practically feel his eyes sparkle as he smirks smugly, watching them through the windshield as they say their parting words, Stiles suddenly shy again. It gives him a flashback of the fond memories of how he reacted this way on the first six or so dates he and Danny shared. It had been one of Danny's greatest pleasures to gain Stiles' trust enough to ease those little worries away until there was no shyness to be seen.
Jackson gets out of the car with Stiles, walking him up to the porch where he can “safely deliver Stiles into Danny's arms”, as he had teasingly promised before the date was even set. Before they make it all the way up the four steps to the porch and across to the doorway, Jackson tugs Stiles to a stop and gives him plenty of time to pull away as he leans forward to plant a lingering kiss on his cheek. While Stiles is blushing brightly, tongue-tied, Jackson lifts Stiles' hand, and instead of kissing his hand like he'd threatened and teased to earlier in the evening, he presses his lips to the sensitive flesh of his wrist.
Danny bites his lip, watching as his boyfriend practically swoons. Poor guy can barely stammer an affirmative when Jackson promises to text him later and that he had enjoyed their time together. Jackson swaggers off, fully aware of the effect he's had on Stiles and damn proud of it. Stiles doesn't move until Jackson has driven off. Then he scurries over to Danny, who receives him with open arms and a chuckle as his boyfriend buries his face into his neck, trying to hide his embarrassment.
“I take it you had a good time, baby,” he croons, easing them into the house and locking the door behind them.
“You know I did, you spying little shit,” Stiles accuses, muttering against the skin of Danny's neck and making it tingle with awareness.
“I told you everything would be okay,” Danny practically sings, rubbing his hands up and down Stiles' back. “Think you'll agree to another date?”
“Maybe,” Stiles replies sullenly. “Probably.”
Danny hums and presses kisses to Stiles' temple. He's keenly aware of the anxious energy thrumming through Stiles, how he trembles just the tiniest bit in Danny's arms. Time to bring Stiles down to earth and bundle him away in their safe haven. He'd done so well despite his understandable reservations.
“Come on, baby, let's go cuddle and watch some trash TV,” Danny coaxes. “You got your date, and I want my Stiles time.”
“Unlimited Stiles time,” Stiles agrees, shifting his clinging arms from around Danny's torso to up around his shoulders, and Danny obligingly catches his thighs when Stiles does a little hop and hikes them up around his hips. Entirely used to the koala-hold, Danny climbs the stairs to their bedroom.