A/N: I just wanted to let you guys know that from here on out the chapters are going to get shorter, but it's okay because that means my updates will be faster. P.S THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR A 100 FOLLOWS IT MEANS A LOT TO MEH I LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU PUMPKINS AND A DOUBLE THANKS TO THE PEOPLE WHO REVIEW IT'S REFRESHING TO HEAR WHAT YOU ALL HAVE TO SAY.

Anyway... Happy Reading!

There in the dark, down in the valley,
under the motel neon sign,
Room 105, the back of the alley,
you're wearing my coat while sleeping,
it feels like I've come home.

xxxxx

Lydia

All she could think as she entered the water was I'm gonna get hypothermia. I'm gonna get hypothermia and die.

And then... Cold, cold, cold...

The wind seemed to be throwing frosted darts at every patch of exposed skin on her body, which sucked because she'd pulled off her dress so she was in her bra and Allison's denim shorts (because she refused to go swimming in her underwear). Stiles didn't want to take off his khakis, even though they would get drenched completely. "You'll be picking seaweed out of those pants for days to come," Stiles shrugged. "At least it'll wash out the sand."

"Yeah, temporarily," Lydia muttered. It was just an excuse for him to keep his pants on, Lydia had no problem with him keeping his pants on - in fact, she kind of wanted him to keep his pants on. They weren't ready to get naked in front of each other.

Not because they were uncomfortable, but because they wouldn't be able to contain themselves and in no time, Lydia would be pinning herself on him and things would go south.

It was definitely not the time to play pin the Lydia on the Stiles.

So pants on was definitely a good idea, mostly because it would keep her inner Lusty Lydia in check.

Stiles waded past her until the water was all the way up to his navel. Lydia was shivering in the shallows, only ankle-deep in the water. Maybe being weightless was being stupid. Stiles laughed and outstretched an arm. "Just leap in, Lyd. You won't feel the cold once you're in. You'll get sicker if you stay in that position," he insisted.

Lydia knew that, she knew it. "I know how science works!" she cried grouchily, but still couldn't get herself to leap in. Life really wasn't a movie. Stiles rolled his eyes and the next thing she knew there were strong arms like summer vines clasped around her middle and he yanked her headfirst into the arctic waters.

Stiles laughed as she came up for air, spewing saltwater everywhere and smacking at him with her small hands. "Asshole!" she exclaimed, still smacking at him even though she knew it didn't hurt him. "I was helping you. I bet you don't even feel the cold now," he muttered. It was true, she didn't feel like she was going to turn into a popsicle anymore. "Whatever," she groaned in defeat, splashing at him. Stiles tried to call out to Allison and Scott, but they were out of earshot and in the middle of an intense make-out session by the looks of it.

"Let's keep our distance from our porn star friends, okay?" Stiles said.

Lydia laughed, grinning wildly as she splashed more water at him. "Okay."

It was an insane feeling; a complete rush. Watching the moon shimmer like a spotlight in the sky, tasting the saltwater on her tongue, breathing the fresh air, feeling invincible for a split-second. Lydia attempted to do the backstroke but Stiles snuck up behind her and wrapped his arms around her stomach, his own torso flat against her spine. He kissed her hair and she shivered.

"Let's not... do that," she decided, twirling around to look at him. "You know," Stiles mumbled, his voice suddenly very gravelly as his sunshine eyes met her gaze. "You're not allowed to call the shots all the time."

Lydia raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?" she couldn't help it, she felt challenged. She ran a pink fingernail up and down his torso, tracing patterns of flowers across his chest. Stiles sucked in a breath, momentarily speechless - until he turned it around on her. He caught her wrist gently as she was trailing up again, a predatory gaze cementing his features. Lydia took a shaky breath of her own as he leaned in to kiss her neck, while simultaneously cupping one of her breasts.

Lydia almost let out a helpless groan.

Good lord. "That's not... That's not fair," she rasped as he pressed his lips against her chin and then her lower lip. That was it - there was no help for it - he touched her and she was aware of it. Aware of him. It was as though tiny bits of iron were embedded in her skin and they were magnetized by his touch, swiveling to his every move. By the time his lips met hers, she felt like her whole body was dancing with lightning sparks, and she was almost glad there wasn't a wall or any other vertical surface around, or she would've had him pinned to it, climbing him like she was climbing a tree.

When they broke apart to breathe, a rough wave hit out of nowhere, tumbling at them in such speed she had to think quick; hold her breath and dunk herself underwater. When she came up again, she was coughing, having water stuck in her lungs wasn't a pleasant feeling. Still, her eyes searched for Stiles, and when she met his eyes it was like seeing a light house, it was like he was there to guide her lost ship off the sea. There was alarm in his own honey colored eyes, he swam over to her and draped an arm around her neck, all playful lusty notions crashing ashore with the wave. "You okay?" he asked as she continued to splutter, throat burning.

She could only nod, not speak. He led her to shore and she groaned, flipping onto her knees and coughing into the sand as Stiles patted her back. When she finally felt like she could breathe without gagging or gasping, she took deep breaths, hugging her knees to her chest and staring at the widespread ocean, abusing it in her mind.

"I still feel like I can't breathe properly," she muttered hoarsely, her heart speeding up from the rush.

"Lyd? Can I try something?" he asked calmly. She nodded, barely aware of her own surroundings since she'd been so overwhelmed. When she looked down again their hands were entwined, and she felt his winter coat across her shoulders, it hugged her like a security blanket. "Do you trust me?" his eyes burned gold. "Always have," she whispered genuinely, her throat throbbing.

Stiles leaned in and slammed his mouth over hers. Lydia thought kissing probably wasn't the most logical thing to do after coughing up half of the Atlantic ocean, but her mouth opened automatically underneath his onslaught, and she shuddered once more when his tongue dipped inside to taste hers. He was kissing her like his life depended on it. He wasn't warm, but he was warmer than her wet clothes, and she suddenly wanted to slip out of them (bra and all) and burrow into his arms.

She pulled back for air, and Stiles' hand caught in the hair at the nape of her neck. His eyes were suddenly dark and intense. "Still trust me?"

"Yes," the conviction in her voice surprised them both.

Lydia wondered that whatever he wanted to show her involved tongue. Not that she minded.

Lydia ran her hands over his torso as he kissed her and then he didn't. Just as she was about to break their kiss so she could breathe, he clamped his hand around the back of her neck to hold her in place. His head tilted to the side; his mouth opened wider over hers. She felt him inhale, felt his chest rise under her palms, and then he breathed into her mouth.

He wasn't... Oh. It was the strangest feeling ever, and her eyes opened wide, just to make sure her brain wasn't deceiving her.

For a second, she fought the sensation. Only, she really kinda did need air. In the end, however, it was curiosity that made her relax, made her stop fighting against him. He inhaled again, and breathed again, and filled her lungs. For a second or two, she simply sat there in his lap and let him breathe for her.

She felt, for a moment, that they were one being that moved together and breathed together. When he finally pulled away, he looked almost as overwhelmed as she did. It took a couple of breaths for her to actually remember how to work her lungs on her own. "What was that?" she asked, when she finally mustered the courage to speak.

"This CPR technique I learned," he confessed, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

"That's not exactly how people give CPR..."

"It's not," he agreed.

xxxxx

Allison and Scott decided they should book rooms at the nearest dingy motel rather than drive for the rest of the night and Lydia decided she wanted to get drunk.

It was about 1.30 am when they made it to the motel, which was conveniently cheap and set up in a location ideal for serial killers and supernatural creatures alike. So basically just like any motel, ever. Lydia scrunched up her nose as Scott and Allison booked the rooms. "This place is a dump," she whispered to Stiles. "It also smells like urine and rat poison," she added irritably.

"Really? I couldn't tell with the heavy whiff of junk food and motorcycle gas hanging in the air." Stiles muttered. Allison turned around and grinned, jiggling silver keys in her hands. "Here you go," she tossed them at Stiles, who fumbled to catch it. "We'll see you love birds in the morning,"

Lydia felt all the blood rush out of her cheeks. "We're sharing rooms?"

"Are most of the rooms booked?" Stiles asked.

"No," Allison shrugged. "The motel's mostly empty, actually," Scott nodded. "But we saw the two of you at the beach today, and we dealt with your angst in the car. Trust us, you kids want to share a room. You can thank us later. Night-night." Scott flashed them a white-teethed grin and swirled around, walking away with Allison in toe.

"Do you mind?" Stiles questioned nervously. "We can still -"

"No," Lydia mustered, almost inaudibly.

Stiles frowned. "No as in you don't mind or no as in you do?"

"I don't mind. I don't think I can sleep alone in this freaky place anyway."

"I'm so glad you said that." Stiles muttered honestly.

Touché, Lydia thought.

They unloaded half the vending machine and bought a bottle of every kind of liquor the little motel store had to offer before heading up the wooden stairs that lead to the first floor. The moon still hung high and proud up in the night sky, bracelets of stars hid behind frail clouds. The air was crisp and windy, but warmer than the beach. Crickets chirped in the bushes, an owl hooted from some tree, the hymn of distant traffic was lulling. She would've thought the atmosphere was quite nice if not for the creepy motel and it's selective range of odors. Lydia found herself eyeing the motel neon sign curiously, Motel Nirvana it read in blinding blood red, though the V had lost its light.

"Maybe the interiors are better than the exteriors," Stiles said with a sigh as he jabbed the key into the key hole. "All that counts is what's on the inside, right?"

"You sound like my preschool teacher," Lydia pointed out. Stiles laughed nervously. "I'm just trying to be optimistic," he explained. "Why?" she asked. "Because so far? This day has been pretty damn awesome," he admitted. "Why?" she echoed. Stiles halted fiddling with the key to look at her briefly, those liquid gold eyes skirting her from top to bottom. "You know why,"

"I do, I just like hearing it." She confessed.

"Because of you," he muttered softly, and then flung the door open. Lydia smiled, satisfied with his answer as they stepped into Room 105, which was surprisingly immaculate, and looked rather cozy. There was a large cream-colored bed in the middle of the room, across from it a door that lead to the bathroom. There was a cupboard towards the right and a small window on the left. The walls were made of charred wood; a certain burnt umber - like Stiles' eyes in the right light. Above the bed's headboard was the strangest painting of Hitler she'd ever seen. He stood in his trademark pose, with his arms crossed over his chest, but he wasn't painted right - the artist had got the man's hair color, eye color and location completely wrong.

"Why on earth would a motel in the middle of nowhere have a painting of Hitler hanging on one of its walls?" Stiles wondered out loud. "I guess there's some questions we'll never get the answers to," Lydia mused as she shut the door behind them with a shrug.

Stiles kicked his converse off and leapt onto the bed, making it squeak in anguish due to impact. He patted the empty space besides him. "Come here," he mused, a lazy smile spilling across his features. Lydia smirked at him. "You can't order a lady to come to bed," she cooed skittishly, mascara painted eyelashes fluttering. "Can I implore a lady to come to bed?"

"Perhaps - but I need to wash off. We've been in your junk jeep for an entire day, I'm beginning to smell like pine cone car freshener. I'll see you afterwards." Lydia said. "Oh, and Stiles? No peeking," she purred flirtatiously before spilling into the bathroom.

She could practically see the absolutely floored look on the poor boy's face as she shut the bathroom door behind her.

xxxxx

Stiles

When he finished changing into a fresh t-shirt and ran his hands through his hair, he heard the bathroom door creak open and the girl that greeted him was wearing nothing but a towel and his heart almost shot out of his chest sans his mouth.

Lydia Martin. The girl of his dreams. The sunshine girl he'd been crazily in love with since the third grade was standing right in front of him.

In. Nothing. But. A. Towel.

Stiles pressed his lips so tightly together he wondered if it would leave a mark. The girl had her red velvet hair up in a loose bun, droplets of sparkling water still sprinkled the skin on her collarbone and shoulders, there wasn't a trace of make-up on her pearly face reminding him of how naturally gorgeous she was, she wore the white towel around her middle like a short dress that exposed a whole lot more of her surprisingly long legs than he'd have imagined. She grinned cockily in his direction and strolled right towards him, close enough so he caught a scent of the warm vanilla sugar shower gel she'd used, and then right past him towards her bag. "I forgot to take my clothes," she muttered, and Stiles evaded his gaze, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to think of his Grandma or Game of Thrones or The Green Goblin, anything to keep his train of thought from reminding him that Lydia was practically naked.

She. Was. So. Beautiful. It. Was. Unfair.

Your Grandma. Your Grandma naked.

Yack. Yuck. Yuck. Gross.

Err...

"Stiles?" Lydia beckoned, compelling him to open his eyes; which involuntarily skirted her enticing figure. "You okay? You look like you're going to have a panic attack."

He faked a cheerful smile. "Me? I'm goood, goood. Great. You - do your thing," he fumbled idiotically. Her luminous green eyes shined playfully. She took a few steps towards him and leaned in dangerously close, now he could smell her coconut shampoo. "Don't get too excited," her gaze dropped somewhere beneath his waistline. Stiles felt his cheeks sizzle and his heart skip several beats. Embarrassment running rampant across his features. Lydia shot him a light smile and giggled, racing back into the bathroom and taking his dignity with her.

"Damn," he muttered to himself. "I feel like I'm trapped in a torture chamber."

xxxxx

He was waiting for her eyes to get glassy as she took another swig of rum mixed with Cherry Coke. She passed it to him and he couldn't help but notice the lipstick imprint left on the mouth of the bottle, like a promise of a kiss.

"Rum and coke," Stiles muttered distastefully. "My least favorite alcohol concoction."

"Don't be a baby, just take a sip. Or well... We bought a bunch of other drinks, remember? You're welcome to sip on vodka or whiskey," she mumbled. "Yeah, well. I don't know about you, but I'd like to not throw up by the end of the night." Stiles grumbled. He was proud of his no-throw-up streak, which was seven years. He hadn't thrown up in seven years. He didn't want to break that streak now.

They were sitting in a mess of mattresses, comforters and cushions on the floor rather than on the big, uncomfortable bed that lounged above them. Outside, the weather had changed its mind and a storm held the sky hostage, making the stars and moon retreat to make way for monstrous clouds and pelting rain. The weather on Stiles' iPhone predicted a hailstorm, and they could hear the ice crystals and raindrops knocking at the motel's fragile glass windows. Due to the newborn storm, the electricity had been cut off, and they had to go downstairs and get a bunch of wax candles to keep from night blindness.

Lydia was dressed in a dangerously low-cut indigo tank-top that seemed tailored to make him uncomfortable, and a pair of short polka-dotted pajama shorts. Her hair was let down to dry in a cluster of damp curls. This made Stiles glad the lights were messing with his vision. The relief had been short lived when he realized she looked even better in the glow of firelight. It made it seem like there were specs of gold in her otherwise green rainforest eyes. It made her hair shine too, and her face was just brighter, like there was sunlight in her veins.

"Boo hoo," she mumbled petulantly at Stiles' response. Lydia still wasn't drunk though, Stiles knew exactly what a sloshed Lydia looked like, and this wasn't it. "You remember the night you fought with Jackson? You probably don't, you were wasted out of your mind." Stiles said.

Lydia made a face. "Which time? Be more specific,"

It was kind of sad, Lydia's history with the guy. They used to fight continuously, and she'd always been so unhappy in the relationship - even though she'd given her heart and soul to Jackson. Stiles thought that years from now, if he ever happened to bump into Jackson down the road in a stranger city somewhere, he would punch the guy in the face. Repeatedly. Just for the hell of it.

"I don't remember the exact day, but I remember Christmas was right around the corner. The street was lit up with fairy lights. You were clad in this pretty blue dress that made you look like the angel at the top of the tree. You were wandering around Jackson's neighborhood barefoot in the snow, you didn't even have a jacket on. You weren't cold though, the alcohol had warmed your system. I remember driving by while running an errand for dad, and I saw you there. I freaked out. I parked my jeep and rushed over to you, repeatedly asking if you were alright. You just laughed and then you burst into tears. I didn't know what to do, but your skin was so ice cold. Your eyes were red stars. I held you for a minute, and then I lead you to my jeep. I called your mother and dropped you home that night."

Lydia blinked, eyes wide and full of surprise. "Are you making this up?"

"Do I sound like I'm making it up?" he arched an eyebrow. "No," she sighed. "I thought I was in love," she divulged. Stiles nodded because he knew. He didn't mention how he recalled her quoting, "I try so hard and he's never satisfied. I feel like trash when I'm with him." He recalled contemplating marching over to Jackson's house and giving him a piece of his mind. He recalled being unable to comprehend how someone could treat someone like her so horribly.

It thundered outside their window and they huddled closer together. The twin flames of the candles in front of them shivered slightly like they were afraid of the reverberation. The warmth of her was much nicer than the warmth of the fire. Lydia gulped down more of the drink and Stiles grabbed the bottle of Whiskey on his right. "I used to hate storms when I was a little girl. It was like the sky was angry at me or something," she laughed, her voice like windchimes. "Now I just think there's something beautiful about stormy weather. Even the skies need to scream sometimes."

"That's beautiful," Stiles responded, his words slightly slurring as he took another swing. "You're beautiful." He added.

Lydia disregarded his compliment. "But I miss the stars," she muttered softly. "I grew up in love with the stars. It's why I was so keen on becoming an astronaut as a girl," she went on.

"Maybe that's because there are stars inside of you," he responded dreamily. Lydia chuckled at his flowery statement.

"Maybe there are stars inside us all." she responded.

"Yours are brighter than mine," he said.

Lydia's smile turned sad, "Stiles," she whispered softly. "Hypothetically, if we were to get together ever. You would hold on to me, right? You would never leave?"

"Nope. Never. You'd be stuck with me. We'd be like Siamese twins."

Lydia repressed a laugh. "Too far?" he asked. "A teensy bit, yeah," she chuckled.

"So... We're getting together?"

"I said hypothetically,"

"I thought we decided we wouldn't deny our feelings."

"And I'm not. I like you. You like me. I'm surprised the world hasn't imploded yet."

"Why are you so afraid to embrace this?"

"Stiiless," she sang his name again, totally evading his question. "What?" Lydia grinned. "What does your Whiskey taste like?" she asked. "Ass-paste," he confirmed. "Great. Let's chug it down as fast as we can until we get woozy and forget how to spell the word 'intelligent',"

"Okay." He agreed, because it was a swell idea.

Important: That little snippet at the beginning when he breathes into her is not my original idea. I read it a long time ago in a Spuffy fanfic and implemented it into my story. I do not take any credits for the idea.

Hey. You. Yes, you. Like my story? Don't hesitate to drop me a nice review. Buh-bye. My parting wish for you is that you receive all the Dylan-gasms in the world. ;)