These hearts adore
Everyone the other beats hardest for
Inside this place is warm
Outside it starts to pour
&.&.&
It isn't perfect by any means. It's a clumsy, sticky kiss—Lydia's Victoria's Secret lipgloss is for the allure, not so much the practicality of making out. Within seconds, the gloss is smeared around Stiles' mouth, and he tastes supreme sweetness—a combination of mint and some kind of citrus. Lydia smells of cosmetics and hair products—slightly artificial, with a hint of vanilla and fruit. It should have turned him off, but instead it drove him crazy, because that smell is just so undeniably Lydia Martin.
Stiles doesn't really know what he's doing. The only people he's kissed in the past have been dying, or trying to use him to lose their virginity, or trying to ease his panic attack. This time, they are in no immediate danger, and neither of them is on the brink of death. They have simply stopped fighting their instincts.
At first, he is unsure of what to do with his hands, and settles for tangling them in Lydia's hair. She makes a displeased noise at this, since he's ruining the hair style that she so painstakingly put together in the morning, and is probably giving her knots. Stiles has had so many fantasies about this strawberry blonde hair, and now he want to touch it, run his finger through it, just to make sure that this is real.
Stiles has never imagined Lydia being this frenzied—this is something surprising and immensely satisfying. Seeing the impeccable Lydia reduced to a sloppy, rushed, hormone driven teenager sends a heat straight to his groin. He thinks that maybe he's seeing beyond her polished exterior in the bedroom, and that this is probably very rare. Maybe she just doesn't have any expectations to meet with him, because Stiles has virtually no experience. He definitely likes this hungry, liberated Lydia.
Lydia, however, knows exactly what to do with her hands. They're everywhere at once, setting fire to Stiles' skin, and he's having a sensory overload. He can't take in everything, as much as he wants to commit every millisecond into his memory, and focuses on making his mouth move the way he wants it to (this has never been a problem for him in the past). She pulls his shirt over his head, and Stiles doesn't even have time to feel self-conscious as her lips are on his collarbone, making their way slowly down his chest. He has to stifle a whimper, because god it felt good to be touched at all. Her head dips tantalizingly close to his belt, and he's panting now, embarrassing little huffs. Lydia looks up at him with a smirk, and he sees in her eyes exactly what she plans to do. He feels her nails creep between the waistband of his underwear and stomach.
His mind is running a mile a minute, because he can't believe that Lydia Martin is actually about to give him head—
I should win an award for the best self-restraint, Stiles thinks as he interrupts her, guiding her face back to his level. Her expression is inquisitive now, and she starts, "What are you doing—"
He silences her by giving her a chaste kiss, which seems to surprise both of them. Stiles feels more confident now, since Lydia doesn't have a haughty, scornful look on her face, nor has she rejected him yet. He places gentle hands on her shoulders, lowering her onto her back on her bed. She doesn't fight him, but her eyes are wide and wavering. He thinks that she's more beautiful than he's ever seen her before.
He could wait, because he would never forgive himself if he wasted a chance, with Lydia in his bed, to see her completely unraveled. He would hate himself forever if their first time doing anything together—and maybe their last, for all he knows—if Stiles becomes just another one of Lydia's distractions. He wouldn't let her do things only for his benefit. He would please her, unlike some of the other selfish people that she invited to bed. She would remember him as more than that.
He kisses his way down her front, settling himself between her legs, tapping them and urging her to follow along. Understanding dawns on her face, and she props herself up on her elbows.
"You don't have to do that." She sounds uncertain, and puts her legs closer together. Jackson had only gone down on her once, and that had been with quite a bit of negotiation from her.
"I want to." He says honestly, because Stiles wants to make Lydia feel just as special as he thinks that she is. She deserves to be worshipped, and this is a good place to start.
"Well… thank you."
And he can see that she means it. As he eases her back onto the bed, she has lost some of her bravado, entering a territory that is unknown to her, as well as him. She is reticent at first, as Stiles fumbles, not exactly sure where to start, but then he just plunges in, and it's like a spark that ignites a wild fire. Lydia's back is arching, her hands curling and uncurling around the sheets, and Stiles is content to just lose himself in the taste that is Lydia Martin. He studies her every response, so intently that Lydia covers her face with her arm several times in embarrassment.
He must be doing a reasonable job, because soon, Lydia comes undone. She throws her head back in abandon, and her gasp makes his jeans feel unbearably tight.
"Thanks." She says again, after her body has stopped shaking. Stiles gives her a lopsided grin, playing it cool to the best of his ability, even though his head is somewhere lost in the clouds.
"No problem. In fact, it was my pleasure. Well, hopefully somewhat your pleasure too, because otherwise I would feel like kind of a dick if I was the only one who got off on something like this-"
Lydia smirks in amusement, and pulls his mouth to hers.
Maybe Lydia is thinking of Aiden leaving her, just like Jackson, because in the end he hadn't truly loved her enough to stay. Maybe she's lonely and needs someone, anyone, to fill the space. Maybe this is all one great experiment to her, and tomorrow, they would go back to pretending that there was nothing between them. That he was still dorky Stiles, and she was the Queen Bee.
Maybe the rain would wash away the memories of this encounter entirely.
But to Stiles, it doesn't matter. The fact that Lydia is letting him in at all—the fact that she came to him this time, the fact that she was looking only at him in this moment—it is enough.
No, the kiss isn't perfect, but it is everything that Stiles could have wished for.
Sorry if this chapter was a bit confusing to read, but this is the closest thing to a real lime that I've ever written, and it was kind of difficult for me to put it down on paper. Let me know in a review if I could have changed anything to make it better/ less confusing!