Stiles has seen his girlfriend furious a number of times. Stiles has seen Lydia Martin's eyes blaze with utter rage and has heard vicious words spit from her mouth. But rarely has this fury been directed at him, something which his father has repeatedly called 'a miracle sent from the heavens'. Now, though, it seems as if that little fluke is coming to an end. Because Lydia Martin is standing in front of him and, oh boy, she looks terrifying (but also gorgeous because he's sure her hair is redder).
He's standing in the study of the Lake House. Malia left about ten minutes ago, after Stiles warned her of the oncoming fury that was his girlfriend. Leaving him, standing in front of the shattered wall with feet inches away from a splattered mess of wine (not wine, but still very much there on the carpet).
"What…" she begins, after staring at the room for a good five seconds (oh how he hates the silence). "…have you done to my lake house?"
"Hey, guess who stopped the Deadpool? Begins with 'S'…rhymes with…" Stiles casts around frantically, as Lydia takes a step forward.
"Biles?" She suggests, her voice still as deadly as a pissed off snake in your bed.
"Or…miles…like how many I should possibly put between myself and you?"
Lydia explodes. She throws her hands up in the air, eyes snapping shut before flying open again a moment later. "Stiles!" she shouts, "there is wine all over my carpet!"
"Technically not wine," he mumbles to the ground.
"Still a fucking huge stain in the middle of my carpet!"
Stiles winces, coming a little closer (though, wisely, keeping out of her reach). "Well, yes, but we did find the key..."
"Couldn't you have broken it somewhere else? Over the sink perhaps?" The exasperation in Lydia's voice is clear as day, and makes Stiles wince slightly.
"Well…to be fair to me…which we should always do…it wasn't me who spilled the wine." He knows that he's not being the best of friends by dropping Malia in it but then Malia doesn't have to share a bed with Lydia tonight (and that's if he's lucky).
Lydia crosses her arms. "Stiles. You have stopped Malia from doing a number of stupid things, including trying to tell the Principal that his scent was all wrong- I'm sure you could have stopped her doing this!"
"What, so you think I did it deliberately?" Stiles' voice is also raising now, his temper also beginning to flare because Lydia's anger is really not required. Not when he has just effectively saved her life, saved a whole bunch of people's lives. "You think I stood in the middle of your stupid study and thought: 'hey, I could put this in the sink…nope! I'm going to pour it all over my girlfriend's floor because that's the way I like to express my undying love for her!' . Because that totally sounds like something I would do." Exhausted from his little outburst, Stiles turns away, running a hand through his hair as a puff of breath escapes his chapped lips.
A second passes, then Lydia speaks again, her voice small: "What did you say?"
Stiles turns. Lydia is staring at him, one arm now wrapped around her middle. She looks vulnerable, something that Stiles very rarely associates with Lydia Martin.
"What did you say?" she asks again, a little louder.
"You want me to repeat all that? I'm not sure I can…"
Lydia huffs impatiently, her moment of vulnerability very much gone. "Not all of it, dumbass. The bit…bit about you expressing your…" she trails off, staring at him as if he's the only light in a pitch black tunnel. A look she's echoed from him, if she's honest.
"My...?" Stiles prompts, then pales somewhat. He's just remembered what he's said, in the heat of one of his characteristic rants. He's just remembered that he has told her, one way or another, that he loves her. Undyingly.
"Stiles?" Lydia is grinning a little now, obviously enjoying the immense discomfort she has caused her boyfriend (while also feeling the warm glow of pleasure in her heart at realising that Stiles Stilinski might possibly love her).
He's tried to say it to her before. Lots of times. And it's not because he doesn't love her that the words stick to the roof of his mouth. It's because he's scared that he'll say them and they won't convey just how much he loves her. That he'll say them and they'll just feel like three words. Like he might as well have said 'I approve of you'.
"Uh…" he begins, and then stops talking again. Lydia has stepped forward and she's wearing that look she wears sometimes, that makes Stiles feel like the world is spinning double speed.
She stops before him, and her feet are planted in the red wine stain; that ship has clearly sailed. "Go on…you were saying…?"
"You are freakin' terrifying, you know that?" he whispers, as Lydia's arms wrap around his middle. "Sure you don't want to go back to yelling at me?"
Lydia shakes her head, eyes glittering. He can see how exhausted she is, see that she needs this. He has no idea what exactly she's gone through today, but he can imagine that it hasn't been a bed of roses. She needs this. "Lydia…" Sucks in a deep breath, fingers stilling against the nubs of her spine. "I was saying that I wouldn't express my undying love for you by spilling wine over your carpet. I'd do it by saying…" he pauses, catches his heartbeat before it races away, "I love you."
Her cheeks flush immediately and before he knows it, she's got her arms around his neck and her legs around his middle (this is becoming a habit). He staggers back, until his back collides with the now dormant deadpool machine. For a moment of panic, both teenagers are convinced they've turned it back on. But it stays still, and silent. Mercifully. Lydia lets out a soft giggle (the sort that sends shivers through every nerve in Stiles' body) before pressing her lips against his. Softer than any kiss he's ever received from her, paired with a soft noise halfway between a moan and a hum. It speaks happiness to him. He hopes. They kiss for minutes uncountable (like either of them is keeping track), not stopping even when Stiles' feels some button digging painfully into his side.
When they do pull back, Lydia doesn't hesitate. "I love you too, Stiles- oh God I really do," she whispers, holding him so tightly that Stiles worries his fragile bones are going to start creaking. But only distantly, because his main thoughts lie in the fact that Lydia Martin has just told him that she loves him. Him. Stiles Stilinski, the kid she used to ignore in the school corridors.
He meets her eyes, and isn't surprised to feel tears rolling down his cheek. "I'm happy," he says hurriedly, just in case Lydia worries that she's somehow upset him.
"I know," she replies, with a laugh at her ridiculous boyfriend. "I'm aware of that, idiot." She gives his hair a ruffle, taking advantage of being almost level with his head.
He grins, then glances towards the red stain on the carpet. "Is your mum going to freak about the stain?" he asks softly, hands coming to rest on the curve of her bottom (which draws a smirk from her).
"She's more likely to freak out about the huge hole in the wall, funnily enough."
"Oh, you think?" Stiles asks, his voice mockingly clueless. This earns him another, slightly more violent ruffle of his hair, which he receives without much complaint. It's likely that he deserved it, after all.
"She'll be fine," Lydia murmurs into his neck, nose nuzzling against his skin. "I wouldn't worry."
Stiles chuckles, gently pushing away from the deadpool machine and placing Lydia back down on the ground. He keeps her close though, arms now wrapping around her shoulders as hers come to snake around his middle. "You've changed your tune," he points out.
Lydia shrugs, then tugs him towards the door. "That was before you expressed your undying love for me," she replies, shooting back a grin. She stops in the landing, steps back, and holds out a hand. "Phone," she demands.
Stiles raises an eyebrow. "Why?"
Lydia gives him another one of her trademark looks. The one that Stiles has come to name 'kit off, son'. Because that's what tends to happen soon after such a look. "Because…I've had a long day, and I don't want to be interrupted."
Stiles does not need to be told twice. Phone goes into her palm, joined a moment later by Lydia's own. These both get chucked on the floor of the hallway (which, coincidentally, is where Stiles ends up a moment later, though a few metres down the hall in Lydia's lake house bedroom). Lydia just about manages to remember to close the bedroom door after her, before she's on top of him and kissing him like it's their first time all over again (Lydia's bathroom, a week before Mexico).
When they emerge, sometime later, Lydia has the same look she wears when she completely aces a school test and once again proved to the world that perfect hair and perfect grades are not mutually exclusive. Stiles comes to stand beside her, as they both stare down the hallway at their phones. They're both vibrating, screens glowing impatiently.
"How many?" Stiles murmurs, wrapping his arms around her and tugging her gently against him.
"Missed calls?" she prompts, and he nods. "I'm going to say….seven on yours, five on mine."
"Nah, you're going to have six. Scott always defaults to yelling at your voicemail once I've ignored him three times…"
"You're talking out of your butt, Stilinski. Scott gave up doing that ages ago."
"Okay…but if I'm right, we do that again," Stiles replies, gesturing back towards Lydia's thoroughly rumpled bedroom.
"And if you're wrong, you build me a new wall."
"I'm pretty sure you don't want that to happen."
Lydia shoots him a daring grin. "Not as much as you don't, so we're all good."
"Okay, Martin. You're on."
They step forward, almost tentatively. Step by step, in perfect synchronisation. They pick up each other's phone, stare at the screens. Then Stiles makes a small, sad noise.
"Better go get some plaster, Stilinski."