There's something closer here than flesh on flesh. More intimate than just her heat around him. When he hears her sighs his heart quickens, he whispers his thoughts to her. Words. Words that didn't need order, or sense, or even to be said aloud. He did, anyway, though. He always needed his words. They were a safety net with everyone else, a babble of defense that kept people from getting too close. But she hears his words. Her mind is as quick as his. Her words are less jumbled, but to the outside world they are no easier to understand. He loves that she understands, and he'll never know how much it means that he listens.
Stiles hides a groan in her hair and relishes in the scent of her. Sweet, floral, comforting, and oh so familiar. When he was close to her it was hard to concentrate, the soul-cleansing smell that drifted from her dazed him. Now that smell brings a spark of lust with it. She's soft. Her hair is silk against his lips and her body yields to his touch without hesitation. Soft everywhere. Feathery soft lips tickle his neck, his fingertips sink into her skin that seems akin to satin. Most of all she's soft where he is not. Soft and warm and so very, very comforting. Tight around him and when he moves she becomes only tighter still. Squirming, moaning, needing him. Oh did he love to be needed.
He nuzzles in to her neck, teasing the flesh with his tongue. The delicacy of the skin there tempted him to sink his teeth in to her. He just had to get deeper. His finger tips sank into her backside as he increased the intesity of his thrusts. He had to hang on to her. Stiles has been drifting lately, but here with Lydia he feels as if someone has tied him to earth. She keeps him tethered to reality. Hanging on to his ankles and doing her best to weigh him down. The darkness embraces him, pulling him up and in to the void, and she anchors him against it's currents.
Outside of her, outside of this bed, everything is falling apart. But here he is safe. Here he cannot be reached by assassins, benefactors, or broken hearts. This is his happy place.
Lydia is his sanctuary. He remembers almost losing her. Each time it's happened a little bit of him breaks. He's not sure how many more parts he can lose until he becomes completely empty. He finds her lips in the dark, and she catches on to his desperation. Her fingers twist into his hair with just as much fervor as his kisses. She aches for him, he fills a gap that she hadn't realised was there. She's never felt this way before. Something Allison had said... You can't breathe until you're with them...
He feels the water on her face, and pulls away. Tears have welled in her eyes and rolled down her face, some reaching her cheeks and others tumbling down her temples and into her hair.
"What's wrong?" He's suddenly a little frantic, scared he'd hurt her.
"You always have to leave." She cries quietly. Tears of a fate she knows there is no avoiding. This is well practiced grief.
"Lydia, I'm not going anywhere." His comfort is an empty promise, though he doesn't know it yet. She smiles at this, lifting her lips to kiss him.
Lydia mutters against them, "You always say that."
Stiles wakes suddenly, tears blurring his vision. Beside him his nightly visitor had resumed her habit of appearing in his bed. He looks at her with guilt. He hadn't chosen that dream, it was one that had been with him since puberty. Lydia Martin wrapping herself around him and allowing the love he wished to show her. But here and now another girl shared his bed. A beautiful girl. A girl he likes. Really likes.
He can't say it though. It's odd. Surely love is easier to fall in to when you're doing it together? It's so simple with Lydia. He's never been able to lie about his feelings for her. Not to anyone. Even now, as another girl dreams beside him, not to himself.
Miles away the Banshee stirs, and tears splash onto her pillow.
