Chapter Text
Lydia rolls her eyes, after explaining quadratic equations and discriminants for what seems like the tenth time, she decides that Isaac is no longer paying attention. She was a little taken aback when Isaac approached her during lunch to ask for help with algebra, after all she could count their previous interactions on one hand. At a push they could be considered friends of some sort, what with their mutual friends overlapping substantially. Feeling charitable Lydia agrees to tutor him after school.
So she finds herself sitting crossed legged on Isaac’s bed, leaning against the headboard because his bedroom in Derek’s loft lacked a desk, a chair or pretty much any furniture other than the distressed looking bed frame. Isaac is slumped at the foot of the bed with textbooks and notes in her elegant script strewn between them. He's staring absent-mindedly at a spot on his wall several feet above his lacrosse stick, clearly not taking in her lecture on factorising.
Lydia snaps her fingers impatiently, prising Isaac from his daydream.
“You asked me to help you, the least you can do is find enough common courtesy to listen to me,” she seethes with annoyance. “It’s no wonder you’re failing algebra if you can’t concentrate longer than a few minutes.”
“I’m not,” he replies smirking and pushing himself up on his forearms so he’s sitting up opposite the redhead, "actually failing algebra."
“If you’re not failing, then you’re going to explain to me why I’m wasting my time tutoring you,” she demands, slamming the book nearest to her closed and glaring icily at him.
“I didn’t know how else to ask you,” he says, running a hand through his hair and glancing down at his grey sheets.
“Ask me what?” she questions bitterly, drumming her fingers on the hardback cover in front of her.
“I didn’t know how to ask you out,” he admits softly, still averting her piercing gaze. “I’ve only ever asked one girl out before and that didn't go so well.”
“This,” she interrupts, gesturing to the books and him and then back again, her face lighting up with amusement, “was meant to be a date?”
Lydia watches as Isaac shrugs his broad shoulders, there’s something to be said for lacrosse players after all. He remains silent, but lifts his head to look at her again, embarrassment evident in his eyes. She finds that he has unnerving blue eyes and the bone structure of a god; she hasn't noticed that before.
She realises that she’s never really noticed Isaac before, not properly. It’s obvious that getting the bite changed him. He has that rugged, leather-jacket-wearing, bad boy image down to a T, but still manages to look like a supermodel who just walked off of a photo shoot. Lydia was wondering who had been stupid enough to turn down a date with this quasi model/demi-god, when it occurs to her that neither of them are speaking, and she’s essentially sitting there checking him out. While she's more than more than happy to unabashedly let her eyes roam over Isaac, he seems uncomfortable under her scrutiny.
“How about you ask me out properly, and then I’ll see what can be done about it,” she asks, biting her lip in contemplation, deciding that Isaac definitely has potential.
“Lydia,” he begins nervously, "I know that tricking you into spending time with me wasn't the right way of going about this, but would you like to go on a real date with me on Friday? There'll be dinner, a movie, flowers, candles whatever you want."
“Definitely,” she answers with a mischievous look in her eyes, “but first there’s something I want to try.”
Lydia uncrosses her legs, moving quickly so that she’s knelt on the bed, a startled look flashes quickly over Isaac’s face. Leaning forward she cups her hands around his strong jaw, and inches closer. Her emerald eyes seeking out his, making sure her intentions are welcome. Her tongue darts out instinctively to wet her plump lips, and she continues looking into his eyes, close enough now to see his pupils dilate.
She moves her head slowly, focusing on his lips now, moving closer and closer until they touch. It’s a tender kiss; innocent and chaste. Then she pulls away looking into his eyes, while quirking an eyebrow, willing him to do something.
She doesn’t have to wait long for Isaac to react, one arm snaking around her waist and the other cradling the back of her head, as he brings their lips back together with more pressure. Lydia entangles a hand in his curls, running a hand through his soft hair and giving her enough leverage to tilt his head back, then she’s parting his lips and dominating his mouth with her tongue. Isaac’s hands trail down her body, stopping at the backs of her thighs so he can pull her onto his lap, her legs settling either side of his.
His mouth eventually tears away from hers and travels down hungrily, devouring the milky flesh of her throat. Lydia moans her encouragement. When he finds her pulse point and nips gently, she arches her back, giving him better access to her neck and giving herself over to his blissful ministrations.
Despite the attention he is lavishing on her neck, and she knows Isaac is leaving marks; his hands are staying on her waist and strictly above clothing. Remedying the situation Lydia grinds her hips down onto his, revelling in the low growl he can’t suppress. He rocks up into her, and she’s thrilled to feel him hardening beneath her. Yes, Isaac Lahey definitely has potential.
With one hand finally leaving her waist Isaac sweeps their books and notes off the bed, sending them cluttering noisily to the floor where they join the jacket and heels that Lydia discarded earlier in a bid to get comfortable. He lowers her onto her back and settles himself with one leg between hers.
Isaac kisses her again, his tongue sliding against hers as his hands work their way under her shirt, gliding up over her ribs until he is cupping her through her bra.
“Is this okay?” he asks, unable to stop his voice taking on a husky tone.
“Isaac,” she says breathlessly, “if you don’t carry on, I swear to god I’ll tear you apart with my hands and feed the pieces to Prada.”
Isaac’s hands slip back down her stomach, and they’re cool against her skin, one hand pressing into her stomach as the other grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it up. She can feel his gaze on her breasts, barely-contained in a low-cut teal bra with black trim. She arches her hips up and against him and Isaac groans, low and rough, one hand dipping into her hair to pull her mouth back to him. The other hand pushes under her, around her as he pulls her up, crushing her chest to his. He unhooks her bra, exposing her nipples to the bite of cold air.
Abandoning her mouth, he swipes his tongue experimentally over her nipples, pulling one into his mouth and sucking it to a peak. Lydia mewls in content.
“I’m curious,” she murmurs, leaning up to whisper in his ear, “earlier you said that you’d only ever asked out one girl.” For added effect she runs her tongue along the shell of his ear, pulling his earlobe between her teeth and is rewarded with another frantic buck of his hips. “Who was she?”
“You really don’t remember freshman year?” he looks resigned when he says that.
“I don’t remember, I'm sorry," she says softly, shaking her head. “At least I can make it up to you now.” She wraps her legs tightly around his waist and rolls them over, biting at the hollow of Isaac’s neck.
She kisses him slowly while quickly coming to the decision that it’s only fair to divest him of his t-shirt; she tugs at the hem and pulls lazily, admiring every inch of flesh that she exposes. His chest is toned from hours of lacrosse and then there’s the inviting trail of hair disappearing into his jeans which is begging to be licked. She presses hot open-mouthed kisses down his torso, while her hands work their way between them to unfasten his belt and jeans. She works his boxers and jeans to his knees, where Isaac helpfully wriggles out of them and kicks them off the foot of the bed.
Now lying between Isaac’s sprawled legs, she’s holding herself above him with one hand and uses the other to push her strawberry-blonde hair from her face. She reaches down, his erection hardening in her hand and quizicly arches a perfectly-plucked eyebrow at him, before reaching out her tongue to lick the tip. He’s bigger than she’s used to and she idly questions how much she’ll have to change her technique.
She grips the base more firmly; wrapping her fingers around him again, and licks her lips. Lydia lowers her head, her longs curls framing her face as she pulls the tip into her mouth and swirls her tongue, sucking until her cheeks hollow around him. She watches the sheet bundle up by Isaac’s hip, his fingers curled in a fist. Feeling empowered she takes the length of him into her mouth. She concentrates on the feel of him, impossibly hard under the strokes of her tongue and knocking against the back of her throat. Isaac tastes of sweat and something sweeter than Jackson ever did.
Lydia isn't sure if he lets out a hard breath or the beginning of her name but she pulls him out of her mouth with a satisfying pop. Eyeing the vein that runs along the underside she tilts her head, licking from her thumb at his base to his tip. He grunts when she reaches the skin between the head and the shaft, so she licks it again. His fingers untangle from the sheet, reaching out towards her and it reminds her of a cat, stretching out its claws. She supposes that a wolf would be more appropriate.
Taking a breath, she pumps him with her hand. She eyes his testicles critically, reaching forward with her free hand, cradling them in her palm. She pulls them down gently, smirking as he groans in pleasure. She pulls back up to look up at him, and leans over to the inside of his thigh. She kisses his skin, nipping it hard then laving the bite with her tongue, before returning her mouth to him. He moans loudly, and she can’t help but bask in the feeling of complete control. She lowers her head, taking in more of him, and pressing her tongue up against him.
"Is this okay Isaac?” she withdraws practically laughing and draws out the syllables in his name, while he groans.
"It’s beyond okay," he says his voice rough, thankful that her mouth is back where he wants it.
He lifts her hair, gathering it with both of his hands and piling it on top of her head until he can manage to hold it with only one. The other hand slides down the side of her face, over her indented cheek, before resting the nape of her neck. For a second she thinks he might try to push her down more, to put more of himself inside her mouth, and she knows she'll gag if he does but his hand stays still, just entwined in her hair.
She tugs with one hand, pumping with the other, and bobs her head, exploring the texture and ridges with her tongue. He moans and flexes his hips, causing her to gag a little, and she sucks harder, moving faster.
"Lydia," he pants and grunts her name, bringing her eyes back to his.
His neck is flushed; lips parted and wet, his eyes bright and trained on her. She grins knowing that she has done this to him. She pays attention to the noises he makes and loves the approving noise he makes deep in his throat and the whole array of aroused sounds he can't help but let fall from his lips. His hips are moving in shallow thrusts now, his breath coming fast, and he's practically writhing on the bed.
He tugs on her arm and pulls her hair gently, making her stop all movement. "I'm going to come," his voice is husky and coarse, and she wants to say something just to keep him talking.
She pulls her head up, moving her jaw from side to side once he's out of her mouth. "I believe that's the point of this exercise."
He groans when she lowers her mouth on him again and so she sucks hard, stroking fiercely with her tongue and matching the jerking of her hand to the speed of her bobbing. She ignores her tired jaw and starts humming when he begins thrusting again, feeling him pulse against her tongue, his fingers clenching hard into her arm and scalp.
He pushes himself to the back of her throat, his body arching off the bed with a loud moan. She continues to suck until his hips collapse back onto the bed, his cum salty on her taste buds. She only starts to pull her mouth away when his hand relaxes the grip on her hair.
She releases him from her mouth and quickly raises a hand, trying to prevent anything from spilling out. She catches a little against her fingers, swallowing the rest. She licks her fingers clean and the piercing look he gives her in return makes her blood boil.
Isaac lets go of her arm to wrap his own around her waist, hauling her up and against him. He kisses her then, tongue sliding into her mouth, obviously not caring about the taste. She doesn't know how long they lay like that, just kissing and touching, one of Lydia’s legs hitched over his hip until Isaac reluctantly pulls away.
“Derek’s back,” he says quietly.
Lydia bolts off the bed, smoothing her skirt down and fixing her mussed hair with her fingers. She recovers the rest of her clothes hurriedly, buttoning her shirt and forgoing her bra to save time, which she shoves into her purse. She stops rushing as she slips back into her heels, leaning down to fasten the little straps around her ankles. As she straightens up, she looks down at Isaac still sprawled naked across the bed and a smile plays across her pretty features as she tosses him his jeans.
“Friday. Pick me up at eight and I believe you owe me an orgasm,” she says frivolously, as though she was talking about dinner and not sex, smiling at Isaac’s shocked expression.
“Friday,” he replies, barely containing a laugh, “I’ll bring the orgasms.”