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“-School’s closed in the morning, Kiddo, the storms finally… Lydia.”
Lydia opened her eyes and sat up, bleary eyed and frowning at her surroundings. It was dark around her, the golden light from the doorway almost blinding. She remembered showing up at the Stilinski house for a homework date (Stiles’ words, not hers) and sprawling out on his bed with books and snacks. The books were still there – she was lying on her Algebra text – but Stiles was worryingly absent from the scene.
“Hi, Sheriff Stilinski,” she said, tiredly, “Where’s Stiles?”
“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” the Sheriff replied, face falling so suddenly.
“He was here, um— what time is it?”
“Nearly 2am,” the Sheriff replied, stepping back and looking up and down the hallway, “I just got back from work twenty minutes ago. The Jeep’s in the drive so he’s not driven anywhere. And it’s pouring rain.”
The edges of Lydia’s vision blurred with the concern and panic, the urge to cry for no reason and every reason building up in her chest, when both she and the Sheriff heard jingle of car keys. Stiles was standing there, just behind the Sheriff, keys in his hand, dripping onto the carpet.
“Whoa okay, I know this looks bad, but we were just studying, I swear to god,” Stiles said, before anyone could open their mouths. The Sheriff huffed out a breath of disbelief and clapped Stiles on the shoulder.
“Kid, you’re soaked. Where the hell have you been?”
“Tha- that? Oh. We fell asleep. And everyone has a bag of stuff in my Jeep in case of emergencies because-”
“Because you always seem to be the first one at the scene of the crime?”
“Something like that,” Stiles shrugged, and then turned to Lydia, kneeling at the centre of his bed. He held up a stylish messenger bag that definitely belonged to her, and said, “Did you know it’s raining out,” very deadpan.
“I’ve been home in the kitchen for nearly a half hour, I didn’t hear you go out the front door,” the Sheriff said to Stiles, sudden confusion drawn on his face. Stiles flailed a little bit, looking a little offended.
“I have the stealth of a- of a stealthy creature.”
“Of a wolf,” Lydia supplied, and Stiles snorted loudly, brushing past his father and into his bedroom, throwing the bag to Lydia on the bed.
“Stealth of a wolf. By the way, Lydia’s staying over.”
“I am?” Lydia asked, just as the Sheriff asked, “She is?”
“I’m not driving you home in that weather, my father raised me to be a responsible driver,” Stiles said to Lydia, and then to his dad he said, “I’m not driving her home in that weather, I was raised to be a responsible driver.”
“Responsible, sure,” the Sheriff nodded, eyes narrowed before he turned his back, “I’m going to bed. You two-” he pointed his finger, flicking it between the two teenagers, “-behave. Stiles, please get out of those clothes before you catch pneumonia or something.”
“You can’t catch pneumonia, Dad, it’s—”
“Stiles.”
“Okay. Fine. Goodnight. Taking off the wet clothes,” Stiles raised his hands in surrender as he moved towards the door again, nudging it closed with his hip. With the light of the hallway blocked out, the moonlight only served to draw Lydia’s attention to the wet clothing in question. Like a lightning strike, a shocking jolt of arousal rolled through her before she even knew it, and she quickly covered her mouth to stifle any noise that threatened to bubble up.
The pale material of Stiles’ t-shirt was soaked through and weighted down, stretched to cling over every angle and curve of his torso. She was pleasantly surprised by the broad curve of his shoulders, attention drawn to the dark peaks of his nipples under the pale fabric, the lean muscle of his stomach. It took her a moment to remember that Stiles was an athlete, that of course he had a good body. He went through the same training regime as Scott did, as Isaac did, a Danny did, as Jackson had—
It was pleasing to her, how easy it was to think about Jackson now, how much stronger she had become without him there next to her. Jackson had always needed to be the main focus, the alpha of the relationship. A thought flittered through her mind, that Stiles wouldn’t be like that, that Stiles would respect her and equal her, before it was gone again.
She realised she was staring, eyes fixed on the dip of his navel beneath the shirt, and tore her gaze away to find Stiles frozen, his eyes on hers, eyebrow raised.
“You okay, Lydia?” he asked, tentatively.
She smiled and pushed one of her shoulders forward in a half shrug, “Just admiring the view, that’s all.”
It’s not like she didn’t find him attractive. She was well aware of what he looked like, and wow had puberty been kind to Stiles since they were freshmen, but when he hid away under layers of t-shirts, button-ups, hoodies, jackets— it was harder to see the whole picture. He had a sweet face, with those doe eyes and long lashes, and that soft, full mouth, but god, with that body, that hidden gem, he was almost sexy, she thought.
“Oh,” he said, a little breathy, suddenly looking bashful, as he moved over to the drawers by the end of his bed. His cheeks were dark, flushed, as he searched for something to wear.
“You want something to sleep in, or is there something in the kit?”
Lydia knew what was in her emergency kit. A pair of comfortable but flattering jeans, a cashmere sweater, a toothbrush, cotton boy-shorts, basic make-up, a pair of flats and a scientific calculator. She shook her head.
“I’ll need something. A t-shirt is fine. Maybe some shorts.”
Stiles nodded, his back turned to her, but she still got a chance to see his long fingers catching the hem of his shirt as he lifted it over his head- and wow, the muscles in his back were something. She frowned and forced herself to look away, annoyed. Stiles was smart, maybe nearly as smart as Lydia – he definitely kept up with her academically, they took nearly all the same classes – and yet it had taken the sight of his body, his naked body, to create such a visceral reaction within her. it went against everything she believed herself to be now.
But somehow, she knew Stiles wouldn’t judge her on that. He knew her. She scooted to the edge of the bed, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other as she waited for him. Stiles twisted around with a t-shirt and a pair of boxers in hand.
“Okay?” he asked, shoulder catching the slatted moonlight from the blinds. She smiled, nodding at him, trying not to stare at the freckles that dusted his shoulders, and then the darker moles that dispersed and clustered. She wondered vaguely if they went all over. “You can change in the bathroom down the hall if you want, or here, or wherever,” he mumbled, turning back.
When she didn’t move, he turned back towards her with his pyjamas clutched in one hand, looking startled.
“Hey Lyd, you okay?”
“That’s like the third time you’ve asked me if I’m okay,” she said, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I—” he stopped, reached down for one of the text-books on the bed and dragged it towards him. His eyes dropped to the cover, studying it for a moment before he looked back at her. “..Okay.”
“Stop saying okay. Are you okay.”
“Fine,” he said, eyes darkening even as she looked at him, “Great. I’m perfect. Beautiful.”
“Beauty is a social construct based on the ideas and beliefs of the observer,” Lydia said, pursing her lips, “But yes. I’d agree.”
“Uh-” he clutched his flannel pants to his chest, “I’m gonna go change in the bathroom.”
“So are you still a virgin?” Lydia asked suddenly, and Stiles froze, halfway to the door of his bedroom. He turned on the spot.
“Is it like, written on my forehead or something? Or is that just one of your… abilities,” he wriggled his fingers at her, pyjama material fluttering with his movements, “Sensing out virgins.”
Lydia held in an unladylike snort, “No, Stiles, I don’t sense out virgins. I’m not even sure what I can do. I was just… wondering. I thought maybe you might not be.”
“Why would you think that,” he frowned, “Because I took my shirt off in front of you? Hah, because I’m still, still internally freaking out about that. This. Now.”
“Scott said you nearly had sex with the girl at that party just before we came back to school, so… I just thought. Maybe you found someone since then.”
Stiles raised his hand to touch his neck, swallowing thickly, “Heather was a childhood friend. I trusted her, and she asked me to, so I said yes. I wouldn’t just pick up some random girl. So yeah. Still a virgin. Still virginal. Untouched.”
Lydia smiled, tilting her head a little bit as she played with the edge of her skirt, allowing herself to succumb to the nervous habit she so furiously resisted. She refused to be fidgety.
“Do you… want to not be?” she asked.
“Of course I want to not be,” Stiles laughed softly, and then upon catching the look she sent him, dropped his t-shirt, “Oh, you mean now.”
Lydia nodded quickly, biting her lip, and Stiles swore under his breath.
“Not dreaming,” he murmured.
“Nope.”
Stiles made a frankly embarrassing noise, folding his arms across his chest self-consciously, which only proved to draw attention to his biceps, which – Lydia noted – were also rather nice.
“Um—”
“You’re looking a little panicked.”
“Well, this is really unexpected.”
“We don’t have to jump straight in. We can start off small.”
Stiles swallowed again, and Lydia’s eyes tracked the movement of his neck, and he asked, “Like what?”
“Like… I want an orgasm. You could give me one.”
Stiles glanced back towards the closed door of his room, reaching back to twist the key in the lock. Lydia shrugged off her cardigan.
“And… how would you like me to attempt that?”
“Attempt?”
“Do it. How would you like me to do it?”
Lydia flipped her hair back over her shoulder, eyes narrowing as she took him in, uncrossing her legs but keeping her thighs pressed together. The more she looked at him, the more she felt the pleasant, growing hum between her legs. It lit her up inside.
“Your mouth,” she said with a contented sigh, “Please.”
Stiles’ expression softened, smiling softly as he stepped forward, but he hiccupped slightly as she reached forward, unbuttoning his jeans.
“And these should come off, please.”
“Sure,” he laughed, catching at the ends of his pant-legs, reaching down as he folded his long legs up one at a time to pull the jeans off, and then kicked them away.
“Didn’t take you for a boxer-brief kind of guy,” Lydia said, appreciatively, and she lay back across the expanse of Stiles’ bed.
“Mmm, well how would you know?” Stiles asked, one knee braced against the mattress, letting himself fall over her, steadied by his arms.
“What are you waiting for?” Lydia muttered, running her fingers up the length of Stiles’ arm, and he smiled down at her.
“A kiss, before I do anything,” he said.
“We’ve kissed before,” she replied, lifting one of her legs against his waist.
“You kissed me before. I didn’t kiss back, did I?”
“So stop stalling, and kiss me then.”
Stiles’ eyes dropped to her mouth, and he looked like he was trying very hard not to say okay, just before he ducked his head and pressed his lips to hers. She opened her mouth against his, sighing at the way he softly brushed her lips- and then Stiles grinned into the caress as she caught his chin and forced him to kiss her harder, deeper, until he kissed the corner of her mouth, her jaw, her neck, and then slid down off the bed to his knees on the floor.
He gently parted her legs with his hands, lifting her skirt, nudging his nose against her inner thigh as he got close enough. She exhaled a noise of surprise as she felt his lips against her through the cotton of her panties.
“Remember to be quiet, okay? My dad’s just down the hall.”
“That’s very presumptuous,” she breathed.
“I know how this works,” Stiles affirmed, and Lydia could practically hear the smile in his voice. She propped herself up on her elbows, looking down at him curiously, “and I know how to read you. I’m not exactly clueless.”
She watched him hook his fingers into her waistband, and smirk, eyes dark and eager as he revealed her.
“I’d like to revise some terms regarding this encounter,” she said, thoughtfully.
“Don’t make it so formal, just tell me what you want,” he replied, voice soft.
Lydia sucked in a slow, steady breath, aware that she was bared to him now, wet already.
“Your hands too. Use your hands too.”
“You didn’t say please this time,” he said, nipping at her inner thigh, and she squeaked, lifting her hips towards his face.
“You’re going to make me say please?”
“No, it’s just nice,” he murmured, using two fingers to spread her folds for him. Lydia huffed, about to tell him to hurry the hell up and eat her already when he put his mouth on her, hot and wet and shocking. And then he pulled away.
“Shush, Jesus Christ Lydia,” he hissed. She hadn’t even been aware she’d made a noise.
“Warn me next time!”
“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked, the curve of his upper lip pressed to her clit, and then his tongue swept out and he opened his mouth against her, licking a stripe from her opening up to the sensitive bud, before sucking it into his mouth.
“God, Stiles,” she breathed, dropping her hand into his hair, and he moaned as she rubbed her fingers against his scalp, pulling at his hair slightly. He murmured her name in response, nose pressed to her soft red curls as her licked at her, intent and precise with her pleasure.
She swore quietly as he looked up at her, and saw his lips curl into a smile as she felt his finger slip into her, just one, and Stiles knew it wouldn’t be enough, because he fucking laughed when she whined at him.
He pulled away entirely, letting her catch a breath or two as he slipped a want-slick finger into his mouth. Then he wrapped his arms around her thighs and roughly pulled her forward to his face, quickly pushing his tongue inside of her.
“Fuck,” she said, louder this time, and he dug his fingers into her hip warningly as she bit down on a knuckle, “You’re ridiculous,” she hissed, “Stop laughing.”
Stiles made some sort of noise that sounded far too self-satisfied for Lydia’s liking, and she dug her heel into his shoulder blade just to feel him grunt. Instead he buried his face deeper into her, nose nudging her clit as she gasped – and once he figured out how much she liked that, liked the way he drowned himself in her, he barely gave her a moment to catch her breath.
“Stiles, Sti- fuck, don’t you dare stop, oh god—” Stiles moaned encouragingly against her, his mouth meeting every roll of her hips. Even in the dark she could see the redness in his cheeks and on his chest, “Stiles – oh – I’m gonna come.”
She’d never heard him rumble so low before, looking at him so eager and flushed, wondering if he was hard, if he would make that sound when he fucked her, oh and if he fucked anything like the way he gave head—
He looked up again, eyes meeting in the dark lit room, and that was it- the damn broke as Lydia’s elbows gave out, and she fell back with a loud moan, every muscle in her body releasing and she rolled up, riding against his face as he moaned too, gripping her thighs tightly through her release.
He didn’t stop, just like she had asked him not to, mouth unrelenting as she reluctantly pushed him away, too sensitive yet still unwilling to give up his eager heat.
“Stiles,” she panted out, when he finally let go of her, clambering up next to her on the bed.
“God, thought you were trying to suffocate me there at the end,” he said, breathlessly, “Wow that was hot. That was good for you, right? That was good for me. Loud. We might have been loud though.”
“Stiles,” she said again, this time a little more dazedly, “Jesus. Your mouth.”
“Mmm,” he said, flopping down on the covers, “My mouth, made you- I made you come with my mouth. I was not anticipating that to happen tonight.”
“Me neither,” Lydia replied happily, and sat up despite her swimming mind, wanting to see him, wanting to get a look at how she’d affected him, “Stand up for me, Stiles. Here. In front of me,” she said. Stiles raised an eyebrow at her from where he was lying, but got up regardless, and stood in front of her.
He was hard, wet too she guessed, from the dark patch in his heather-grey boxer briefs, and thinking about how much got off on going down on her made her shudder.
“Huh. That was good for you too.”
“Of— course,” he said, breath catching as she rid him of his underwear, letting him nudge them away too.
“Help me out of my skirt?” she asked, “I’m a little weak in the knees.”
If anything, he looked smug as he unzipped the side of her skirt, shimmying it down her legs as she slipped out of her t-shirt, dropping it aside. She couldn’t help but watch the way his cock bobbed as he leaned over her, red and wet, a little thick, and she could practically feel the throb of it in her hand. It was nothing to be ashamed of, definitely not.
“Stiles.”
“Yeah,” he breathed, an edge of hoarseness creeping into his voice.
“I wanna suck you off,” she replied, mouth already wanting, “Is that okay?”
“Yeah—” Stiles paused, cleared his throat, “Yeah. That’s. Please.”
Still a little unsteady, Lydia pushed herself to the very edge of the bed and spread her legs, trying not to laugh at Stiles’ sudden fumble, his cock incredibly close to her mouth as he stood between her open knees.
“God, you’re gorgeous.”
She gave him a look, one that clearly communicated, I know, shut up, and then closed her hand around his shaft, small fingers hardly managing to encircle his girth.
“God,” he whispered, reaching out to steady himself on the headboard, arms-length away. All this before she’d even got her mouth on him. She squeezed gently and a drop of precome beaded at the slit, and she loved the way he shuddered as she licked it away.
She took him in without warning, taking a leaf from his book as he made an absolutely wrecked noise looking down at her.“Christ, Lydia. Fuck”
She pulled off, “No talking for the rest of this.”
“Next ten seconds, then.”
“You’ll last at least thirty won’t you, for me?” she teased,
He laughed, and tipping his head back it morphed into a groan when she licked up his length, “You’re not exactly helping the case,” he groaned, moving his hand to cup the base of her skull, fingers slipping into her hair, “Jesus, this is going to be over so quick.”
“Warn me. I won’t swallow,” she said primly, and Stiles choked out another laugh as she swallowed him down again, cheeks hollowed and lips full. If there was one thing that made Lydia Martin feel powerful, it was having a man at her mercy the way she had Stiles now. She curled her hand around his thigh and drew him closer; she felt him, every so often, reach down and squeeze the base of his cock, thighs shaking as he fought off his orgasm, lingering in the heat of her mouth just that much longer.
She could feel him rocking forward into her just a little, when suddenly he pulled back with a grunt.
“I’m gonna come,” Stiles murmured, swiftly working his fist around him cock and jerking himself off with quick flicks of his wrist. Lydia pulled her hair back behind her shoulders and pushed her chest forward, slipping the straps of her bra down her arms.
“Here,” she said, pointing to the centre of her chest, and Stiles choked off a moan, tightening his hand in her hair as he came, painting her chest as his body curled in over hers. Panting, he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, and keeled over next to her, hands above his head to catch his breath.
“That, that was also very good for me,” he said eventually, and this time she laughed too, reached across him to grab a Kleenex from the box down beside his bed (subtle) to clean herself off. When she looked back, Stiles was almost unconscious, blissed out on top of the covers.
“You’ll probably want to put some clothes on, genius.”
“Huh,” he sat up slowly, and eyed the forgotten pyjamas on the floor in the middle of the room, “Probably.”
Lydia watched him slide off the bed and make his way over on Bambi-like legs, still shook up from his orgasm. She too still felt a little weak, glad to find the shirt and boxers from earlier were only at the end of the bed. She discarded her bra onto the floor with the rest of her clothes and slipped on Stiles’ t-shirt, and then pulled back the covers of his bed.
She took his hand and pulled him in next to her when he looked sheepish.
“So that happened.”
“Yeah,” she smiled, hiding it behind her hand, “and it was really good.”
“Yeah, it was,” he breathed, and then kissed her forehead, “thank you.”
“No need to thank. I wanted to.”
Stiles turned his face into the pillow, “I know I’m awake but it feels like I’m dreaming.”
Lydia bit down on her lip, “Yeah well, maybe you should get dreaming, because I unfairly only got one of your fingers inside of me tonight so I’m expecting you to rock my world in the morning.”
Despite the darkness of the room, Stiles’ pupils dilated further.
“I have no witty response to that. All I can think about is making you come again.”
Lydia nestled into his chest and fell asleep there with his body covering hers.