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Jordan smiled as he finished his laps and emerged from the water, taking a deep breath and sending droplets flying in all directions as he climbed out, shaking his head. It was his favorite place to be in the summer when his naturally — or supernaturally — heated body could make for a less than comfortable experience, especially wearing his uniform as often as he did.
Sometimes he’d make the trip to the coast, but usually he stayed closer to town and took a dip in the county’s rivers and lakes. Recently, he started visiting the revamped and re-opened Aquatic Center at the Beacon Hills Community Complex with its spa and three pools: a shallow wader for small children, a deep, semi-Olympic pool for laps, and a large freeform leisure pool for everything else, including a side area cordoned off for fitness or swimming classes at certain times throughout the day.
In addition to the paid instruction, the children’s swim program — known as Frogs — offered free water safety lessons to underprivileged families and he'd taken to volunteering when he could. And if a certain young man happened to start working at the center 4 days a week last month, well, that was just a coincidence.
He couldn’t say when seeing Stiles around the station went from amusement or resignation at the boss’ son’s antics to fixating on the way his lips curved when he’d get that mischievous glint in his eye. When the shameless flirting with Rita, the elderly lady in Records, made his cheeks turn rosy even as he laughed along with the other officers. He’d even begun having dreams where he found out how many moles were hidden beneath all that plaid and denim.
And here Stiles was now, taking a break from wrangling towels and toys or yelling at runners to sit at the edge of the leisure pool with his calves moving idly through the water. He appeared to be zoning out in his general direction and Jordan waved to catch his attention. Stiles jolted upright, his face doing something complicated before settling into a familiar smirk and waving back.
“Done already, Parrish? Must be getting tired in your old age.”
Jordan snorted, barely refraining from flipping him off in public as he walked over. His 25th birthday was a couple weeks ago, the sheriff throwing a party for him at their house. Stiles had been giving him shit about a “quarter life crisis” ever since, though he did also make him a fantastic triple chocolate cake.
“I can do this all day, Stilinski,” he replied, referencing Captain America to see him light up. “How about we have a race?”
“Working,” Stiles drawled, gesturing to his dark green knee-length board shorts and a lighter green t-shirt, the colors marking him as staff.
“Sitting,” Jordan mocked. “How about when you clock out? I have a few errands to run, but I’d come back in a couple hours just to kick your a—behind,” he amended, noticing the 6 year old twins sisters he taught the previous week floating nearby with their guardian.
Stiles frowned and looked away.
“I can’t.”
“What? I didn’t take you for a chicken,” Jordan teased. Stiles huffed.
“I can’t.”
“Can’t?” he asked gently, realizing the change in mood.
“Swim. I never learned.”
Jordan’s eyebrows shot up. Before he could say anything Stiles looked at him and rolled his eyes.
“Yes, I’m fully aware of the irony of me working in a natatorium.”
“You and your Latin,” he said, grinning. “Well, that just means you’re in the right place.”
“Oh?”
It was his turn to roll his eyes.
“I’ll teach you. Shouldn’t be more difficult than the 1st graders.”
Jordan ducked the foam frisbee that came hurtling his way and laughed.
That week he volunteered on Thursday, three 40 minute classes between 4:00-6:30 for ages 3-5, 6-10, and 11-13, respectively. All “Tadpoles,” or those who couldn’t yet swim, but were able to maneuver and hold their breath.
Stiles sauntered over wearing red trunks and a black tank halfway through the last one and Jordan couldn’t help some unnecessary stretching and flexing in his form-fitting green rash guard while he was observed. He’d turned his spare room into a comprehensive home gym as a gift to himself last Christmas and was admittedly quite proud of the results.
After the class dispersed he removed his top to signal that he was no longer in an official capacity (and to better show off his physique of course) and Stiles hopped in for their second session. In most ways teaching him was easier than his usual students. In one way it was, ahem…harder.
Taking hold of Stiles’ pliant body to adjust his position. The heavy breathing after increasing his underwater endurance. How droplets gathered in his lashes to highlight his pretty brown eyes and slid down his face, his lips. Yeah, there was definitely some happenings below, though blessedly obscured.
An hour later Stiles had hurried off and Jordan was still daydreaming about licking his skin as he collected his things from the staff room after a quick shower. He ate leftover lasagna for dinner upon arriving home and was preparing to get some rest when he realized that he’d left his wallet behind. Goddammit.
The center would’ve closed shortly after he’d gone — 8:00pm on weeknights — but he was given a set of keys after responding to a delicate situation involving the complex’s director, so he returned to retrieve it. With luck he could still nap for a couple hours before his graveyard shift.
As he was walking out again he noticed something dark floating near the side of the kiddie pool. A small frog he realized, drawing closer.
Poor thing, he thought, crouching down. Being an indoor pool there were no platforms to help critters climb out.
He scooped it up, any squeamishness he might’ve once had long gone between his time in the military and being a hellhound in Beacon Hills. The water drained between his fingers as he stood and turned and when the limp creature rested fully on his palm it suddenly moved. His surprise and relief that it was alive after all soon turned to confusion and horror as he was struck immobile, dazed by a sudden flash of light. The frog leaped onto the floor with a loud “co-KEE” before disappearing just as a strange sensation came over him and he rapidly began to shrink.
When he finally fought his way out of his clothes the world was huge and bright, the scent of chlorine overwhelming. Jordan wanted to curse, but it was a high-pitched “co-KEE” that echoed through the empty building.
The Stilinski residence was only a mile away, but that was daunting in his current form. He’d managed perhaps 500 feet over who knows how long when he stopped to rest in a shrub near an intersection. When a box truck idled at the red light he figured he might as well put the sticky pads on his toes to good use.
An SUV, two cars, and a minivan later — plus another another few hundred feet of jumping, crawling, and, yes, snacking on insects — and he finally reached his destination. Now he just had to get inside. Unfortunately, all of the windows were either screened or closed.
He went back to Stiles’ again, frustrated and despondent co-KEEs loosed from his swelling throat sac until something thunked against the pane after a yelled “Shut up!”
Minutes later his phone rang and Jordan could hear Sheriff Stilinski’s voice on the other end, a combination of weariness, irritation, and concern as he asked if Stiles had seen or heard from him today. A pang of guilt shot through him for making the poor man stay over to cover his shift, but he had a really good excuse.
“Yeah, he was teaching me to swim this evening.”
There was a pause on the line.
“That’s great, kiddo,” the sheriff said, choking up slightly. “I was hoping you’d get around to it eventually. I know your mom was just starting to teach you when…” He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. She’d be proud of you too.”
Stiles made a noncommittal sound, but smiled before informing his dad that no, he hadn’t heard from him since then.
“He’s probably just conked out or something after dealing with you,” Stilinski joked, “but I’ll have Bennet swing by during her patrol.”
“Keep me posted,” Stiles said.
“Will do.”
Jordan sighed a quieter “ko-kee” watching as Stiles then brought his laptop to bed. He could tell that he pulled up a video, but there was no sound and the flashing screen was facing the opposite direction. At about the same time as he began to pick up what his enhanced senses interpreted as arousal, Jordan saw him set the computer aside, lick his palm, and put the hand down his pajama pants.
Oh. My God.
He forced himself to look away from Stiles’ slack-jawed expression in the glow of the screen as he began to move, but could still hear everything. At some point a drawer was opened followed by the thud of jostled items and the snick of a cap. Moaning accompanied the wet sounds off thrusting and sliding skin until his own name was repeatedly called out as Stiles finished himself off.
“Jordan, Jordan, oh, Jordan.”
A surprised “CO-co-KEE” escaped him.
Reeling, he almost didn’t notice when Stiles cracked open the window when he was done.
It was actually fairly easy to convince Stiles of who he was. Instead of directly approaching and shrieking at him — hoping he wasn’t unceremoniously tossed outside or accidentally smushed before he could actually communicate — Jordan just went over to the still open laptop while he was taking a shower, zoomed in on what was likely a porn site search bar with his sticky toes on the track pad, and typed:
help turned into frog jordan
(Well, it was more like “he;p turmed inti drog jortdam” because his close up vision was crap and touch-typing when you were a couple inches big was rather challenging.)
Only after Stiles spent several moments sounding out the strange message did he make his presence known, jumping onto the screen to tap at the last word, ko-KEE-ing twice, and tapping again.
Once he confirmed his identity and answered more questions by nodding, tapping, and vocalizing, Stiles got to researching exactly what he was (a common coquí or Eleutherodactylus coqui, named for the sound they made) and then how or why he became a frog (uh, who knows.)
Stiles couldn’t get ahold of Deaton, Lydia, or Peter, the latter two thousands of miles away, and left messages. In the meantime he tried reciting various “return” or “fix it” spells of dubious origin that required only household ingredients. After a fourth attempt he suddenly froze, getting that mischievous glint in his eye.
“I wonder…well, here goes, Stiles said, leaning down carefully to kiss his back.
Moments later he was sitting upright and bare on Stiles’ bed, a human — well, a hellhound — again.
“I can’t believe that wor—“
Jordan cut him off with another kiss. A proper one this time.
“Guess that makes you the prince of my heart,” he said, grinning.
Stiles groaned dramatically, but grabbed his face and pulled him back for more.
Much much more.
They were tangled together, basking in the afterglow, when Stiles gasped and pointed a finger accusingly.
“Oh my god, we totally did it froggy style!”
Jordan burst out laughing.
“Mmm, a frog position. There are many.” When Stiles gave him a look he added, “What? I’ve read Cosmo before.”
He wrapped the giggling youth in his arms, caressing him as they drifted into a peaceful sleep.
Until the exhausted sheriff came home to find his missing deputy in his son’s bedroom, naked and curled around an equally naked Stiles, that is.
“Co-fucking-kee,” Jordan muttered under his breath before attempting to explain.