2015
It starts with a phone call, and ends up somewhere very weird.
"Stiles, I'm hanging up now," Lydia threatens as she strolls down the aisles of Bed, Bath, and Beyond. It's only June 3rd, so, yes, probably a bit early to start the hunt for college-related necessities, but Lydia Martin is nothing if not prepared.
"No, no, no, wait, Lydia, please - just an hour. Give me one hour. Just check out the house with me and then we can - I don't know, do something normal, go to a movie or something," he begs.
She'd be lying if she said the idea of a truly haunted house doesn't intrigue her at least a little bit, but after everything else that's gone on this year - the werewolf war, for lack of better term - she's ready for a break from all the running and screaming and mysteries. Just time to remember what it's like to be a normal teenager before going off to college, where the supernatural will, hopefully, not abound.
But Stiles knows when he has her, so when he utters the final, "Please?" she sighs reluctantly, knowing there's no way she can deny him. She hates that he's learned to so easily manipulate her.
"Fine," she relents.
"Yes!" he breathes. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!"
"Okay, god. If you keep saying, 'thank you,' I'm going to change my mind," she huffs. "Just - meet at my house, okay? Twenty minutes."
She'll probably regret this, she thinks as she hangs up. But then, when was the last time she said that and actually meant it?
...
The line for the movie - the new Wonder Woman, skillfully directed by none other than Joss Whedon - is long, so they spend about ten minutes waiting outside the theater, and that's when it happens. That's when everything changes.
Who knows what it is exactly, maybe just something in the air or the feel of the evening summer breeze on her back, but she is suddenly acutely aware of Stiles' every move. Turning to look at him as they talk another step up towards the ticket counter, she hones in on the way his tongue slides once over his lips. It's the most common of actions, especially when it comes to Stiles, but it's like she's never noticed it before, the quickness of that tongue, the precision he uses in wetting his lips, how much she'd like to just lean up and mingle her mouth with his -
Lydia shakes her head, forcing herself to look straight forward. What on earth was she just thinking? Better yet, what on earth did she just almost do?
"Uh, Lydia?" Stiles says, disrupting her thoughts. "You, you gonna move forward?" He's stepped forward with the rest of the line and is turned back, looking at her expectantly, those big, brown, puppy dog eyes of his as adorably wide as ever and -
Dear god, Martin, she thinks. Just shut up and move.
"Yeah, yeah of course," she says, stepping up to join him. Stiles looks at her levelly.
"You okay, Lydia?" he asks, and when she glances at him, however briefly, there is genuine concern on his face. God, how she hates that. The way Stiles somehow manages to be more authentic than anyone she's ever know. How she thinks it's kind of, totally, one of the sexiest things she's ever encountered in a guy -
Wait. Sexy?
Her heart is racing a thousands miles a minute at this point, and she knows she still has to answer his question, but she can't quite recall how to make her lips form words. Since when did she start thinking Stiles was sexy, anyway? After all, this is Stiles for god's sake; he's like the dorkiest, least sexy person she's ever met.
Except for those beautiful arms. She sneaks a glance to her left to the spot where Stiles has rolled up his button down to reveal his forearm. There's just something about the way his muscles tense that make her wish he would shove her up against a wall and fuck the hell out of -
"I'm fine!" she blurts out, too loudly. The people behind them shoot her irritated looks before resuming their conversations, and Lydia composes herself, eyes wide. "I'm fine," she says more quietly. "I just - I just realized I told Allison I would call her, and I forgot. So just, uh, get the tickets would you? Here!" She thrusts her credit card into his hand, careful to ignore the way her skin burns when it brushes against his. She toward the bathroom before Stiles can protest.
Allison answers her phone on the third ring, sounding all-too-relaxed on her vacation in Oregon. She's been gone for a week and a half, and Lydia's begun to suspect she's never coming back.
"Hello?"
"Quick question -"
"Lydia?"
"Obviously. Now, question: has Stiles always been attractive?"
There's a brief pause on the other end of the line. "Lydia, are you okay?"
"Argent! Answer the damn question!"
"Okay!" Allison answers snappily. She sighs. "I mean, speaking objectively, sure. Stiles is very cute. You know, in a dorky, puppy dog way. But still, very cute. Why do you ask?"
"And this isn't a recent development? Like, he's always been like this?" Lydia asks, twisting a lock of her hair and completely ignoring the question. By this time, Stiles has bought the tickets and is waving them in the air, walking towards her. He runs a hand through his hair, and Lydia whimpers quietly at the gesture.
"Uh, yeah. Lyds, what is wrong?" Allison gasps. "Oh my god, do you have feelings for Stiles?"
"Feelings?" Lydia asks, incredulous. "Please. As if." He's getting closer, and Lydia can feel her time running short of this conversation. "But I think I'd like to fuck his brains out," she adds quickly. "Allison, I gotta go. He's here."
Allison laughs, bright and cheery and free. "Well, you let me know how that turns out."
"I will. Bye!" she says with false cheer as Stiles approaches, holding out her ticket and her card.
"Talking about me?" he says, teasing.
"No!" Lydia snaps, then forces a laugh. "Why would we ever talk about you?" She storms away, and Stiles follows in her wake, calling out a, "I was just joking!"
It's going to be a long evening.
...
The movie is good, or, at least, she assumes it is by Stiles' reactions, but Lydia, for the life of her, can't possibly pay attention with him sitting so dangerously close to her. His left hand dangles off of the arm rest, and it's all Lydia can do to keep imagining what it might be like for that hand to reach over just a few inches and crawl its way up under her skirt -
She shakes her head.
I am in so much trouble, she thinks.
When the movie is, finally, over, Lydia practically storms out of the theater, Stiles jogging to catch up with her, as he usually does. He grabs her upper arm to slow her down.
"Woah, woah, Lydia, what is wrong with you tonight? Did you not want to see Wonder Woman or something?" he asks as they stand in the middle of the parking lot. "You know, we could have seen something else, if you really wanted to."
"No!" Lydia insists. "No, I really liked it. I wanted to see it." She bites her lip, looking up into his eyes, and something in her center goes very still, like he's managed to calm all of the nervous energy from earlier. She sighs. "I'm sorry, Stiles," she says. "I don't know why I've been so weird. Just -" She shrugs, grabbing a hold of his arm to direct him towards the car. "Let's just go back to my house. I promise I won't be weird anymore."
Stiles grins. "You're always weird."
"Hey!" she protests, smacking him in the arm.
"Ow, goddammit, Lydia."
"Don't 'goddamit, Lydia' me. You totally deserved that."
...
Stiles is perched at the end of her bed, emphatically reliving his favorite battle sequence of the movie, when she finally gives in to her unmanageable and inexplicable desire by just leaning over and kissing him.
It was too hurried, she'll think afterwards, the kind of kiss that looks so pleasantly urgent in the movies but in actuality is just a bit too messy to be as picturesque as it seems. She'll think this as she fails to fall asleep later that night, her fingers ghosting over her lips like it might conjure Stiles back into her bed. But despite its haste, the kiss itself might actually be the best she's ever given in her life up to this point: passionate, spontaneous, done with real feeling instead of the manufactured desire she used to occasionally practice with Jackson. And Stiles, for all his hapless teenage boy issues, gives as good as he gets.
She really should have expected that, she thinks. After all, Stiles can do nothing dispassionately. Every move he makes is infused with too much feeling. And while this might disadvantage him socially on occasion, in terms of kissing, it is definitely an asset.
Lydia suddenly wonders why she never tried this before.
When she finally pulls away, Stiles' mouth is already moving again, fumbling over words. "I - you, uh. I mean, what, what are you doing?"
Maybe she should roll her eyes. Push him away. Give up this - whatever it is, experiment. Sophomore year - hell, even last year - before they really became friends, she would have done just that, and how. But now she can't help herself; she grins ever-so-slightly.
"What does it look like I'm doing, you idiot?"
"Uh -"
"Don't answer that. Just -"
He takes the hint - and the opportunity - by ducking his head to kiss her once again. His hands struggle with where to go, exactly, but eventually his left hand tucks itself into her hair, thumb brushing lightly against her cheek, while his right hand alternates between caressing her thigh and making its way, however slowly, up her shirt.
Quite frankly, Lydia has never been so turned on in her life. It's almost embarrassing.
Which is why she pulls him back onto the bed. Why she doesn't protest when that right hand finally makes it up to and under her bra. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine Stiles - who, she's fairly certain, despite his brief fling with a girl named Becca this past year, is still a virgin - would be as good at this as he is, but then, maybe that was a bad assumption to make in the first place. When she was with Jackson, she always wished he would do a little less touching and a little more listening, because, as many caresses as he offered, he could never find exactly the right place to just -
But Stiles? Stiles knows how to listen. And not only listen to what she says or to what makes her moan in just that particular way, but to her body, to how it reacts when touched like this or kissed like that. Every move they each make is done with extensive communication. And, amidst all this, Lydia finds she really trusts Stiles. More than maybe any man she's ever known. She hates that this revelation doesn't terrify her as much as it probably should.
So when he slides her panties to the floor and settles his head between her legs, it is only with the slightest apprehension that she sits up and says, "What are you doing?"
Stiles pulls away from her slightly, taken aback. "Uh - I, well, I mean, do you not want me to?"
Lydia bites her lip. "Oh. No, it's okay. I mean, you don't...have to."
He licks his lips once, coming to a decision, and then he looks her dead in the eyes when he says, "I kind of want to."
The assurance in his voice is so sexy that Lydia thinks she might just climax right then and there, and just like that, she wants him to do it, too, even though Jackson, the only other boy who ever even tried eating her out, as per her request, could never quite get it right. But despite any previous failed attempts, she wants this: wants Stiles' mouth to travel that close to the center of herself.
But then, of course, he's Stiles, so he has to break the tension by saying, "I mean, I've never - never done it before, so I can't promise it'll be any good, but..."
Lydia bursts into a fit of giggles, covering her face in her hands and flopping back onto her bed. Stiles' laughter joins hers, a little nervously, until she has composed herself again, after which she props herself back up on her elbows and says, "Well rule number one is: If you're about to eat a girl out, don't ever tell her you might not be good at it."
Stiles laughs in response. "Yeah. I guess that kind of, uh, ruins the mood, huh?"
Lydia's grin softens, and she sits up fully, leaning over to press her lips to Stiles' once again. "I think it's time for you to go," she murmurs as she pulls away.
He can't mask the disappointment he so clearly feels. "Oh. Okay. I - yeah, sure." Standing up, he straightens out his clothing and looks back at her, unsure of what to say next. "But, uh, would you - I mean, no pressure or anything, but would you want to - you know, do that again sometime?"
Lydia quirks a brow, giving him a quick once-over. "I thought that was obvious," she says, walking him to her bedroom door.
Stiles still looks confused. "So, is that a yes?"
She shrugs, a smirk forming in the corners of her mouth. "My mom's going out tomorrow. Won't be home til late. It'd be a shame to waste all that precious time with this big house all to myself, now wouldn't it?" She pulls him down to her once again for a final kiss, shoving her underwear into his front pocket. And then she shoves him out the door, turning around to collapse onto her bed. The grin on her face won't go away like she wishes it would, because Stiles might be a great kisser, but that's all. Right?
Groaning, she buries her head into her pillow.
What on earth has she just gotten herself into?
A/N: And so the plot thickens. Heh heh heh...
