I apologise for the delay with this chapter! Unfortunately I've struggled with this one, not writer's block per say, more a battle with the story line. I need to make sure I know where the plot is going and -dare I say it - when this story will eventually end. Anyway, sorry again and I hope you enjoy this rather short (filler?) chapter.
"We were in love, but in all the wrong fucking moments.''
It was still dark when Lydia woke up on Sunday morning, her hair clinging to her damp cheeks and neck. It was too warm in Stiles' room, the windows shut tight against the October cold that had left a slight frost over campus. But in bed, with Stiles' shirt wrapped around her and vodka still burning through her veins, she was too hot. Her phone told her it was just past seven in the morning, which explained the unusual silence that was clinging to the apartment. She smiled at photo Kira must have placed as her wallpaper, the three of them scrunched together to fit into the frame. Allison was laughing at something she couldn't see and Lydia was squashed between her and Kira, their cheeks pressed together with smiles brighter than the violet lights that swam over them.
More memories of the night before came back to the girl and she turned in bed, the sheets gathering around her waist and her lace underwear twisting against her hips. Her hands found the cool side of the mattress, empty and not slept in. She gazed at the empty pillow for a beat, for two, before remembering stumbling into the room with Stiles only four hours earlier.
"Kitten, behave, please'', Stiles muttered, a ghost of an amused smile on his lips.
They were in the hallway of his building, their friends standing around them in various stages of drunk and disorderly. Kira was falling asleep against Allison, a little furrow between her brows as she garbled impatiently at Scott who was still trying to fit his key into the lock, for the sixth time. Allison merely giggled at her boyfriend's fumbles, choosing to observe rather than help. A red cup was still in the hand that wasn't clutching Kira, the pretty pink liquid glittering dangerously inside it. She took a sip and hiccuped.
Isaac was stumbling behind them, singing to himself as he inspected the small, ceramic elephant he seemed to have acquired. He twirled, rather gracefully for someone as intoxicated as he was, before promptly leaning against the wall and closing his eyes.
With their friend's attention so distracted - and well, limited - Lydia was taking advantage. She was leaning against Stiles who welcomed her embrace happily, her tiny little body tucked into his as she held her heels in one hand and placed the other on his waist. When Scott swore loudly and tried to open the door for the seventh time, Lydia pressed her face into Stiles chest, grinning into the soft fabric of his shirt as her fingertips danced along the edge of his jeans, warm skin coming into contact with her own. She glided over the ripples of muscle she found there, dipping her fingers into the hollows of his hipbones.
The sharp intake of breath the boy took only encouraged her and she only halted when he swore into the top of her head, the sound muffled by her tangles of curls.
"That's not behaving'', Stiles coughed out with a laugh in his throat, "not at all.''
But the girl looked up at him with magic glittering in her eyes and he felt a fire pop and fizz inside his bones. Lydia rested her chin on his chest, the top of her copper head barely reaching his shoulders as she let out a smile that she saved only for Stiles. He battled with the urge to kiss her again, right there, in front of everyone. But he crushed it back inside of him, swearing internally at it before he slammed it back into the box he'd hidden it in for months and settled for tapping her nose affectionately. She grinned up at him, freckles dancing across her cheeks, a remainder of the summer and fuelling every fantasy Stiles had ever had about her, 'cause god almighty, the girl was fucking gorgeous.
So when her little hands, soft and warm and seemingly on a goddamn mission, found their way back up his shirt, he allowed it with a smirk. 'Cause he was a weak, weak man and he could still taste the apple vodka she had drank in his own mouth, feel her lashes flutter against his cheekbones. With more sleep lacing her actions, Lydia lay her head against Stiles' chest, her palms soothing themselves across the boys ribs, enjoying the way his body tightened at her touch.
When Scott swore once more, loudly enough to evoke an angry response from their neighbouring students, Isaac came back to life, tucking his little elephant into his shirt pocket before squeezing between an irritated Kira and Allison.
Upon seeing Isaac roll up his sleeves and raise his leg, ready to kick down the door with nothing more than the announcement of "I know what to do, I seen this on TV'', Scott hurriedly jammed the key into the door, finally succeeding and allowing everyone to spill in.
The friends said their good-nights - some mumbled, some groaned - and they went their separate ways. Scott led Allison to his room, the girl blowing Lydia a kiss goodnight with lips that still shone purple. Isaac, drunk, but ever the gentleman, presented his bed to Kira with a flourish; and he good naturedly stooped down so the girl could thank him with a kiss to his cheek. He then headed to the kitchen, smiling at the fridge as if it were a long lost friend.
Then, like before, they were alone. Lydia didn't hesitate when Stiles took her hand and led her to his room, the welcoming and familiar scent of everything Stiles washing over her as they stepped into the dark. And when the bedside lamp was clicked on, illuminating the room and them in a soft glow, Lydia forgot about the last time she was there, she forgot about Malia who had disappeared at the party. 'Cause Stiles was looking at her with eyes sweeter than honey, his shirt already half unbuttoned. His lips were still a little swollen from her kisses and Lydia's stomach dropped and twisted at the realisation. She bit her lip when he walked over to her, his shoes only just making noise on the floor, her shallow breaths the only sound in the room.
His fingers found the hem of her dress and his questioning eyes found her and she swallowed heavily, nodding - Lydia could hardly speak, but she refused to take her eyes off of his heavy stare. Rough palms brushed across her thighs and bubbles pressed against her ribcage. Her heart was pounding, a thundering beat that championed over any bass line she had danced to earlier.
The tight fitting fabric practically peeled away from her body as Stiles dragged it up her hips and over her head. When he let it fall to the floor, Lydia didn't protest, her eyes too busy watching how the boy's lips parted at the sight of her.
The boy almost fell to his knees, not because he hadn't seen her like this before, he had - and with less on too. But it was because this time, there was no heavy alcohol fuelling their actions, urging their lips to move quickly and with greed. They were silent, observant, nervous and so fucking aware of their eyes on each other. When the girl fidgeted on the tips of her toes, her hands curling around the edges of her inky black underwear, Stiles cleared his throat, turning away until his trembling hands found the handle of his drawers.
Confused, but with a smile on her face, Lydia allowed Stiles to gently tug one of his T shirts over her head, the scent of the familiar cologne hugging her and clinging to her hair. The soft cotton fell to her knees and she instantly felt warm and heavy with sleep. So when Stiles opened his arms, she tumbled into them, wishing she could crawl up his body and smiling when she silently asked herself, 'why couldn't she?'
But the boy had other plans, because when Stiles had finished dropping kisses onto her forehead, her eyelashes, her cheeks, her nose, he smoothed back her unruly curls and nudged her gently into his bed. Pulling the covers around her, he smothered a smile, adoring the way she pouted drunkenly at the loss of contact with him. He turned facing away from Lydia as he pulled his shirt over his head, his back twisting and stretching, making cords of muscles ripple under his tanned skin. His jeans pooled to the floor next, his belt buckle scraping against the ground as he kicked the offending fabric into a dark corner.
When he turned back, grey sweats sat low on his hips and his hair was falling in front of his eyes. He looked like a softer version of the boy Lydia knew, despite the muscles that defined his stomach. Stiles' eyes were honey, his smirk now a smile and his body radiating heat as he knelt down beside the girl.
Lydia squirmed impatiently under the sheets, excited and near enough breathless as the boy took small, careful moves towards her. His fingers found her legs under the covers, dancing over her skin before they curled around her thighs. Stiles tried not to grin as he shifted little frame across the mattress, her legs falling open for him as he settled between her hips.
Neither of them seemed to breathe in that moment, and despite the duvet that still separated them, Lydia's skin burned and Stiles' body was tensed. He braced his arms on either side of her head, his hands absent-mindedly delving into her curls. The boy smoothed stray locks from her forehead, his eyes taking in her expression of surprise. She studied him too; his slight stubble, the dimple in his right cheek, the little mole on his left. They became stuck in a moment they both knew all too well, that white hot burn of ''will we, won't we'' hanging over them, clinging to them both.
Stiles brushed his lips over Lydia's, once, twice, groaning into her mouth when she arched against him. He pulled away, his eyes dark and heavy, from her, her lips, the alcohol and the need to sleep.
"We have a lot of talking to do, Kitten'', he mumbled to her, his face pressed into her neck, the cold pillow against his cheek.
Lydia nodded, knowing he could feel her agreement. But when the boy stayed silent, she did too, refusing to push and instead curling herself around him. Her cheek fell onto his messy head, her legs by his hips as her fingers traced patterns and mapped out invisible roads on his back. He stretched on top of her, his weight becoming slightly heavier as he pressed her into the bed. He was solid, warm, real and Lydia's breath stuttered.
He must have heard it - felt it even - because he laughed onto her skin, lips grazing her neck. He turned to her, his chin lifting and his mouth centimetres from her own. There was no prelude to this kiss, no shot of vodka to tip into her lips, no apology to hear, no temper to rise or argument to battle. And that's what made her heart stop, as her eyes settled onto his lips and took in the edges of them. They parted and she exhaled, his cupids bow twitching as he fought off a smile. Her eyes searched his face until they met his own, warm and hiding laughter. Stiles took his time as he moved the few inches into her, his hips pressing down and his nose nudging her own. He was slow, deliberate, unabashed, just like he always was and he dragged his lips across Lydia's like he had all the time in the world.
'Cause really, lying there in his bed, tangled together, they both suddenly felt like they had.
Minutes and hours passed, and what felt like a year later, Stiles tore himself away from the girl. He would have smirked at her pout and heaving chest if he hadn't felt the same. She was tousled, blushing, from her hair to her toes and Stiles swore at the sight of her. He crawled out of bed, his hair a mess and his swollen lips parted as he sucked in deep breaths.
He pointed accusingly at Lydia, who was watching him from a tangle of sheets. Words escaped him completely and there was no sharp wit or sarcasm left in him. He was unravelling because of this girl, wildly, shockingly and rapidly.
"Where are you going?''
Stiles stopped his hand on the door and a little smile tugged at his lips. He looked down at her, a wash of gold hair and rosy cheeks on his white sheets. He almost tripped over his own feet in his haste to get back to her, leaning down to place another messy kiss on her lips, grazing one onto her corner of her eye, her jaw.
His voice was heavy and rough as he mumbled into her ear between kisses and smiles, "to the couch."
Lydia frowned, her eyes still clouded from the heavy, solid weight of his body that pressed into her own. She licked her lips, tasting him and the remnants of vodka. The bed suddenly felt cold without him but when Stiles spoke reason to her, she listened.
"Kitten, I'm trying to do this right, okay?'' He murmured gently to her, the other occupants of the apartment now asleep, "I wasn't going to mess around with you in a drunk frat house, and I'm not going to do it with all of our friends snoring a few feet away either.''
He leaned into her, his knees causing the mattress to dip. One finger played with her bottom lip and he inhaled sharply as he gave it a little pull, watching them part for him. He trailed it down her neck, across the collarbones that were peeking out from underneath his shirt. Her own curious fingers hooked into the top of his sweatpants, drawing him nearer, closer to her and the lengths of her parted legs that were bare and warm from his body earlier.
His hand caught hers and he smirked, pain etched into his lips, "you're making it incredibly difficult for me to be a good guy here, Kitten.''
"Some could even say it's becoming exponentially harder'', Lydia quipped, her eyes too bright and aware for three am.
Stiles chuckled darkly, feeling her fingers wiggle free from his hold as they danced across the sensitive skin just below his navel. Lydia traced the outline of his abdominal muscles, biting her lip at the way they clenched and tightened under touch. She had only just managed to capture the boy's bottom lip between the two of hers before Stiles sighed shakily and pulled away.
"I'm now more certain than ever that you're trying to kill me woman'', Stiles told her.
"You weren't sure before?'' Lydia asked, laughter shining in her smile. She was fucking glowing beneath him, little hands skimming over any inch of his bare chest that she could reach.
"Well'', Stiles pondered thoughtfully, fighting off his own grin, "when you accosted me all those months ago in the bathroom, in those little shorts, I thought there was a possibility that you hoarded homicidal tendencies.''
"I didn't accost you!'' the girl squealed indignantly, finally making Stiles release the laugh he had been holding.
"I know'', he admitted, placing one last kiss on her lips, "but I'm glad you happened to be there that night.''
Stiles watched Lydia's eyes soften, the playful grin slip from her lips as she took in his words. They were the closest he had came to admitting his feelings for her, the furthest from the usual teasing they partook in. So, with her still lying quietly, he smiled, reaching for the door handle.
"Night, Kitten.''
It was that memory that led to Lydia tumbling out of the same empty bed that Stiles had left her in. She found her footing on the cool floor, the cotton of Stiles' shirt falling almost to her knees. She ran a hand through her tangled hair, tiptoeing over her forgotten heels that lay by the bed. Her dress was in a pool beside them and her cheeks burned at the reminder.
Her head, unclouded and free from the effects of last night's alcohol, told her to find the boy whose aftershave clung to her skin. So, she twisted the door handle, wincing at how it squeaked throughout the quiet rooms. The air didn't move as she stepped out into the hallway, dust motes floating in the strips of light that the blinds let in. Soft snores came from all directions and Lydia took delicate steps towards the living room, the tips of her toes dancing across the floor boards.
The empty kitchen held the evidence of Isaac's late night cooking, empty packets of pasta scattered across the counter tops. The lights were all off, the hum from the fridge making the air vibrate. Muffled breaths came from the living room, the shape of two bodies spread out on both couches. Too long legs spilled over the armrests, fluffy hair poking out from underneath heavy arms and mismatched pillows. Lydia smiled, skirting around the sofa that Isaac lay upon until she was looking down at a dark, messy head.
Quietly, she dropped to her knees and curled both hands around the edge of the seat, her chin balancing on top as she smiled at the sight. Stiles was still asleep, his lips slightly parted and early morning sunlight draped across his skin in stripes. His breath hitched and eyelashes fluttered, opening just a crack to see Lydia before him. He smiled, sleep clinging to his body, still warm from bed, as he turned to her, pillow creases etched into his cheek and neck. His muscles moved and rippled as he shuffled towards her and he closed his eyes once more when Lydia's eager hands sought out the soft curls at the nape of his neck.
"Y'okay?'' the boy mumbled into his pillow, his amber eyes watching her carefully.
Lydia knew his question held more weight to it that it seemed and she thought back to the words they exchanged last night; both ones that were yelled and the others that were admitted between crushed lips. The girl nodded, a shy smile on her face that Stiles was accustomed too. He grinned in return, watching with his hazy vision as Lydia leaned towards him, his shirt that she wore brushing his bare chest.
Their eyes were bleary with sleep but set on each other with a fire neither could explain. Stiles' stare held everything he had said the night before, all the kisses he had pressed to her lips, into her skin. There was no hesitation as Lydia leaned into him, feeling his bed warm body pressed against her own. He was soft and hard all at once, his mussed hair feeling like silk between her eager fingers. She clung to him, little hands curling into the nape of his neck and Stiles hummed into her lips as she pushed them to his own.
The boy lifted his neck slightly from his pillow, his body twisting almost uncomfortably as he tried to feel more of Lydia, his lips pressing greedily to her own. He came awake underneath her, his blood racing in the veins under his skin as the girl melted into him, her own little body draped across his chest. One of his hands threaded into her messy curls whilst the other played with the hem of his shirt that danced around her thighs. Lydia pushed herself into Stiles further, her chest meeting his, their noses bumping clumsily, as she made that same goddamn shirt ride up her frame; grazing against the curve of her ass.
Curious fingertips touched lace and Stiles let out a gentle curse, the expletive sounding far too weak on his lips as the girl kissed it away, her soft skin becoming a hazard to the boy. Their lips met again and again, sweet and soft and gentle and for the first time, sure.
Stiles hummed happily into her and Lydia's heart dropped at the roughness that rumbled in his chest. Behind them, Isaac fussed in his sleep, rolling over until he became comfortable again. They stilled, Stiles' hand curled around Lydia's thigh as he fought the temptation to pull her on top of him, to see her straddled across his hips in nothing but his clothes. But Lydia bit her lip, her curls falling into her face and hiding her almost shy smile as she pulled away.
Stiles sat up with her, hating the distance she was putting between them, but when Isaac grunted again, he glared at the interruption, the reminder that they weren't alone.
The blanket he had fought the other boy for a few hours earlier dropped from his hips and pooled at his feet, and he grinned when he caught Lydia's gaze falling to his crotch. It was morning and he was young, healthy - as well as in the presence of a scantily clad girl that he was falling for more and more - it was expected. So he shrugged in response to her stare, grinning wider when she blushed at being caught.
The apartment was silent once more and Stiles could hear the soft breaths that left Lydia's lips, her eyes wide and glancing between a sleeping Isaac and himself. She was thinking, he could tell that much by her parted lips and furrowed brow. She was still kneeling on the floor, her bare legs resting against the cold floorboards. Hi shirt seemed to be climbing higher up her thighs, the material grazing the tops of her legs and making Stiles' chest fall heavier with each breath.
With graceful movements, Lydia rose to her feet, offering the boy her hand as she went. Stiles took it without question, without hesitation; 'cause by this point, he would walk to the ends of the earth with this girl and jump off the edge if she whispered the command in his ear.
Somehow, the boy knew she was leading his back to his room, back to where his bed sat. So he followed her, her fingers curling around his own as he followed her silently, willingly. He had never experienced this before, had never had a girl take command like this, so quiet and unassuming yet so blatantly confident in her actions. He was a putty in her hands, his lips parted with an anticipation he had never known to be so strong.
Their bare feet padded softly on the floor, their breaths caught in their chests, burning in their throats. Stiles' eyes were set on the sway of the girls hips in front of him, the way she walked quietly on the tips of her toes and yet was still so much smaller than him. He wanted to grin, to yell, to catch her and crush her to him. So he did.
Lydia's surprised gasp turned into laughter, a sound that made Stiles' heart a little quicker as he pulled her back to him. He pressed her against the wall before his bedroom door with heat racing across his body and an ache he burned with. He was impatient, too eager to touch her, taste her.
He grinned when Lydia responded with the same enthusiasm, her hands fisting into his hair, her lips crushed to his own. The boys arms wrapped around her little waist and he lifted her frame from the floor with ease, bringing her closer to his mouth so he could kiss her with the deep, confident strokes of his lips.
Lydia moaned into him, forgetting about the closed doors around her that hid their sleeping friends. Her own arms fell across Stiles' broad shoulders, his bare skin warm as her hands skated across them. She clung to his neck, not even the slightest bit surprised when rough hands found the undersides of her thighs and lifted her up. Pressed between a wall and Stiles was becoming a frequent situation for Lydia, and one she wasn't entirely opposed to. It gave a new meaning to the phrase, 'stuck between a rock and a hard place'.
The girl would have chuckled at the innuendo except deft fingers trailed along the inside of her legs and hips pushed into her own. Stiles was arching into her, letting out a low sigh as if this was something he had been waiting to do for a long time.
Her nails scraped against his back and he let out a low hiss that's laced with pleasure into her lips. She smirked and he grinned, shaking his head so their noses bumped and his mouth ended up sucking on her neck. Stiles' was rough and Lydia encouraged him with thrusts of her hips, tightening her legs around his waist. So he splayed his hands across her bare stomach as he rucked up her shirt, the one that now smelled of peonies and cherries and everything Lydia. Their kisses turn deeper, more desperate, greedy, cause this might just be it, this might just be their chance.
When Lydia speaks, it's mumbled and all lips and seeking tongues and fucking hell she moaned for him. The clamoured together, past the point of clarity and being rational, mature adults. Lydia almost sobbed at the heat between her thighs and the ache that comes when Stiles grinds into her, only thin cotton and sparse lace between them. All she can hear is their heavy breaths, the sound of her lips leaving his own only to press back against them with a moan bitten between.
Then, muffled voices swan from underneath one of the closed doors. Familiar voices that yawned and spoke quietly, their words still filled with sleep. As they drew closer, Lydia stilled underneath Stiles' touch and he tore his lips from her own, his heavy breath mixing with her own. They heard Scott, then Allison speak once more before footsteps padded over creaking floorboards.
Lydia slid from the boy's body, his hands skimming over her hips and waist as her feet found the floor. Lydia looked up at Stiles', watching how his eyes stared at her lips. She pulled and tugged at the hem of her top, suddenly wishing it was longer. Stiles licked his lips, a sure sign that he was nervous, about to say something.
Lydia waited, the silence broken by their panting chests and the sound of their friends coming alive in the room only a few feet away. Stiles' eyes flicked from her to the doorway, his hands fidgeting and tightening around her waist. Rough palms trailed across her forearms, brushing down until they curled around her own. He tugged her on her fingers gently, asking silently for her attention.
Lydia tore her eyes away from Isaac who had awoken and was now standing in the livingroom. He gave her a small smile that she seen over Stiles' shoulder before wandering to the kitchen.
"Lydia?''
"Huh?'' was the girl's eloquent response.
Her lips were still swollen, tingling from the feel of Stiles'. She never got over it, the way he consumed her, sent her flying. She gripped onto his hands more tightly, her body swaying as she bumped into his chest. The air was buzzing, vibrating with an electricity that only came with Stiles' presence.
"What are you doing for Thanksgiving?'' Stiles asked her quietly, his nervous eyes still darting back to his friends bedroom door.
"What?'' Lydia replied, her eyebrows raised. She was not expecting such a question, at all and especially now. "Uh, I'm not sure, why?''
Scott's door clicked open and it hung slightly ajar, shadows from bodies moving were cast across the hallway floor and Stiles swallowed heavily. The rest of his words became stuck in his throat and nerves skittered across his body, making him lick his bottom lip. Lydia was looking up at him expectantly and he swore to himself. He didn't want to do it this way, not like this, not here. He was going to ask her properly and hopefully without an audience. Scott's voice became clearer and the boy laughed at something Allison said. The door creaked open a little more.
"Come home with me, come to New York'', Stiles blurted, his invitation murmured softly and in a rush.
"I want you to meet my dad, see the sights'', Stiles took a deep breath, his chest burning, "And I really don't want to be without you for five days.''
Lydia took in a soft breath at Stiles' admission, her eyes searching over his face for any signs of regret, embarrassment. She blushed when she would none and as her best friend and Scott stumbled out of the bedroom with sleepy smiles, she looked back to Stiles and nodded.
She wasn't prepared for the blinding grin that lit up his face, like the sun rose behind his amber eyes. He was gold and he warmed her skin when he squeezed her hand, made her lips burn at the soft, gentle kiss he placed there.
Now she had to tell her mother she wouldn't be home for the holidays.