Lydia smiled as she watched Allison wind her way across the school lawn. There was no mistaking the dazed, not-fully-there expression on Allison's face. Someone had gotten some. And going by the sudden appearance of high collars and concealer on what was usually clear skin, it had been pretty good.
She patted the bench beside her, and was reward by Allison plopping down bonelessly. It was a good day to be a friend. "So, I take it things went well?" Lydia asked, closing her notebook to give Allison her full attention. "Are congratulations in order?"
"Maybe?" Something in the tone of Allison's voice made Lydia pause to take a closer look. Makeup, yes, and the fashion change, but... she was pale. Eyes wide. Tense.
Immediately Lydia revised her estimation of what had happened. That was not the face of someone who had just had mind-blowing first-time sex with a guy she was crazy over. That was the face of someone who was three seconds from a break down. "Oh no," she said, looping an arm around Allison's shoulders and pulling her in. "No, no, no. Tell me what happened. Do I have to send Jackson after him?" She could do that. Jackson would love a chance to break McCall's face open. It could be an early birthday gift.
Allison startled, almost tugging away before Lydia dug her nails in to hold her. "No, I—no. No, it's not anything like that—"
"Then what is it?" When Allison stopped trying to escape, Lydia migrated to petting her hair. "Was he bad in bed? Does he have a small dick?" A thought occurred to her, making her wrinkle her nose. "Too big a dick? You can tell me."
"I liked it. I think." The stroking seemed to help; Allison sighed and relaxed into her shoulder. "You've had sex with Jackson. Did anything seem... weird? Like, did he..." Allison made a few vague, incredibly unhelpful gestures, blushing bright red against her shoulder. "Did it do anything different? When he—you know."
Lydia frowned. "Like what?" If McCall gave Allison some sort of geek STD...
Still blushing like she might spontaneously combust, Allison twisted to burrow her face into Lydia, hiding from the world. "When he was in me, he..."
"What do you mean,you got stuck in her?"
"I told you!" Scott was just as freaked out as he had every right to be, tromping around the locker room and yanking at his hair. "I was just— and then I got stuck and we both panicked and now she's not even looking at me, and I think she told Lydia."
Stiles wanted to slam his head against the lockers. He really, really wanted to. Maybe if he tried enough blunt force trauma, it would make him forget the words that had just come out of Scott's mouth.
They were missing lunch, which was fine because Stiles didn't think he was going to be able to eat anything anyway. Not after the mental images he was suddenly facing. When Allison had come onto the scene, Stiles had pretty much resigned himself to becoming the sole remaining virgin in the universe, or at least in Beacon Hills. He'd anticipated Scott getting distracted, vanishing off for quickies and maybe even discovering the occasional embarrassing stain Scott had forgotten to cover and having to preserve his dignity by never letting Scott live it down. It was going to be awkward, jealousy-inducing and the source of every terrible joke Stiles could think up.
This, though, he had not signed up for.
"You got stuck," Stiles repeated, ever the master of grinding a point in. A dull pounding behind his eyes warned him that his brain was preparing to escape its fleshy prison and flee the scene of so much humiliation. He'd wanted to know as little as possible about Scott's prospective sex life, other than a distant awareness that it existed. Leave it to the freaky ass werewolf shit to mess that up too. "Like a dog."
"Yes, like a dog!" Scott flailed around in a circle, yanking at his hair, then flopped down to sprawl on the bench by Stiles' side. "I don't know what to do."
In spite of himself, Stiles couldn't stop his eyes from sliding down to Scott's crotch, considering. It didn't look different. That kind of thing would have been hard to hide in a boy's locker room. But the rest of Scott didn't look really different either, so—
His thoughts were interrupted by a hard shove to his shoulder. "Stop staring!" Scott whined, like the big baby he was, and actually crossed his legs and hunched over.
"Look, just—" Stiles mentally flailed, trying to find the question that would result in the least amount of horrifying answers. "Just—no details, please God no details, but did she like it?"
Scott shrugged, still curled in on himself like he could hide his weird werewolf dick from the world. Or possibly like he was regretting ever shouldering his way out the womb. "I guess? She seemed to like it, before we figured out we couldn't move."
"Okay, then. Okay." Stiles ran his hand over his head, rubbing the short buzz of his hair to stimulate thought. "Then just tell her it's— it's a family thing. Genetic. You didn't know because your dad didn't tell you before. And apologize. A lot. Maybe grovel." Apologies were important, he remembered that much from when his mom was alive. Arguments and misunderstandings weren't so bad if they were followed by apologies, he knew that much.
"You think that'll work?" Scott looked doubtful, which was in no way fair for a guy who'd tried to claim he got lost in the backyard as a cover story for sneaking out.
"You could always tell her that you're a werewolf and surprise dog junk is part of the deal," Stiles offered flatly. "I'm sure that'll go down well."
Scott blinked once, then nodded determinedly. "Mutant dick. Right."
Stiles patted his knee reassuringly. "Look at the bright side: this probably qualifies you to be an X-Man."
Bad as the joke was, Stiles would later contend that he totally hadn't deserved to be shoved off the bench.