okay well this is the first teen wolf fic ive ever written and english is not my first language so bear with me
but basically lydia gets all touchy feely with stiles (no smut, sorry to disappoint you) and she thinks a lot about her feelings for him
set somewhere in an alternate universe where stydia is canon and allison isnt dead
(title from bloodstream by stateless, cool song btw!)
YOU'VE GOTTEN INTO MY BLOODSTREAM
They're on a study date at Lydia's place (although their version of a "study" date involves more making out and eating snacks than actually revising and doing homework) when the storm starts. The first thunderclap cuts Stiles off mid-sentence, and they both look out of the window. The sky is dark, and as if on cue, it starts raining. Hard. Lydia looks at the rain ticking on her window for a few minutes, when Stiles breaks the silence.
"Looks like it won't stop for a while," he says, looking at some weather forecasting app on his phone. Lydia shrugs. She doesn't really mind: her mum is out, having some dinner with colleagues, and probably won't come home until later tonight.
"Do you have to be somewhere tonight?" She asks, and it's kind of a rhetorical question because she knows he doesn't.
"Nope," he replies. "Can I, uh, stay over? Maybe?" He's scratching the back of his neck and she has to hide her smile behind her hand because they have been dating for three months and he still gets shy when it comes to sleeping over.
"Yeah, sure," she answers casually. "You probably do have to get your emergency kit from your jeep though. Considering the fact you probably don't fit in my pyjamas."
Everyone in the pack keeps an emergency kit with spare clothes, a toothbrush and other emergency supplies in their car, since there had been an awful lot of emergencies ever since Scott turned into a werewolf. That, and Lydia and Stiles just happen to have a lot of impromptu sleepovers.
"Yeah," he nods, still scratching his neck. He gets up and stretches. "I'll be back in a sec," he says, yawning. "God, chemistry is so boring." Lydia just rolls her eyes and motions for him to go.
Before long, he's back. Soaked. He stands in the doorway of her room and he gives her such a puppy dog look that she can't help but laugh. "It's not funny," he mutters, an exaggerated frown on his face, and he shakes out his hair so that droplets of water fly everywhere.
"Stiles," Lydia complains. He just grins and starts walking towards her bed. "Do you want a hug from me?" He drawls, spreading his arms.
"No!" she shrieks. His grin turns into a smirk and he takes another few steps towards her bed. "Stiles," she warns him again, voice turning serious, "I swear to God and all the lord-knows-how-many werewolves in this freaking town, if you touch me all wet like that I will not hesitate to break each and every one of your fingers by stepping on them in my Louboutins."
Stiles is still wearing the stupid smirk, but at least he's stopped walking. "Well, that was... graphic," he says at last. She just gives him a cold glare, but she has to resist the urge to smile. "Okay, okay," he says, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture, "I'll change." "Mm," Lydia answers distractedly because he's already started to take his shirt off, "you better."
Of course, he manages to get stuck while getting his shirt off, which results in Lydia getting a perfect view of his back. Boys' backs have always been a turn on for her, and Stiles's back is muscular from playing lacrosse and running from supernatural creatures, pale, and dotted with moles and freckles.
"Stiles," she says, and her own voice sounds very strange to her all of a sudden. "Can you come over here for a sec?"
Stiles has finally managed to get out of his shirt, and he turns around, eyebrows raised. His hair sticks up at the front from his previous shirt-battle, and once again Lydia has to hide a smile.
"Okay," he says, voice unsure, but he comes over anyway. And then he's standing in front of her, the lacrosse sweater he was about to put on still in his hand, and Lydia feels a little bit ridiculous. His pale skin is a stark contrast to the dark of the stormy sky outside behind him, and suddenly she has the strong urge to reach out and count his moles and freckles.
Lydia has always been good at getting what she wants. "Sit," she orders him, swallowing the sudden, inexplicable feeling of embarrassment down, in the hope of regaining a bit of self control. She's pretty sure she's blushing, and Lydia Martin does not blush or get nervous in front of a boy.
Stiles does what she asks, but his eyebrows have raised even higher on his forehead.
"Lydia, wha-," he starts, but she effectively cuts him off by pushing against his chest until he's lying flat on his back, his head on her pillow.
He looks like he's about to say something else again, so this time she shuts him up with a kiss. By the time they break apart, one of his hands has found its way in her hair and both of Lydia's hands have found home on his chest.
Stiles is panting and giving her a bewildered look and she reaches down to press a quick kiss to his mouth before turning her attention to her hands.
Her hands. On his chest. There are a few moles splattered across his chest, and without really thinking about it she starts drawing lines between them. His skin is warm and smooth and she leans down to brush her lips against his collarbone.
Stiles makes a noise low in his throat and she smiles despite the fact that her heart is beating way faster than she wants it to.
"Lydia," he tries again, trying to get up by supporting himself on his elbows. "Lie still," she commands, without looking up. "I want to touch you," and then, after realizing that she doesn't even know whether he wants her to do this, she adds, "is that okay with you?"
He nods quickly, Adam's apple bobbing up and down.
That's the confirmation she needs, and she starts roaming her hands over his chest again. She presses various kisses on his neck, until she's found his pulse point. Once she's found it, she bites down gently.
"Lydia, he says for a third time, but this time it comes out as a sigh. He still doesn't make any move to touch her, and she kind of likes it, the way he lets her do this.
When she's sure her kiss is going to leave a mark on his neck, she leans back and watches him. He's lying down with his eyes closed, face flushed and lips still swollen from their previous make out session. She presses her hand flat on his abdomen, right over his navel.
"I want to touch your back."
Stiles cracks an eye open and smiles before flipping over, taking the hint.
"Your wish is my command, Your Majesty," he replies, trying to sound casual but his voice cracks lightly. Lydia just bites down on her lower lip and starts raking a finger up and down his spine. She gently presses two fingers in one of the dimples in his back and he sighs again.
She doesn't mean to say it out loud, but the words are out of her mouth before she can stop herself. "I've never touched anyone like this. Ever." Her voice sounds small and a bit strained and she hates herself for it. But it's the truth: she's never touched anyone like this, this intimate, without having sex before or after. Not even Jackson.
Jackson. She is glad the name doesn't taste like blood in the back of her mouth, like it used to. Jackson has been gone for more than one and a half year and Lydia doesn't need distractions anymore.
When she started dating Stiles, Allison actually made her promise she wasn't going to use him, and Lydia had been offended at the implication. Stiles is not a distraction, he's something more. She hasn't exactly figured out yet what 'more' means in this context, and she dislikes it. She dislikes not being able to figure something out immediately, and she hates not knowing things. What she does know, though, is that she likes Stiles. A lot.
Said boy turns his head towards her and gives her a lazy smile. "No?"
She shakes her head and bites her lip, avoiding eye contact by looking at her hands on his back. She doesn't know what else will come out of her mouth if she looks him in the eye for too long. Presumably three-word-sentences, and she's not sure if she's ready for that yet. Instead, she busies herself with playing connect the dots with the moles on his back.
His skin is pale with an orange glow from her bedside lamp, the only light source in her room. "Flip over, " she orders, and he raises his eyebrows but complies anyway. She's already touched his chest, but she didn't pay proper attention to his stomach, and well. Stiles is just really nice to touch.
She roams her hands over the soft skin on his abdomen, and hears his breathing hitch. Then, slowly, she leans over and places a soft kiss just below his navel. Her lips linger there for a beat, and then she lets her hands travel upwards, to his chest.
Stiles has been lying surprisingly still all this time, watching her through half-lidded eyes. He is beautiful, Lydia realises. She's never thought of any boy as beautiful before, and the idea makes her a little giddy.
His heart is beating hard under her hands, and Lydia smiles a little. "You okay?" Stiles asks, interrupting her thought process. A touch of self-consciousness is evident in his voice. "You zoned out for a bit there."
Leaning forward once again, she kisses his neck, slowly moving upwards until she's kissing his cheek.
"Yes, perfectly fine," she mumbles against his skin.
Then, she presses her lips to the corner of his mouth. He hums softly, but still doesn't move. She kisses his jaw and his earlobe, and then finally his lips.
Stiles finally comes to life under her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She tugs on his under lip and smirks when she hears him groan.
A warm, foreign feeling starts to spread from her chest to the rest of body, until she can feel it tingling in her toes and fingertips, and she wonders when he got so under her skin. She also wonders why this doesn't scare her at all. Doing this, being this close to Stiles, and him being so close to her just feels right.
Her mind wanders back to everything he told her before she really noticed him, about unspoken connections – yes, she had actually heard him that day in the hospital, but pretending she hadn't had been so much easier – and literally going out of his freaking mind when she died. She hadn't understood what he was talking about back then. Now she does. She looks up and he's staring intently at her, the same way he has always done.
She doesn't break eye contact.