Not going to lie folks, this is definitely one of my favorite chapters.
Also with this chapter we've kind of come full circle, since part of this first scene was the second of the two drabbles that inspired this whole story.
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This isn't the first time Peter's seen Lydia in the company of this deputy, while slinking around trying to recall he shouldn't kill Kate while they're temporarily aligned, her new toy he guesses; the wolf in him growls at that, because she's his, she chose him, his is the name she cries out when she orgasms. She bears bits of his scent. Unless this boy can prove himself a better man than Peter he isn't going to leave her. Even if the boy can prove himself Peter probably wouldn't leave; the wolf might willingly step aside but he's just as much man as wolf.
But it's the first time they've approached him, and at the loft no less. And he finds himself unsure of how to proceed. If it were Lydia alone he'd snap, snark and flirt with her in his own vicious fashion and hope for sex; but that's not as feasible with this stranger she's apparently bringing into their little game. So he arches an eyebrow and decides to wait the proper course out. "You've brought me a new chew toy Lydia? How thoughtful."
She snorts. "Dog jokes? Really? You're usually not so self-demeaning." Yes well, she's not forced to see what's hers gallivanting with some…pup. Who's handsome in a strange way, true, but he finds he has to question her tastes a little –he looks far too earnest.
"Well you don't usually bring fresh meat to our little tête-a-têtes."
The deputy, who's not in his uniform at the moment –not that that changes Peter's perception of him, stiffens and crosses his arms. Well at least the boy has a bit of backbone. Peter inhales to try and catch a bit of his scent, and finds them strangely muted and varied, more varied than a human's should be…curious.
"Jordan asked to come, he wanted to talk to you."
Curiouser, and curiouser, even his wolf's interested but also annoyed at her use of the boy's first name. Peter turns his full attention to the other man and meets his pale green eyes. "Well?"
Deputy steps in front of Lydia and rests in a surprisingly ready stance. "I was hoping it'd just be Peter and I Lydia, if that's alright."
Poor Lydia looks so flabbergasted by that, and he has to bite back a smile. She narrows her eyes and glares at the back of the deputy's head, "fine. Though if he starts murdering you don't expect any help from me."
A laugh escapes the deputy. "I think I'll be alright."
With a harrumph Lydia wanders off to the kitchen, far enough away that she shouldn't hear anything. Peter crosses his own arms, "well, what do you want puppy?"
The deputy laughs again though softer this time –an absent part of Peter thinks it's a nice laugh– but then his expression turns serious. Peter's mild irritation turns to shock when the man kneels and reaching out takes both of Peter's hands, turning them slightly so he can kiss his pulse points. The scents of winter, sap, and leather assault Peter's nose. "I wanted to thank you, Peter Hale, for what you did to Lydia. If you hadn't done so I don't think I ever would have found her."
Peter…doesn't know how to respond to that. In fact he's floored by these actions; he did what he did to Lydia to survive, to be able to continue protecting his family, with no thought to anything else, and he's being thanked for his selfishness? His continuing selfishness, a part of him points out; he's still connected to her after all –though this time he'd rather not find out what'd happen if he died again. So he stands, staring at this kneeling man who he realizes isn't human at all, silent and for the first time in recent memory unsure.
So Peter shakes his hands free, more gently than he intended to, and takes a step back. Then does his best to shore up his facade of indifference. "I must say it's not what I was expecting from you."
Jordan, Peter wonders why, after that little show he's so willing to use the pup's first name, stands. "Is that good or bad?" A bit of a smile twitches his lips.
"Indifferent," unless the boy can scent lies he'll be good with that answer; he's been rattled and it's affecting him more than it should. Plus the fact he's still kneeling? Peter's never been afraid to admit, at least to himself, what he finds attractive or intriguing. And that? That makes Peter want to find out how much he can use up the poor boy before he says 'enough'.
Slowly Jordan rises, this close Peter's a little surprised to realize they're the same height, and that twitch of Jordan's turns into a full smile. "What if I said you weren't exactly what I was expecting either?"
It makes Peter want to ask what he was expecting, but he has a pretense to maintain, and asking after the opinion of a pup like him, even if he is unusual, isn't part of it. "Well then I'd say I'm glad I sidestepped your expectations." Peter would hate to be so boorish as to be predictable.
"There's time yet either way," while his face remains open his scent turns strange: an acrid smoky smell that makes Peter's wolf recoil. In fact his wolf's reaction is so strong that it takes all of Peter's willpower to not wolf out or mimic the action.
Once again Jordan steps into his space. "Anew I thank you," it's hard to tell if the boy means it or if his words are rote. "And I owe you a debt as well for what you have done. Yours to recall as you see fit."
The longer they talk the more Jordan becomes a puzzle, and if there's one thing Peter enjoys more than a puzzle, it's a puzzle that owes him a favor. There are lots of ways Peter could use that favor right now, especially from someone who's also police, but he wants to save it for now; savor and marvel at it.
"I appreciate it deputy." He gives a deep toothy smile. "And I won't hesitate to let you know."
Jordan's nod is deft and final. "Good. Let Lydia know she can call me later?"
It irks him but, "I will." he sees Jordan to the door, overall feeling a little like he's been put through his paces –but he's not sure if he's been found wanting or not.
Going to the kitchen he finds Lydia perched on the counter, bare feet swinging, finishing off a cup of yogurt. "So, how'd it go?"
He can't help but roll his eyes. "Wel obviously I didn't kill him so I'm not sure what more you want." Although Parrish is the sort of man Peter thinks he wouldn't kill without good reason to, especially considering he doesn't know what exactly the other man is.
Lydia shrugs as she sets her spoon and cup down. "I'm just curious to know what you talked about."
"And you're just going to have to stay curious sweetheart," almost impulsively he reaches out and taps her nose; it's more habit than anything that keeps him from telling her, but it also feels like that conversation was private and not meant to be shared. "I think it'll be good for you."
She narrows her eyes. "You? Keeping secrets? Color me surprised." She doesn't sound disappointed, but she certainly smells it. Something in him twinges, but it's easy to ignore.
"If I thought it important, I would tell you Lydia." He should probably make that clear before she makes any other assumptions. In the safety of his own mind at least he's not ashamed to admit her safety is just as important to him now as Derek's is. "When have I ever hidden anything important from you?"
Well besides the bond.
Her shoulders slump. "Never as far as I can tell." She slides off the counter and he finds himself struck again at how small she is, the sort of small his wolf pays attention to. Her scent grows conflicted, but despite that conflict she speaks. "We think my grandma might be the Benefactor," it comes out of her in a rush, like she's almost afraid of saying it.
"Do tell," he finds himself embracing the eager anger that curls open in him, finally a lead.
She does, with surprising candor: finding the cypher amongst her grandmother's things, the urn full of mountain ash, the other's realization about what the Benefactor must be after the hospital –sadly none of them killed Kate, a missed opportunity really.
It's the best news he's had all week. Leaning down he kisses her, nice and long.
When he pulls away she's pleasantly flushed and a little short of breath, but still she smiles "By the way, you totally owe me." The words have him tensing, how could she know?, but the tone is amused.
"Oh? For what?" He finds himself bracing for the worst.
"I had to give Malia the sex talk, and explain to her how human pregnancy works and menstruation and all that wonderful stuff." As she speaks she steps closer to him, not that there's much distance between them anyways.
He completes what he's sure is her intended action by wrapping an arm around her and pulling him flush against him; mentally relaxing at her words. "Yes, I guess I do owe you. Though to be fair, you did promise to look after her."
Even though she still doesn't know it makes him feel guilty, a feeling he's never liked; and no one can make him feel guilty like Lydia Martin, not even Talia at her most disappointed Alpha-est had made him feel like Lydia does.
The best option would be to tell her of course, but he knows that telling her will ruin this, this strange glorious thing between them. Born of just enough trust and the need for control.
Speaking of control. . .he knows just how best to distract himself and give Lydia the reward she's clearly asking for. He smiles, doing his best to make sure it's wonderfully wicked. "So Lydia, shall we do things my way this time around?" It's been a while since he spoke those words, and he hopes she remembers. Either way he's only half sure she'll say yes. Reaching down he toys with the hem of her dress relishing the shiver she gives him.
"And what does doing thing's 'your way' entail?" Her bravado is wonderfully enticing.
The hand on her hem drifts further to graze her thighs. "Well definitely a spanking." He feels she's been asking for it the past few months. And her ass will look so lovely in red. The fact that it's arousing to Lydia, her juices smell so sweet, makes it even better. "Possibly some tying up, maybe a blindfold." The image of Lydia helpless to him is one he's always enjoyed. He gives a careless shrug. "We'll see where the evening takes us."
Annoyance flares from her scent, pepper sharp as she opens her mouth to protest he's sure. Quickly his other hand covers her mouth. "I promise you Lydia, I will ask you before I do anything." Her enjoying this experience is important to him, enjoying it means he can do it to her again. Enjoying it means she might trust him a little more.
"Safeword?" There's something remarkable about the way she manages to keep herself this together while he's teasing her like this.
He hums nonsense as he thinks, letting the hand on her thigh brush and tap. At the moment she practically smells only of pure sugar she's so aroused, but he can still catch the barest hints of her base scent. "Oleander."
"Any reason?"
He loves it when she gets breathy, and he has to chuckle. "It's your scent sweetheart, light, but oh so deadly."
Her expression shifts as if she's not sure whether to be proud of that or not; the answer of course being that she should. In the end though, she nods. "Alright."
Peter lets his wolf come a little closer to the surface, giving her a smile full of teeth ready to rend and tear. Letting her go he takes a few steps back to an armchair and sits down. "Strip."
A shiver wracks her as she reaches behind her for the zipper of her dress, and it takes him a moment to realize her reaction stems from his voice. Well, well. Her dress unceremoniously slides to the ground as she steps out of her shoes, but then she stops. Her underwear's as pretty as always –yellow this time– but it's not quite what he wants.
Flickers of anger pass through him, though for him at least it doesn't detract from his own arousal. "Did I stay stop? Strip,"the anger seeps into his voice but from the way she's reacting he doesn't think that's a bad thing.
She quietly moans, he's always liked how quiet she is during sex it makes everything feel that much more illicit, as her hands rise up to unhook her bra. Then she wiggles out of her underwear and she's lovely and naked before him. She's shivering a little from the cool air of the loft, nipples pebbling and begging for bites.
Shifting, he's starting to get a little uncomfortable, he points to the ground with a clawed finger. "Crawl."
Red creeps up her chest and onto her neck, and he almost calls her over immediately so he can lick and suck at that lovely color, as she gets on her hands and knees and sinuously begins to crawl.
"Such a good girl," he croons when she reaches him, gently putting clawed fingers on her chin and raising her up to her knees. "So lovely." He leaves faint red lines on her skin as he pulls his hand away, and pats his lap.
With less confidence than he would have liked she climbs up. And she's far too tense, but at least he can help with that. Reaching out he pulls her towards him, tucking her face in the crook of his neck. "Take deep breaths." As she does so his claws gently, he doesn't want to break skin this time, press into her neck and skull and begin kneading.
Finally she's pliant and he finds himself giving a pleased rumble as he begins to position her. Widening his legs he keeps one bent and extends the other, resting the bend of her hips on the bent leg and pushing the rest of her down so her head is almost touching the ground, shoulders resting on his shin. "Comfortable?" One hand reaches down and rubs the middle of the back while the other played with her ass, slipping down for the briefest of moments to play with her slit.
"Yes," she grinds out, though her tone suggests she's a little annoyed with him.
Well he can live with that. Raising his hand he brings it down in a playful slap.
She jumps and twitches at the contact and the hand still on her back rubs a small circle. "Excellent dear." Imperceptibly she relaxes, and taking advantage of that he smacks her again. She squeaks in response.
Interesting. He keeps going until her ass is somewhere between pink and red and warm. She moans as his hand rubs and plumps. When he slips his fingers inside her cunt it ripples around them and she whimpers as he tips her over into orgasm.
Now she's well and truly limp and she barely even starts when he lays a final slap on her. Once more he shifts her, her legs spread wide on either side of his own and her torso leaning towards him again, her head lolling against his shoulder. "Mmmmm. . ."
Laughter rumbled in his chest. "Now that I have you at my mercy. . ."
Her giggle is sleepy and sets off a strangeness in his chest. "Peter."
"I find myself curious about your deputy." It's probably a little mean asking her about him while she's high on orgasm, but well, he's that sort of man.
He doesn't even need to see her face to feel the burn of her flush spread across it. "Why do you care?" She somehow manages to sound rebellious. "It's not like anything's going to happen." Her tone turns downtrodden, something Lydia should never be.
Lacing his arms under her legs he hoists her up a little and stands, walking towards his bed. "I care because he clearly interests you." With an easy movement, well not so easy, he lays her face down on the bed, she looks much more wrecked than the last time she was there, and he feels no shame in being smug.
Leaving her there he walks over to his closet and noisily rummages around, despite the fact it's well organized and what he's looking for is right where it should be; he wants her tense and anxious again. Finally he returns to the bed, a coil of rope in his hands. Very pointedly he lays the rope down next to her and strips down to his boxers.
Climbing onto the bed he sits next to her. "You asleep dear?" Considering she hasn't reacted to the rope he thinks she might be, and unable to resist he reaches out and pinches her ass.
She squirms. "Not asleep," she mutters. "And don't pinch me." She narrows her eyes at the rope. "What kind is it?"
He bites back a laugh. "It's silk dear, I'm not crass enough to settle for nylon." His hand cups her still warm and lovely ass for a moment before smoothing up to her waist. "Do you want to fuck him Lydia?" The hackles of his wolf rise at the thought; he lets his claws tickle the base of her spine.
Her back arches at the sensation. "I. . ." she seems to struggle with herself, if her facial expressions and scent are anything to go by. "Yes. Though it doesn't mean I'm going to," it's almost, but not quite a backtrack; however her honesty's something that should be rewarded. So he'll let the subject drop for now, though it tugs and teases at the back of his mind. A pebble in his shoe.
Flattening his hand he runs it up her back to cup the back of her head. "So how shall we do this sweetheart? On your back or on your knees?" While he thinks he'd prefer her on her knees, and not just for the submissive aspect of it –her ass might not appreciate rubbing against fabric, he'll leave it up to her.
She focuses completely on the rope, as if it'll somehow give her the answer. He gives her time, letting it build anticipation for himself; everything will be worth it in the end. "Knees," she finally answers.
He grins smugly, even if she can't see it, and begins moving her around, making sure she's comfortable and in roughly the exact position he wants her in. Then he reaches over and grabs the rope. If making her comfortable had been perfunctory this he takes his time with; granted he's not going to go elaborate with his knotwork, but at the very least he'll make it an experience for Lydia.
By the time he's finished she's twitching and clearly ready for the next round. Her arms are tied from the elbow down, and then attached to his headboard. And even if she is mostly resting on pillows, she'd still been too limp to rest on her own knees, she's beautiful.
Shucking his boxers he grabs a condom as he crawls up behind her. As he puts it on he eagerly stares at her, the cant of her hips, the way her hair clings to her back. "Ah, you look a treat dear."
"Peeteer," it's a wonderfully petulant whine, and as if in retaliation he lightly slaps her ass again.
"Patience dear, and all will be rewarded." He plumps her ass and spreads her legs a little further, her pussy a delightful sight. One of his thumbs drift up a little however, resting just barely on the pucker of her anus. "Something a little different?" Not that he'd do that to her, not without much more prep work. But he's still curious.
She twitches and shifts. "No."
Well that's definite. His thumb drifts down to her pussy, content to stroke her labia. Which draws a moan from her. "Well maybe another time." He doesn't give her a chance to respond, they can talk about it more later, and sinks his thumb in, though not too far pressing and rubbing against her inner flesh.
"Ah!" It's almost the loudest sound he's heard he make, and he relishes it; though not for long. When he removes his thumb she tries to follow but he tuts and he doesn't even need to look at her face to know she's pouting.
He doesn't let it bother him though, moving up to lay his chest over her back and lining himself up. "Ready?" He whispers in her ear.
Lydia arches her back, trying to get closer. "Just shut up and fuck me Peter."
A laugh escapes him but he dutifully drives himself in, pressing her forward. She moans. And he gets to work.
Grabbing her hips almost violently, though he doesn't use his claws, he pounds in and in. In a bit of contradicting gentleness he noses at her jaw, rubbing his cheek against her neck.
She bares her neck with a sigh after a particularly powerful thrust and well, he can't resist. Moving down he starts to nibble.
"Pe. . .Peter. . ." He's surprised she's still coherent.
Tortuously he slows his thrusts. "Yes Lydia?"
It takes her a few seconds to speak again. "I have. . .ooooohh, school tomorrow."
Which means no visible hickeys, no plausible lies for her to have to come up with to explain them. "Shoulder?" It comes out more of a grunt than he'd like, but he finds he has to bite her, to make his claim in some fashion, regardless of whether or not anyone sees it.
"F. . .fine."
He lets a hand slip down and tease her clit as he moves his mouth to her shoulder. For now he just lets his teeth scrape and nibble, biting her now would be too much pain for her. So he'll wait, picking up his thrusts again and letting his fingers stroke and press at her labia and clit.
She whimpers and he feels her start to clench and flutter around her; and so he strikes. She wails as his teeth dig in, but even that is quiet. And just as quickly as he'd bitten down he releases her, gently lapping up the blood and drawing out her pain.
Another sigh leaves her as she slumps even further forward and his hand slides back up to her hip as he starts working on his own orgasm.
When it's over he has to stop himself from slumping on her back and forcing her to take his weight. Instead he pulls out, deals with the condom, then crawling back on the bed he slowly starts to untie Lydia. She sighs when he finishes and he spends the next few minutes rubbing her forearms, leeching any discomfort and making sure the faint welts are fading.
Satisfied that's she's relatively okay he maneuvers her under the sheets and tucks her in. "Take a nap and I'll make dinner alright?"
"You trying to get me ready for round two?"
He's not sure if she's teasing him or asking the question seriously, either way it still makes him laugh softly and kiss her. "Why don't we figure that out afterwards."
After dressing he goes downstairs and starts poking around in the kitchen, at least Derek still keeps his fridge and pantry well stocked.
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Gladly Malia lets herself get lost in dancing, it's fun and easy and no one expects anything from her. Occasionally she'll open the flask she stole from her dad and take a drink; she knows it won't get her drunk, but she enjoys the burning sensation as the pungent amber liquid goes down her throat.
Under the pounding music she hears familiar footsteps and turns. Scott looks worried. "Malia. . ."
She tosses back another drink, "are you here to apologize?" For a while it felt like the people who tried to help her at Eichen only told her about apologies and how she needed to use them, with herself and towards others. She still doesn't get it though.
Scott gives an unhappy frown and he starts reeking of guilt. "We had good reason to Malia. And you know you can't get drunk right?"
"Duh," contemptuously she drinks again before tucking the flask in her shorts. "That's what sire said you'd say." Part of her conversation with Peter returns to mind."Just to show you how predictable Scott can be I'll tell you everything he'll say to you next time you see him."
His face scrunches with confusion. "Who?"
A particularly rapid beat starts up and she finds herself swaying to it. "Peter, he's my sire." That's how she's keeping track of it in her head anyway, Peter's her sire and Henry Tate's her dad. "We talked."
Scott tries to grab her but she sways out of the way. "Malia, you can't trust Peter."
"He said you'd say that too, and he said you'd be right." "There's probably a part of you that wants to trust me, at least a little. But you shouldn't, not until I know you better." "We can keep talking if you actually have anything interesting to tell me, but otherwise I'm going to dance and at least try to act drunk." Turning on her heel she eagerly joins in the crowd dancing, letting them jostle and move her closer to the middle, away from Scott and her problems.
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Next week: Assassination attempts galore.
