*A/N: this is a work of fiction, sex with someone under the influence does not count as consensual sex and IS NOT OKAY. That being said, enjoy the story!*

Lydia's vision was hazy, each thought she attempted to keep a grasp on seemed to dance away like smoke between her fingers. But surely this person, who felt sturdy, warm, and safe, had to be Jackson? Who else would be sitting on her bed, asking her if she was okay, as if he cared?

But then, since when did Jackson care? She shook away the thought, no, no he had to care. He loved her. He loved her like Noah loved Allie in her very favorite film. Lydia's mind took a quick trip down memory lane, that first time Jackson and she had watched it together. He'd held her close, whispered that he loved her and... and moved her hand from his torso to his crotch.

Jackson had gotten what he wanted, her virginity, that night.

It wasn't exactly what she'd wanted. She had wanted to cuddle close in warm, comforting arms, and imagine that someone adored her.

But that was unlikely. Unlikely and practically impossible, as it tends to be fictional men that fall in love like that.

Yet, none of this solved the mystery of who this man on her bed was. Her hands found warm clothing and hot skin. Pretty eyes. Sparkly eyes. Sparkly brown eyes. She loved sparkly things.

Wait.

Jackson didn't have brown eyes.

Her first reaction was to recoil, but her hands ignored this impulse, they continued to gently stroke the skin of the amazed looking young man in front of her. She tentatively traced his lips with her thumb, wanting to giggle at his resulting: "Oh.. Gawwwd.."

He sounded so nervous. Who did she know who sounded like that?

One hand made a confident start down his neck, tracing circles that made him shudder.

"S-Sure you want me t-t-to stay?"

"Mhmmm, stay, please stay." She slurred, she couldn't let him go without working out who's shirt she was playfully tugging on.

Stiles had died and gone to heaven. Twice. Then he had fallen right back down to hell. Except this hell included a gorgeous redhead who was smiling at him like she was about to blow his mind.

As well as another organ.

But she was out of her mind at the moment. Okay, she was usually out of her mind, but right now she was under the influence of feeling-altering substances. Normal-Lydia would never have just slid a cool hand up his shirt and onto his stomach.

Normal-Lydia would not have suddenly hooked her fingers over the waistband of his jeans.

And Normal-Lydia would not have just pulled his face to hers and claimed his mouth with her own.

Stiles's head was spinning, the whole world was reeling round and round in a colourful confusion. With it, a musky scent of lavender that seemed to radiate from Lydia's porcelain skin. The combination of the two intoxications, the spinning colours and the heavy scent, almost felt like too much for his adderall infused mind to handle.

But Stile's had a very busy mind.

As one part of his brain because a whirlwind of joy and pleasure, another calmly instructed him:

"Wrap your arms around her, so she doesn't have to support her own weight so uncomfortably." The deed was done automatically.

"Good, now, part your lips a little more... Well done."

Lydia took this as an invitation, she wasn't one for patience, so as the surprisingly soft lips of her mystery guest parted, her pointy, pink tongue was first to slide between them. She'd had, in her mother's opinion, far too much practice at this.

Despite the false sense of blissful security the drugs produced, she still felt the flutter of true joy within her.

As well as the sudden pulsing heat between her legs as his tongue began to circle her own.

He tasted good.

He tasted warm, if woodsmoke had a taste, this would be it. Woodsmoke mixed with maple syrup and just a dash of exotic chocolate. It should have been gross, but she had the sudden urge to lick and nibble away at every part of him, just to see if the sweet warmth went all the way through.

Failing this, her perfect, sharp teeth closed softly around his bottom lip.

He groaned quietly in reaction, and she felt the corners of her mouth turn up in a smile. She was good at this. He thought so. Jackson wasn't the only one who liked what she could do.

His arms seemed to form an unbreakable bond around her. A sudden panic flooded her chest. Not a bond, a prison, she was trapped forever. This delicious stranger would never let her go.

No. Not a prison, a passionate embrace.

His hands seemed to dare not wander from her back, and she wanted to laugh. Jackson never failed to have his hands everywhere at once, never a request on his lips.

But she wanted this man to touch her, to want her.

Lydia reached awkwardly behind herself, and slid one of his hands down from the small of her back and onto her backside.

Stiles was doing mental flips of jubilation.

He, and so many others at school, had noticed just how delectable this girls butt was. He'd never understood the attraction of arse, until that faithful day in 7th grade when Lydia had swayed into school after the summer, and everything had filled out.

Her hips moved in a rhythmic, hypnotic manner, and did curious things to her arse. Made it a million times more watchable.

And it seemed the world had been watching ever since.

He longed to sink his finger tips in, and revel in the warm softness of her flesh. Nerves held him back, however, and he found himself rubbing slow, flat-palmed circles over one side of it instead.

She seemed to enjoy it, as a throaty moan of encouragement escaped her.