Chapter Text
“No parties, okay?” Lydia's mom said, stopping in the foyer to give Lydia a knowing look. “Or, at least, nothing out of control. Or just be sure to clean up afterwards.”
Now there was some high-quality parenting. “Okay, Mom,” Lydia replied, internally rolling her eyes. “No parties, got it.”
“Okay. We'll be back Monday night. Don't forget to feed Prada, darling.” Lydia's mom stooped to give her a kiss on the cheek. “See you soon.”
“Bye,” Lydia said, hating genetics for making her the only short person in the family. “Have fun in Sacramento.”
As soon as the door was closed, Lydia had her phone out. I have the house to myself all weekend.
Her phone buzzed less than thirty seconds later. Please tell me that means what I think it means, because my brain tends to draw far-fetched conclusions.
Lydia rolled her eyes. Get over here, dumbass.
Give me half an hour.
Lydia grinned and went to her bedroom to get changed. This weekend was going to be fantastic.
Stiles arrived twenty-eight minutes later with his duffel bag clutched in one hand, looking pale.
"Stiles?" Lydia asked, pulling him into the house. "What's the matter with you? You're not sick, are you? Because that would fuck everything up."
"I have a whole weekend of sex in front of me," Stiles said, hushed. "Two full days of the getting of the down and dirty. Over forty-eight hours of the pootang pasodoble. The monkey love mamba."
"Stiles, seriously?" Lydia tried not to laugh, but she couldn't help herself. Pootang pasodoble? What?
"Lydia, we're going to get some stank on the hang down. For two days."
"Jesus fucking Christ, are you kidding?" Lydia burst, cackling. "What does that even mean?"
"It means," Stiles said, moving to crowd Lydia against the wall of the foyer, "that I'm going to rock your world so many times, you'll lose count. It means we're going to do things you've never even imagined doing. Over, and over, and over again."
Lydia shivered, feeling hot. "Oh. Well, in that case, feel free to put 'stank' wherever tickles your fancy." Stiles grimaced.
"Yeah, that expression is disgusting. Can we ignore that one? I preferred 'monkey love mamba.'"
"I dunno," Lydia said, "I think 'go to my bedroom and get naked right now' has a nice ring to it, myself."
Stiles shut his eyes hard. "Yep, okay," he said, his voice coming out high-pitched. "That's definitely a good one."
"So is 'kiss me,'" she replied. She pushed her hands into Stiles' hair and pulled his head down, thrusting her tongue into his mouth. Stiles groaned and starfished his hands across her back, tugging her into the curl of his body. Lydia arched up, rubbing herself into the front of his pants, where he was growing hard.
Stiles broke away with a gasp. "So, this bedroom thing…."
Lydia grinned and tugged him upstairs, peeling off her tank top at the top of the stairs and tossing it over her shoulder. Stiles caught it, as she knew he would, and his overshirt hit her back a moment later. She managed to catch the thing before it fell to the ground, and threw a disbelieving glance over her shoulder.
"What?" Stiles asked, guileless. "I was reciprocating! Can't guys be seductive, too?"
"Be still my quivering limbs," Lydia retorted dryly, entering her bedroom. “I've been seduced.”
“Good,” Stiles said, snaking his arms around to her front. Lydia fell back against his body, arms coming up to rest atop his. “Hard part's over.”
“I certainly hope not,” Lydia replied, grinding her ass back into his hips. Stiles inhaled sharply and drew his hands up to cup her breasts through her bra, flicking his thumbs across her nipples. Lydia arched into the touch, scratching lines into his forearms with her nails. “Or did you forget about the list?”
“Jesus,” Stiles said, dropping his forehead to her shoulder. “Is it wrong that I now have a Pavlovian reaction to the word ’list’? Because I do.”
“Hmm,” Lydia thought aloud, turning in his hold. “What was on it, again? Blowjob, done; cunnilingus, done; wall sex; eating me out after fucking me, done--”
“I thought we agreed that one was an experiment to be repeated?” Stiles reminded her, stooping to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her collarbone.
“We did say that, yes,” Lydia stammered. The spot on her chest felt cold from evaporation but oh-so-hot at the same time, and it was amazing. “Hey, whaddya say we just start with plain old sex?” She wasn't sure she had the patience to pick through the list, not right now.
“We do have plenty of time.” Stiles pressed another kiss onto her chest, this one at the start of her cleavage. Lydia gasped and yanked Stiles' shirt up and off.
“Awesome, glad we agree. Sex now.”
She fumbled with his jeans, pushing at them ineffectually until he got the hint and helped her. While he was pulling off his shoes and socks, Lydia tugged off her sleep shorts, leaving her in her bra and panties. She moved to unclasp her bra, but Stiles stopped her.
“Can I?” he asked, stepping in close and reaching his hands around to meet hers. “I love undressing you.” Lydia raised her hands away, letting him delicately undo the clasp and pull the straps down her shoulders. “God, Lyds. I don't know how you do it.”
“What?” Lydia asked, struggling to keep focus on his words. His touch had created paths of fire across her back and down her arms, and it was doing everything in her power to douse herself in the stuff. Fight fire with fire, right? She was ready to be engulfed.
“You stun me. Every. Single. Time. It's like discovering God and your first boner all at the same time, but more. All your smooth skin,” he dragged the flat of his palm down her stomach, “and your soft curves,” the hand pressed up her side, following the line of her waist. “You're mind-boggling, Lydia.”
“Your mind doesn't seemed too boggled,” Lydia replied breathily. Unlike mine, she refused to say.
Stiles knelt, hooking his thumbs into the sides of her panties and pulling them down slowly. Lydia watched as he breathed in her scent (and that should have been weird, but it definitely wasn't), then she felt a wash of hot air when he exhaled. She shivered, loving the sight of him on his knees, like he was worshipping her the way *he* ought to be worshipped. He grinned up at her and pressed a soft kiss to each hipbone, running a finger along her slit.
“Jesus, Stiles, are you going to fuck me or not?” Lydia growled, needing more of him or less of him or anything that wasn't these playful little touches.
Stiles pressed in past her slit, pushing the finger across her clit and into her entrance. Lydia clenched around it and he made a choked noise. “God, you're so tight,” he garbled. “Just one finger. So beautiful.”
Lydia ran her fingers through his hair lightly, then tugged his head back until he was looking her in the eye. “Imagine how I would feel around your cock.”
Stiles whimpered-- which sent bolts of magma-hot lust crashing through Lydia-- and pressed the butt of his free hand to his crotch. “That's unfair, Lyds.”
“No, it's not,” she snapped, “if you'd just fuck me, already.”
Stiles stood and pulled off his boxers in one fluid motion. Lydia reached out and grabbed his dick, stroking it lightly. She led him back to the bed and lay down slowly, holding onto him until the very last moment. Stiles stared down at her, flushed, until she kicked his shin. “Seriously, Stiles?”
“Right,” he blurted. He dove for his jeans and pulled a condom out of a pocket, struggling to open the packet with his teeth and rolling the condom on hurriedly. “Time for the sex.”
He leaned over her, hips bracketed by her thighs, and lined himself up. Lydia, nearing the end of her patience, rolled her hips up so the first couple inches of Stiles' cock sank into her.
“Fuck,” Stiles said, sounding shocked. “That's a thing.”
“Very much so,” Lydia replied, repeating the motion. He wasn't deep enough, though, so she hooked a leg around his and pulled him in closer. Stiles fell into her, sliding in almost all the way. “Shit, yes, just like that.”
“Lydia,” Stiles murmured, “I want you to keep doing that. Is that okay?”
Lydia nodded, already rolling her hips up again. It felt amazing, taking control like this. It wasn't like the pegging-- though that was amazing, too-- or even like being on top. This felt like she was giving herself to him, like she was offering herself up over, and over, and over. It was heady, to say the least.
Stiles dropped to his elbows, burying his face in her hair. “Feel so perfect around me, Lyds. Hot and wet and gorgeous. Take me so good. Makes me want to fuck you so hard and treat you like a princess, all at the same time.”
Lydia's rhythm faltered. “I would not mind that one bit."
Stiles grinned, the press of teeth hot against the skin of Lydia's neck. "Oh? Which part?"
Lydia pushed herself up and squeezed her inner muscles, drawing a strangled moan out of Stiles. "Both."
Stiles shoved up on his hands. "Love the way you think, Heisenberg." He lifted her hips and shuffled his knees so that they dug into the small of her back. Stiles rocked forward, and oh, that angle was good. The angle was great.
He set a deep, slow pace, rubbing against Lydia's g-spot on every thrust.
“Please,” she breathed, “need... harder.” Stiles growled and then he was fucking into her forcefully, hauling her hips in with those big, perfect hands of his until she felt shocky with sensation. Lydia felt her orgasm near the horizon, heavy and distant.
“I want you to rub yourself off for me,” Stiles commanded filthily, jerking into her like the idea alone was enough. Lydia rubbed along her clit, fully on board with this plan, when she remembered the object housed in her nightstand.
She reached out and searched through the drawer blindly until her fingers touched silicone. “I can do you one better,” she told him between breaths, smirking. She pulled out the vibrator, laughing when Stiles sucked in a breath, and pressed it to her clit. The vibrator was large enough that it pressed against the base of his dick, Lydia noted with a pleased grin. She flicked the switch on, and the effect was immediate.
“Fuuuuuck,” Stiles ground out, holding Lydia's hips so tightly that she was sure she would bruise. “'M not gonna last, Lyds.”
“Neither am I,” she moaned, working her hips up onto the vibrator. “Come for me, Stiles.”
He came with a shout, shoving into Lydia so hard her vision went spotty. She felt his cock pulse inside her and it was enough to send her over the edge, keening her release into the air.
When she came down, Stiles pulled out with a low hiss and disposed of the condom. “What even is that thing?” he wondered, flopping down on the bed next to her.
“Like it?” she asked, out-of-breath.
“Jesus, Lyds, 'like' is not a strong enough word.” Stiles rolled onto his side. “I propose that that thing become a permanent part of our love life.”
Lydia's heart twist-leapt at his phrasing, the all-too-familiar taste of burnt sugar pressing hot on the base of her tongue. “Proposal approved.”
Stiles sighed. “Nah, though, not really. I mean, it would stop being special, then, right?”
Lydia grabbed one of his hands, playing with his fingers to avoid looking him in the eye. “Not everything loses its value over time,” she said softly. “Sometimes, the more you get to know something, the more special it becomes.” Stiles went still, and Lydia scratched along the lines in his palm, self-conscious.
“... I'm gonna go shower,” Stiles said eventually, “before I say something stupid.” Lydia nodded shyly, cursing at herself for making things awkward, and let go of his hand, tucking her arms against her chest. Stiles stood and pushed his fists into the small of his back, leaning back on them with a satisfied sigh.
“You're welcome to join me,” he offered, and the edge of his voice was almost imperceptible. To Lydia, it sounded like a steel wall.
“No, that's okay,” she said meekly.
“Hey,” Stiles said, falling to a crouch by the edge of the bed, “none of that. Come on.” He brushed his knuckle along her cheekbone. “I just... Lydia, every day I feel like this is a dream. I mean, I've wanted you for years. It's like the earth going around the sun, or Finstock smelling like Axe and feet; my feelings for you are a constant. Lately, they've felt like the only constant in this city. But Lydia Martin? Actually liking me back, and yeah, in that way? I keep expecting you to push me away. The other shoe's gotta drop, right? I mean, guys like me don't get to be with girls like you.”
“Because that's not sexist,” Lydia drawled, but she did feel better. If anything else, she didn't feel quite so alone in her sappiness.
“Doesn't make it less true. So, hey, shower time? Because I feel gross.”
Lydia grinned. “Yeah, okay, shower time.”
“Awesome,” Stiles replied, standing and wincing when both his knees popped. “Because, while we're being sexist? Rubbing soap on your boobs is, like, the closest to Heaven I think I'll ever get.”
Lydia laughed, fully understanding his sentiment. She was pretty firmly heterosexual, but there was just something about soapy breasts that was fascinating. But if she said that aloud, Stiles might suffer cardiovascular arrest, so she kept her mouth shut.
“Well, since it's the both of us, I vote the master shower,” she said, standing and brushing her hair back from her face. “It has a waterfall shower head.”
“You are ridiculously wealthy,” Stiles stated matter-of-factly. “Bring it on.”
When his hand tangled in hers, Lydia squeezed it, feeling like something major had just happened, even though she had no idea what it was.
And when he dropped to his knees in the shower? Well that was a totally different kind of major.
(Lydia wasn't sure which one she liked more.)