· 1st Time They Definitely Don't
They had spent every free minute sheltered, driving around in Stiles' Jeep for a couple of weeks, and while they both loved it, they hated it. She had had to deal with his physical immersions and he had seen her virtual narcolepsy when things weren't going her way.
As much as they joked about redecorating, they knew Scott would notice if Stiles tidied up. It would bring unwanted questions. Which meant it wasn't always the tidiest but he tried to leave only the newest leftovers under the backseat and throw out takeout over 3 days old.
Once he had begun to leave the doors unlocked at all times, she had begun to get used to climbing into the backseat every free period whether he was available or not. He wasn't surprised the first time he jumped in to see she had the seats flattened out to make enough room to fan out her books, to study comfortably and then fall asleep across it all.
They did some homework and studied other subjects to keep him from failing 'the hard ones' and rarely went through unsolved cases anymore but when they did it was more for nostalgia's sake. Sometimes they gossiped about their friends, more like they worried over Scott and Allison like two mother hens. Often they lay side by side holding hands, staring at the ceiling bickering about the small useless things that made the world go around and made each other laugh but more often than either of them liked, things turned sour.
"You act like it's a sin to want something more," Lydia snapped, her crankiness raised due mostly to the awful heat. "It isn't such a great luxury to want A.C. for your damn Jeep."
"It is! It is exactly that!" Stiles sighed, and continued stubbornly. "Having an air conditioner is a luxury item!"
"It's a lifesaving item if it keeps me from killing you." Squeezing her eyes shut, she heaved a sigh and rubbed at her temple to stave off a headache.
"Don't be dramatic." He lifted a brow skeptically, which looked ominous beaded in sweat.
"Just let me pay to get your A.C. fixed," she pleaded. She disregarded the flush on his face that could have been embarrassment but took it for heatstroke.
"I can handle it," Stiles protested. He craned his neck, the collar of his shirt rumpling further up and open to pillow his face.
"I know you can." She shifted further up, so that she and Stiles were facing off. Their eyes met evenly, and when she let her gaze wander she could analyze the precious pigments of his skin. Teasingly, she said, "Just like I know you're man enough to handle me handling the bill."
"Totally." He feigned consideration and smiled tightly. "Just not with my Jeep. This Jeep, it's my 'everything'."
"You and your 'everything'? That's a lot to deal with." Lydia had gotten a bit tired of all of it. Letting go of his hand, she leaned up onto her elbow and glared down over onto him. "It is getting claustrophobic in here."
At a tilt, on one knee, she hovered across Stiles and rattled the rear door knob. She bemoaned her unfortunate circumstances and made a halfhearted effort to leave. A sheen of sweat pulled along every inch of her, it matted her hair into a web of scarlet over her shoulder and down her back. It made peek-a-boo lacework of the sheer white blouse as she leaned across him and rocked back and forth playing at the handle.
Instantly a dark flush moved through Stiles cheeks, he sucked in a breath harsh enough for deep sea diving and he trembled with the effort to remain absolutely still. With a great amount of self-control, he asked Lydia "if you're going to go, could you please hurry?"
He dragged a lacrosse jersey from his nearby backpack, covered his lap and the growing tightness of his jeans. It didn't leave much to the imagination what he tried to obscure by the panic on his face. Lydia sat completely upright, her eyes open wide and a grin of astonishment pasted across her face.
"Well," she said, her voice low and amused. "What's wrong Stiles? Feeling a little hot and bothered?"
"This is not funny. This is reall- could you just?" Stiles bit out each word, his eyes full of mad and mixed emotion.
She lay back down beside him, careful to align herself knowing that they didn't touch, not even down to their footsies.
"No, I think I'm just going to lay here." She did exactly that. "Give me your hand."
Insistently, she turned her hand palm up and made wave motions until he gave over and clamped a free hand with a thud against hers on the Jeep floor. After a second they threaded their fingers and squeezed tight, stilling him a little.
"How is this going to help?" he hesitated.
"Because crawling across your hard-on to scurry away from this conflict could cause us permanent scars."
"Us?" Stiles glanced over at her and grinned.
"Yes, our mutualistic symbiotic relationship. Like a parasite." Lydia gulped and struggled at how to fill in the gaping silence that followed. "You know, there's a term 'Our Forgotten Organ' - it refers to the human microbiome, which shows we have ten times more parasite bacteria cells in our body than DNA cells."
For a moment Stiles couldn't draw a breath. And then he busted with laughter so loud it no doubt drew stares from anyone who walked nearby. Turning to look at her, his color started to look vaguely normal aside from the clamminess that came from being contained in his tin can of a Jeep. He felt flattered by Lydia's flat attempts to be off-putting, by her version to appear gross and her determination just to stick around.
"Try baseball," Stiles suggested, breathing in gasps. "Let's try talking about baseball."
"That's not exactly something we played around my neighborhood growing up," she muttered uncomfortably.
But Lydia seemed fine with listening because she knew the rudimentary things about history and stats. As far as passion and who deserved the Series Championship that year, in that regard Stiles could go on for hours.
In the end they decided to go halfsies on the A.C. for the sake of their survival.