For The-Sky-Was-Mistaken over on Tumblr who prompted: (Pydia, set right after Peter's resurrection.) Oh, Little Red, what big eyes you have, the kind of eyes that drive Wolves mad.
Title taken from Van Morrison's 'Moondance'
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He stands and revels in living. Moonlight seeps into his skin rejuvenating him. A small breeze starts up and it is bracing.
His eyes only spare the briefest of glances at Derek, the pup will survive and doesn't need any coddling.
Soon he finds his attention solely on Lydia and the fearful awe on her face.
Her pupils seem impossibly large, only the thinnest strip of hazel separates it from her sclera. The moonlight glitters and gleams in there, making new constellations and drawing him in. He doesn't even fight it, he's alive again and he's allowed a little fun isn't he?
The gap between them is bridged in a few quick strides and he scoops her up. He leans in and kisses her. For a moment she is frozen and then she pushes back, giving as good as she gets. Mmmm, yes.
Still kissing her he manages to make his way to the loveseat, deciding to be the gentleman he sits first putting her in his lap.
The first thing to go her is jacket revealing pale shoulders. He breaks away from her soft lips to move to her throat. Going straight for the junction he bites and sucks. She gasps sharply and bucks against him. But with her dress hampering her it's not enough for either of them. Her hands dig into his hair as his own move to her back and make quick work of her zipper.
The bodice slips down, revealing the lacy thing she's wearing that is apparently a bra; but best of all the skirt is looser, allowing him to push it up to her waist. She moves closer, straddling him completely. He rewards her with gentle little love bites all the way down to her breasts, ash and dirt marring her perfect skin. With his hands still bracing her she leans back to give him better access.
He lips at the border between bra and skin and feels his cock twitch at her mewling. He gives a self-satisfied smile and dips his tongue in, almost, but not quite, grazing her nipple. "Peeeetttteeerrrr."
He glances up. "Yes deer?"
Her hands yank his hair and he feels wonderful, glorious, pain. "Don't tease!" She manages to gasp out as he nearly licks her other nipple.
Feeling magnanimous he leans her back further and sucks through the lace. Lydia whimpers and grinds against him, seeking more stimulation.
Peter is more than willing to oblige.
His left hand leaves her back and begins to give light, abortive strokes against her thigh, ash and dirt creating little freckles there. "More," she moans as her hands move to his shoulders and dig into his back.
Pleasurepain sparks through him and his hand moves inwards, stroking and circling through her underwear.
She arches into the touch and another sharp gasp escapes her. Her nails dig deeper and he can feel blood begin to seep from the wounds to mix with dirt and ash. His own nails turn to claws and cut through her underwear and oh so gently he scrapes one against her cilt. She shrieks, the loudest sound he's heard from her yet, and bucks again. His finger nearly slips into her but he pulls back before it can, instead giving a teasing little stroke.
She tries to speak again, but all he hears from her is a garbled mess of 'yes', 'more', 'Peter', and 'fuck.'
And who is he to deny her what she wants?
His hand leaves her and she whimpers at the loss. "It's alright my deer," he soothes as he begins to lift her up.
With his hands full it takes him longer than he'd like to position himself. But finds it's worth it when she sinks down, so very warm and tight around him.
For a moment they are both still and then one of them moves; Peter can't remember who, not that it matters.
Every time he's fully in her her breath hitches and it tugs at dead heartstrings. His free hand tangles in her fire-blonde hair, forcing her to bare her neck even more. He renews his assault there, leaving marks and smears everywhere he can reach.
Her tiny mewls come back and they force him to pump harder, faster pushing her mercilessly towards the edge.
When her orgasm finally comes is is a wild and glorious thing. Her scent of cinnamon and vanilla nearly overwhelms him. Her mouth opens in a soundless scream. And for the briefest moment her pupils flash green.
And then she's slumped against him, breathing ragged and worn, Uncaring of the ash and dirt covering him. Her body goes exquisitely soft and pliant and it's enough to send him over the edge. Spilling into her with an Alpha roar.
Together they lie there and bask. But soon reality comes creeping back. Over on the floor Derek groans and Lydia gives an uncomfortable wiggle. He lets her climb off and gets up himself to find clothes.
When he returns she is back to her regular poised self. The only signs of their lovemaking are his marks all over her neck and chest and staining smears of dirt and ash. He hold out a hand and she stares at it.
He gives a loving sigh, "it would be ungentlemanly of me to let you walk home alone Lydia."
She laughs, but takes his hand.
The walk back to her house is filled with silence. It is an intimate silence, one that others would fill with pillow talk and cuddling. But they have no need for words, and a night like this was made for running, not staying still.
He escorts her all the way to her bedroom door. Uncertainty creeps into her eyes, and that will never do. Leaning down he gives her a soft kiss. "Sweet dreams deer."
Part of him doesn't want to leave, but the rest of him reminds it that there will be other times. Times he can stay, times he can take his time with her.
Those times never come.