Worst vacation ever.
Freshman year, Spring Break, and Stiles and Lydia agree to meet in Chicago, half way between Stanford and MIT. He'll indulge her shopping sprees. She'll go with him to a Bulls game.
They'll spend the rest of the time in the truly decadent bed in the luxury hotel her dad's platinum card is paying for.
Except, on the first night there, they go out for famous Chicago style pizza and Stiles wakes up in the middle of the night with food poisoning. Lydia is, of course, immune. Meanwhile, he spends the next forty-eight hours hunched over the toilet heaving up everything he ever ate or dozing on the floor in front of the tub.
When he's finally well enough to move to the bed, he's pasty and weak and the thought of food is a complete turn-off.
So is the thought of sex.
They also missed the Bulls game.
"This sucks," he whines as Lydia reclines next to him texting the Pack an update.
"We still have four days to shop."
Stiles gives her an annoyed side-eye. "I can't move."
"Food poisoning rarely lasts more than a day or two. You just need to eat something and get your strength back."
"Urk."
Rolling her eyes, but with some amount of affection, at him, Lydia picks up the room service menu and purses her lips as she scans it. "Well, most of this is way too rich, but they do have steelcut oatmeal. That would be a good start."
"Urk."
"That's a very unattractive noise, Stiles."
"I feel gross." He tries turning puppy dog eyes on her, but he never mastered them like Scott and she just pats his cheek.
"Good try, sweetie," she coos as she picks up the room phone and orders oatmeal and curly fries.
He perks up just a tiny bit at the mention of curly fries. Salt and grease, he thinks he read somewhere they're good for hangovers. Maybe they'll settle his stomach.
"They're for me. You get the oatmeal."
"Demon woman," Stiles mutters with a pout which makes her smirk and pat him again.
"How about after you eat the whole bowl, I'll fill the bathtub and we'll have a nice soak and get you clean?"
Slowly he turns to look at her, sees the promise on her flushed cheeks, and narrows his eyes. "Is this a trick to get me out shopping sooner?"
"No, this is an attempt to get you clean because, frankly darling, you stink a bit, and your breath is absolutely gross. You bathe, wash your sweaty hair, brush your teeth and maybe, if you're, shall we say, up for it, I'll do all the work tonight." She grins wickedly and grabs the remote to turn on the television.
As Stiles gapes at her, mouth hanging open, cock taking just a tiny bit of interest, she chooses Captain America III from the pay-per-view menu and presses start.
"I love you," Stiles babbles a while later as he stuffs the last bite of oatmeal into his mouth--it tastes gross, but he hasn't had sex since a week after New Year's when they headed their separate ways for college--and watches Cap duke it out with Baron Strucker.
"Of course you do," Lydia replies with an indulgent smile as she nibbles on her curly fries and rubs her foot against his under the sheets.
Okay, so maybe the vacation isn't the worst ever...
End
