Chapter 9 - What's New Pussycat?
By the time Stiles and Scott showed up to the Martin-Bennet household, the party was in full swing. They passed a few people that they recognized, but the Halloween party seemed to be a little more exclusive than Sadie's welcome party had been. About three quarters of the lacrosse team seemed to have shown up, as well as the rest of Lydia's clique and some people who must have done some major sucking up to get in. Not that the two of them were ones to talk. Apparently it'd taken Sadie hours of convincing to get Lydia to agree to invite them, though whether that was because of their unpopularity or the fact that Scott wasn't supposed to be anywhere around Allison, they weren't sure.
They passed through the house pretty quickly, moving into the backyard where most of the people were. There were red lights shining on the pool, and clouds of dry ice billowing over the surface. Sadie's decorations looked far more impressive by night than they had at nine o'clock in the morning. Stiles made a noise of approval through his werewolf fangs as surveyed the yard. Scott remained silent, but Stiles knew it was just because he was too busy looking for Allison to notice the kickass ambiance.
Stiles tucked his thumbs in his pockets, letting his eyes pan over the yard so he could survey the guest list. He immediately spotted Lydia and Jackson wrapped up in each other in a far corner of the yard. Jackson was clad in his lacrosse uniform, while Lydia's tiny witch hat had been knocked askew by one of her boyfriend's wandering hands, poufy skirt ruffled and tangled. Stiles quickly looked away. Of course she was already making out with Jackson. It was her Halloween party and she hadn't even wanted him there. He was only allowed on the premises because of Sadie.
That thought in mind, Stiles moved on to searching for the zombie farm girl he and Scott had left at Allison's house. But even after several minutes of searching, he hadn't caught a single glimpse of her torn dress or decaying makeup. He sighed, leaning heavily on one of the porch pillars. Maybe she'd just ducked inside.
"Aw, dude, check it out," he piped, hitting Scott lightly in the chest and nodding to the right. Danny was standing in the corner, eyes cast intently down and apparently reffing a round of bobbing for apples. Stiles recognized the grungy hair of Dylan Peters facing him, flailing awkwardly with his head dunked completely in the bucket of water. Not that that was the view he was thoroughly enjoying at the moment. Scott rolled his eyes and looked away, leaving Stiles to ogle the unfamiliar backside of the poor girl who was Dylan's opponent. Stiles felt his eyebrows rise appreciatively as the girl arched her back slightly, reaching farther into her bucket and making the end of her dress ride up the back of her thighs as the fabric tightened over her ass. Man, he really loved Halloween.
A moment later, she sprung to her feet, arms thrust into the air in victory. Stiles enthusiastically joined the smattering of applause, earning himself a disapproving look from Scott. But Stiles didn't mind. He was much too focused on the sleek black cat tail dangling down between the girl's legs as she dismissed Peters and high fived Danny. A sexy cat costume. Very classic, in his opinion. He could totally work with a girl in a sexy cat costume. He smirked to himself as he considered that train of thought for a moment, but then the fantasy came to a crashing halt.
Danny must have said something to the girl, because the next second she was spinning around to face them. Her deep brown hair and cat tail splayed around her as she twirled and Stiles found himself staring at a very familiar pair of chocolate brown eyes. The smirk slid off his face in an instant, and he heard Scott laugh next to him. The sexy cat was Sadie. He'd just been caught staring at Sadie's ass. God, he really hoped that he hadn't been caught staring at her ass. Why was Sadie dressed as a sexy cat? Why had the world decided to conspire against him and his hormones on his favorite holiday? What on Earth had possessed her to change from the impressive but non-enticing zombie costume into a tiny black dress and cat ears?
But he didn't have time to worry about it, as she was already heading toward them, taking long, graceful strides across the grass in her black pumps. She skipped up the steps, a bell around her neck jingling as she went. Stiles fought and failed to keep his mouth closed. She was wearing a fucking collar.
"Hey, guys!" she greeted in a casual voice. One hand came up to tuck a wet strand of hair behind her human ear, then patted the cat ears to make sure they were still in place. "Glad you could make it."
"Yeah, well you invited us," Scott pointed out, gracefully swooping in to answer while Stiles tried to find his voice once more. "Have you seen…?"
"She's over by the snacks," Sadie cut him off, waving one hand off to some section of the yard that Stiles did not glance towards, though judging by the words that he was comprehending, it had something to do with Allison. "Do not talk to her, Scott."
"I'm not going to," he replied with a terrible attempt at sounding innocent. "I'm just gonna…" He trailed off, turning on his heel and high-tailing it away from the porch, leaving Stiles frightfully alone with a scantily clad, dripping wet Sadie Bennet and a head full of very colorful curse words for Scott when he got back. Sadie turned back to Stiles with a smile tugging at her lips, standing out from her face with bright red lipstick. He desperately tried to stop himself from licking his lips, and finally managed to force a few words out of them instead.
"Why…? You're…not a zombie…" Stiles kicked himself mentally. Good job. No hello. No congratulations on your game. You're just not a zombie anymore. No shit, Sherlock.
"No," she agreed with a gentle laugh. "This is the Lydia Martin approved Halloween costume, actually. I think I looked better undead."
"No!" he exclaimed before he could stop himself, making Sadie raise her eyebrows. Stiles cleared his throat, trying to think of an appropriate way to amend the statement without totally creeping her out. "I mean, uh, no you look…" Stiles trailed off, at a complete loss for words as he stared at the girl in front of him.
It'd been so much easier to not think about how attractive Sadie was when she was dressed up for trick or treating, in a tattered dress and thick, decaying zombie makeup. She was his friend, and he wasn't supposed to think of her like that, but now… He felt like he couldn't let his eyes look at one place for too long, otherwise his imagination would kick into overdrive.
He couldn't scan up and down her stockings, black and sheer over smooth skin, with wet patches from where she'd been kneeling in the grass, almost as if she'd been—no.
He couldn't look at the hem of her tiny black dress, which dredged up the oh so recent memory of watching her bob for apples, bent over with the dress riding higher and higher until it nearly—no.
He couldn't stare at the sleek black fabric, the way it hugged her curves, how the neckline scooped dangerously low, drawing his eyes down so it was hard not to stare, making him want to lean in and—no.
He couldn't look at her damp hair, how the wet tips dragged over the dress straps, how it dripped a bead of water onto her skin where gravity pulled it down, down, until it disappeared into—no.
And he most certainly couldn't look at her cat ears, or the whiskers she'd painted on her face, or the thick, cherry red collar wrapped tightly around her neck. But that's where his eyes seemed to get trapped, at what was currently her most dangerous feature. The golden bell that hung off the front was shining in the dim porch light. It tinkled as she shifted ever so slightly, and his mind was lost.
Sadie's hair cascading down her back, chin yanked up with one forceful tug on her collar as he pulled her into a frantic, searing kiss.
Sadie's cat ears staying firmly in place as she mewled, eyes fluttering shut as he pressed her into her mattress, back upstairs and tucked away in her room.
Sadie's painted cat eyes remaining locked on his as her head moved slowly down his bare torso towards his happy trail, leaving maddening kitten licks over his skin, which already shining with salty sweat.
Sadie's neck straining against that infuriating, fucking collar, the bell ringing repeatedly, bouncing and jingling every time he…
NO! NO, NO, NO, NO,NO!
Stiles gulped, wrenching his mind violently back into reality and tearing his eyes away from the cherry red collar and up to her face. Yes, her face was safe. Well, not entirely. She was still entirely too attractive for her own good—for his good—with her painted lips and water droplets webbed between her dark eyelashes. But at least her face was a danger he'd been learning to deal with. He opened and closed his mouth, searching desperately for something to say.
"Um, your whiskers are kind of…uh, like smudged…"
"What?" she asked innocently. She raised a hand and let her fingers brush across her damp cheek, pulling back to look at the tinge of black staining her hand. "Oh, yeah. I was bobbing for apples."
"Yeah!" Stiles choked out, mentally warring with the image of Sadie's ass sticking up in the air. "Yes, I-I saw that." He tried to keep his entire body in check, but his eyes managed to stray down her body again, landing on the cat tail that was swaying back and forth between her thighs.
No. Stop.
"Right. Well, I better wash this off," she chirped, making his eyes shoot back to her face. She smirked at him, shifting in her heels. "Enjoy the party!" She raised a hand to her mouth, teeth sinking into the flesh of the shining red apple she'd claimed as her war prize against Dylan Peters. She stayed still just long enough for Stiles to watch the way her lips dragged over the skin of the apple, her tongue darting out to catch a drop of the juice. And then she brushed right past him, strutting into the house with a new kind of confidence he'd never seen her with before. He watched her go, rooted to the spot and completely transfixed by the sway of her hips, the way her tail swung back and forth like a pendulum. He let out a long slow breath as he craned his neck, trying to keep her in sight for as long as he possibly could.
Just what the hell did she think she was doing? Did she know what she was doing, the effect she had? Or was the dress really just something Lydia had forced her to change into? It was a plausible explanation. In which case, Stiles was going to have to thank Lydia profusely. Or sit her down and explain why should couldn't do shit like this. He wasn't sure which just yet. He'd decide later. On the one hand, he was generally all for seeing hot girls in sexy costumes, even if it was one of his friends. He couldn't really afford to be picky. On the other, he'd walked into the situation completely and utterly unprepared. He'd been expecting to find his friend, the girl he was not supposed to be attracted to, in a zombie costume worthy of a Hollywood makeup trailer. And instead he'd gotten trapped, and Sadie had show up like—like some sort of sex kitten.
Shit. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He'd actually said that. He'd actually just said the words "sex kitten" in his head. He noticed how the jeans Sadie had given him for his werewolf costume suddenly seemed strained and far too tight, all his blood rushing south as the words rang though his mind on a loop. Well, there went any plan of remaining composed for the rest of the night.
He glanced back and forth around the mainly empty house. Scott was off chasing Allison, and no one else really seemed too keen on talking to him. He'd just…go to the bathroom for a few minutes…maybe a little longer…
The image of Sadie in the red collar flashed again in his mind, golden bell hanging in the dip in the center of her clavicle, shining with sweat in the dim light.
Yeah. Probably a lot longer.
A/N: I'm almost sorry, but I'm actually not. I... I have no excuse for this. People asked for the straddle thing from Stiles point of view, and I think one person of many might have mentioned this. But it's my story. And I really have entirely too much fun writing all the perverted little thoughts Stiles has. Writing for the point of view of a sexually deprived sixteen year old boy with a vivid imagination is just a lot of fun. Sooo yeah. That's all I've really got.
I miss my reviewers. Thank you everyone for reading, and please remember to let me know what you think! Mwah!
-Brittney
