"Someone must have died in here," Lydia said with revulsion as she and Stiles stood on the threshold of their motel room. It smelled atrocious even from in the hallway.
Stiles coughed. "Is that your banshee sense tingling or is it your five-star-hotel sense?"
Lydia glared at Stiles as she clamped her hand over her nose and mouth. "You're fine with sleeping in this pithole?"
"Better than the pithole Liam and Mason got stuck in. They don't have a working shower," Stiles said in a nasally voice-he was also holding his nose-as he stepped into the room.
Lydia followed reluctantly, glaring at the threadbare quilted comforters on the two beds and the flickering light in the ceiling above them. "Let's just hope this motel isn't haunted like that one from junior year."
"Scott double-checked when he was planning the trip. No ghosts here, we're sure."
Lydia sighed as she looked around the room again. Road-tripping with her friends before they all left for college had sounded like a lot more fun before she had experienced cramped legs from sitting the car too long, minimal laundry opportunities, and the string of shitty motels they had stayed in so far. They couldn't afford better, however, so she figured she should be grateful that they weren't sleeping in the car. She was even getting used to sharing a room with Stiles-even if it meant that seeing him shirtless or asleep without a trace of worry on his face was now an almost daily occurrence for her. With Scott and Kira, and Liam and Mason, bunking together, that just left her, Stiles, Malia, and Braeden. No way was Malia going to room with Stiles, not after their breakup, and Braedan had laughed when Scott suggested she pair with him. So Lydia had volunteered, maybe a little more quickly than any of them had been expecting.
Stiles swore as he tested out the air by dropping his hand from his mouth, expression twisting disgustedly when apparently he realized this smell wasn't something to get used to quickly. "I'll run to the store and get like twelve cans of Febreeze."
"Anything but lemon!" Lydia called after him as he hurried out the door.
When it clicked shut behind him, the light flickered again. Lydia continued scowling at it as she dug her toiletries out of her bag and walked into the bathroom. The tub and sink were fairly clean-if cracked and stained from years of use and disrepair-so she decided she was going to use the opportunity to shower. If she was lucky, the scent of her shampoo and conditioner would help stamp out the mildewy, musty, dank smell of the room.
With the water deliciously near scalding, she spent far longer than she planned scrubbing the day away from her hair and skin. Down the drain went the remaining Cheetos orange on her fingertips, the coating of sunscreen from her shoulders and nose, and the sticky pink of her lipgloss. The heat made her feel boneless, weightless, made of just warmth and water. When she stepped out in a billow of strawberry and coconut-scented steam, she had to wipe the mirror to see herself. Taking her time in the pleasant smelling bathroom, Lydia brushed her hair, moisturized, and then tucked the towel tightly around her before leaving.
The air of the bedroom was cool against her damp skin when she walked out. It was so disorienting that it took her a minute to realize Stiles was stretched out on one of the beds, playing on his phone. He did a double-take when he saw her, then scrambled off the bed.
"Sorry, didn't know you were still getting ready!" He called over his shoulder as he retreated into the hall.
As the door clicked shut, yet again leaving her alone, she realized three things: the air now smelled like flowers and cotton, her pulse was rushing excitedly in her ears, and her cheeks felt hot-and not because of the shower.
Once Lydia had dressed, she padded over to the door and stuck her head out into the hall. Stiles looked over from where he was leaning over the second-story balcony. As he straightened, Lydia shivered, and she didn't think it was due to cold water droplets from her wet, bunned-up hair sliding onto the back of her neck. A warm summer breeze blew past her as Stiles slipped by into the room, still avoiding looking at her out of respect, or embarrassment, as if she was still wearing only a towel. Her heart gave a fond kick for his sweetness-truth be told, that little thump of affection had only been growing stronger and more frequent the whole trip-and she reached out to stop him.
"Stiles." His name escaped from between her bare lips, a bit chapped because she had forgotten to put lip balm on.
He turned and then her fingers were in his shirt, tugging him closer. His eyes went wide for a split second as she arched into him, head tipped back, her lips coming to brush his mouth from below. It was just the softest touch, followed by another kiss from her, and then his hands were cupping her jaw and his mouth came down on hers, with purpose but also slow and languid. His fingers dug into the dripping roots of her hair as she leaned into him, pushing him back against the wall next to the door frame. As they kept kissing-deeper, wetter, harder-the warm, fluid feeling from her shower returned, but this time her skin was heating and flushing because of the way Stiles felt against her chest, her hips, her thighs. How his tongue slipped into her mouth, how his hands skimmed down her shoulders to rest heavy on the curves of her waist.
Just when shirt hems started lifting, Lydia pulled back, slowly and with her eyes closed. She breathed in, breathed her boy in, and let the corners of her swollen mouth tug upwards.
"Lydia?" Stiles said gently.
She hummed, feeling her smile grow wider.
"Are you pretending it's not me? Is that why you're eyes are still closed? Because while that was, uh, pretty frickin' awesome, I'd like you to want to be kissing me-"
She burst out laughing, eyes flying open. Stiles was squinting at her, a little confused and a little hurt. With a fond wiggle of her head back and forth, she rose up on her toes and left a peck on his parted lips.
"Any more questions?" she quipped.
He answered by claiming her mouth, one hand going for the zipper of her sweatshirt and the other bracing the back of her head as he walked her backwards towards the bed. When they fell onto the mattress together, shedding clothes as they moved up, Stiles broke away for a moment to grin down at her, his surprise having apparently turned to eagerness that matched her own.
"Best roadtrip ever," he sighed happily. "Worst motel room, but best roadtrip ever."
Lydia had to agree, so she laughed, looping her arms around his neck and pulling him back down to her so they could really make the best of an otherwise terrible room.
