Part One: Stiles
Powerless. That's how Lydia feels when the dust finally settles. Jackson is gone, leaving with a fucking, 'I love you, but I need to go on this mystical bullshit journey and find myself.' Lydia loves him, she really does, but that's about as much shit as she's going to take. He tells her not to wait for him and she won't.
Allison's gone for the summer. Mr. Argent has carted her off to relatives saying they're going 'off the grid'. Allison has become her best friend over this year and with both Allison and Jackson gone things are quiet.
There's still Danny, but part of the reason Danny was Jackson's best friend is the same reason Lydia was his girlfriend. They're independent people; they don't need other people to get by. (Except the way Danny goes from one douchebag boyfriend to the next Lydia thinks that maybe Danny isn't so independent after all, just searching for something he never finds.) So she sees Danny sometimes, but mostly he's just off doing his own thing. Like normal.
Normality is good. Normality gets you places. You find your space, you fit in and then you get shit done. Lydia needs to regroup because there's a whole new world under their world and if werewolves are real... Lydia needs to understand the hows and the whys. Because she's pretty sure she just lost her boyfriend to lycanthropy and raised a werewolf from the dead. Okay so she's not just 'pretty sure'... she fucking knows that's what happened.
She turns to the only person she knows who has any kind of answers: Stiles. She drops him a text: I want to know everything about werewolves.
The speed of the reply doesn't surprise her; the attitude does. Me too.
She leaves it a little bit before responding.
You know that warm fuzzy feeling you get when a puppy follows you about, climbs all over you, licks your face and bares its stomach for a rub? It's a good feeling, and you know if you stroke it the puppy will just want more and more. If you stop it'll pull at your clothes, make those little pathetic noises and if you keep them... puppies are hard work.
She likes the power there, knowing something so defenseless trusts her, is begging her for attention, practically shouting love me love me love me. Stiles was the puppy that trailed behind her and she didn't have time for puppies.
But she liked knowing he was there. When she gets the snarky text she feels her brain start to tick over. That's not normal; that's not how things were and Lydia is trying to get back to normal.
Lydia has a lot of time on her hands, maybe it's time to get a puppy. She taps out a quick text: We can start with everything YOU know. Study date at yours tomorrow, 8pm?
The reply takes a while and Lydia likes to think it's because he's been dancing around the room, maybe told Scott and then tried to think of something to say to her that sounds casual enough.
Cool, see you then.
As it turns out Stiles has gathered a lot of information on werewolves. Not nearly enough, and there are several clear holes in his research (and some of his sources, don't even get her started on his sources), but it's a start.
The traces of yellowing bruise and small scabs remain on his face from something she doesn't know about. She hadn't thought to ask about the obvious lie at the time and it seems too late to ask now. He'll tell her if he wants her to know.
She's thumbing through one of his folders and notices he's marked some items as verified.
"Who did you check them with? Scott?"
He nods. "Most of them. The ones that I couldn't, I checked with Derek. He's totally holding things back though, I know he is, because there's no way he can have grown up a wolf and not know a load of these. He gets this kinda pained expression and there's wall slamming, so..."
Stiles drifts. She can almost see his mind firing from one thought to another to another. She wonders how many of them are about Derek.
"Do we have any other born werewolves we can ask?" Lydia is too focused on getting more information to see the obvious answer to her question. She sees Stiles's expression darken and his eyes flit to her side. Oh. Peter.
"Derek said I should ask him," Stiles says, suddenly a lot more cautious like he's not sure how to talk about this with her.
Lydia doesn't want to think about him. At all. "There have got to be books out there. And Derek probably knows more than he thinks he does."
They keep discussing what he's got together so far, what he's seen, the real explanations behind so many of Beacon Hills' recent crime wave. Throughout it all Stiles's eyes keep flicking to his phone. Lydia's been here for the better part of the day and no one's tried to contact him.
Stiles's stomach makes an angry grumble and he frowns down at it.
She doesn't ask if he has plans, if he's expecting his dad home anytime soon. "Do you want to grab something to eat?"
They get pizza; he laughs too loudly and stuffs too much in his mouth at once. He drops her home afterwards and doesn't even try anything stupid like kissing her. It's like he hasn't even realized they just went on a date. She kisses him on the cheek and wishes him a good night; it takes a good twenty minutes before she hears the rumble of his jeep's engine pulling out of her driveway.
She feels better, more on top of things.
Stiles still blushes when she touches him. Even just a light touch on his arm makes his cheeks take on a blotchy red color. They spend a lot of time together going over werewolf stuff, which devolves into just hanging out. It's not the worst way to spend her summer.
She only sees Sheriff Stilinski a handful of times; he's never home. At a guess she'd say he's covering the shifts for all the officers Matt killed. The only time Stiles mentions Scott is when they're talking about going to see the new Iron Man movie. She doesn't ask why Stiles isn't seeing it with Scott, but when he starts muttering about Isaac and best-friend stealers she gets the picture.
Danny comes with them to see Iron Man, and he doesn't comment at all about Stiles seeming to occupy the space where Jackson should have been. She thinks maybe Danny knows exactly what she's doing and thinks he might have even considered doing the same with Stiles. Filling that void in their life with something so completely different but still adorable in its own way. A distraction.
Taking his virginity is so easy.
They're well into the dog days of summer-- the lazy, sultry days where it's too hot to do anything except lounge by the pool. Lydia doesn't wake up and think, 'Today I'm going to fuck Stiles Stilinski,' but that's what happens.
It goes without saying that when it's hot they spend their time at Lydia's because it has a pool. Lydia can sit and read all day, but Stiles gets restless. He spends his time in and out of the pool, irritating her dog and just being Stiles. She likes it; silence is oppressive and it's never silent with Stiles around.
"Stiles," she calls, holding out the bottle of sunscreen towards him. A 'healthy' glow from the sun is such a misnomer it's unreal. She prefers pale, natural and with a lower risk of skin cancer. If she wants a tan she'll get it from a bottle. Figuratively speaking, because it'll be a salon.
He pulls himself out of the pool and Lydia takes a moment to enjoy the view. He's nowhere near as toned and perfect as Jackson was, but he's not bad looking once he's out of all those ill-fitting and unattractive clothes he wears.
Lydia is used to pretty regular sex and since the break-up with Jackson she's only had herself for company. She sits forward on the chair and offers her back to Stiles, pulling down her heart-shaped sunglasses briefly to give him instructions. "Get it even, and don't miss a bit! I don't need one solitary red streak down the middle of my back."
He nods and takes the bottle like he still can't believe he gets to do this. She thinks he knows he's just being a Jackson rebound, Lydia's very own personal anti-depressant. He makes her feel loved and wanted and needed. She slips the strap off of her shoulder so he can get the cream everywhere. One glance and she can see he's already hard through the thin material of his swim shorts.
It's too easy to lean forward and touch. He stutters, eyes rolling back and comes right there and then with her barely touching him. He's all apologies, jerky movement and attempts to leave. She doesn't let him.
Lydia just leans forward and lets gravity pull the bikini top down. There's no breeze to feel on her nipples, but they get hard anyway from the joy of being free. Stiles stands there, shorts stuck to his cock with his come, mouth open and gaping like he can't quite comprehend what's happening.
If Lydia were a boy she would have made a joke about closing his mouth before someone put something in there. But she isn't, and she wouldn't quite be that crass. Not really.
She lets him pull her bikini bottoms down, spread her wide and touch and taste to his heart's content. Right there on the patio. Before he even slips the first finger in her she can see he's already hard. It doesn't take much for him to get hard again. She orders him into the house for a condom and he freezes, eyes boggling like he can't even understand why Lydia's letting him do this.
It's easy to fuck him, letting him go slow and careful, like it's her first time, not his. She likes it rough. She's giving him this in return for the way he's picked up her mood. If he wants to go slow and worship her like she's some delicate thing then he can, she'll let him. This time. For all his wit, sarcasm and bitterness that's his choice.
He's so oddly proper with her, like she's the Barbie to his Ken, except Stiles isn't Ken, no more than Lydia's Barbie. He just doesn't seem to see that, still hung up on his idealized version of her. He treats her like a princess, and she likes it.
He doesn't say anything when he comes but she can see him biting his lip hard like he's trying to stop himself from blurting something out. Impulse control isn't Stiles's strongest skill but he doesn't say a word. She doesn't realize they haven't even kissed until he's breathing raggedly into her hair as he comes down from his orgasm.
It becomes a thing, a Stiles and Lydia thing. They spend the rest of their summer eating pizza, researching werewolves, and fucking.
It's the weekend before they start back at school when she catches Stiles staring at her with an intense look on his face. When he sees her watching he looks away, guilty.
"What's wrong?" she asks, laying her book face down on the chair.
Stiles shrugs. "Nothing."
Her eyes narrow; 'nothing' is always something. "Tell me," she orders.
Of course he complies. "School starts back on Monday..."
She nods. "Senior year." She doesn't see what this has to do with anything.
"We won't... things will go back to how they were before with us, won't they?" Stiles looks away, unable to meet her eye.
Oh. Lydia hadn't given it much thought really. "Why do they have to?"
He looks up hopefully. "So we can carry on... " He gestures between them, for all that she's had him tens of different ways he still can't say it. Can't think about the things they've done without blushing. She likes it, like she likes the way his skin marks up so prettily.
"We can carry on until we don't want to, Stiles."
He smiles at her and she thinks he's in a good enough mood she'll try one of the toys she's been saving for a special occasion. She had so many things lined up for Jackson that Stiles has taken instead.
She'll sit with him at lunch; he's dorky enough but with her, Allison, and Scott around that should be just enough cool to balance him out. As long as Scott doesn't start bringing Isaac along.
Scott does bring Isaac along, but Isaac is oddly cooler than he was last year when he flinched at every sound and raged at anyone who looked at him wrong. Erica and Boyd are oddly absent, even if she pretends to forget their names when she asks Isaac about them. He clams up immediately and it causes Stiles to sit forward in his chair.
It's obvious there's news to be shared between everyone as much as it's obvious that it's not being shared. She's got a feel for the dynamics of the situation from conversations with Stiles and now she can see the effects last spring had on everyone.
Scott is sitting in the middle, torn between everyone. Scott and Stiles speak in hushed tones about two packs, divided loyalties, and a lack of trust. Lydia makes some executive decisions. She knows what it's like to be left out and they need some other good thinkers so she tells Danny. He takes it the same way she had, relieved to know that so many things he'd seen weren't imagined. And now he knows why he's minus a best-friend.
The next step is to get everyone organized. She thinks it'll be better coming from Stiles so she drops the idea into his head when he's sleepy and fucked out, head resting on her shoulder and every breath he takes ghosting over her nipple.
"We should all meet once a week to discuss anything we think the rest should know."
He 'hmms' lazily and she scratches her nails lightly through his hair. He sounds like he's not listening but it should be enough for the idea to take root and grow. Scott sits at the heart of everyone, and the only person who really sits at the heart of Scott is Stiles.
Part Two: Derek
The first time Lydia sees Derek Hale and knows exactly who he is and what's going on, he's killing Jackson. To say it's a bad first impression is an understatement, and it's never the kind of first impression she would make.
She doesn't see Derek Hale again until their first 'pack' meeting where he doesn't exactly make a stellar second impression. The meeting is a disaster, ending with Derek demanding that Isaac choose which pack he belongs to. Isaac looks like someone told him he has to pick who to kill, not who to call 'alpha'.
The ultimatum unfortunately forces Lydia's hand. She was going to build them slowly until they realized that the only way they would cope and survive was as one pack. Now she has to step up the plan.
With werewolves there's a whole new world opened to Lydia, a world she's a part of whether she wants it or not and the power is all sitting firmly with someone who has no idea how to use it: Derek Hale. He's to this world what Jackson was to high school, in Beacon Hills at least. But Jackson was better than him. Jackson had goals, Jackson was driven, Jackson had a fucking plan, a sense of self-worth and a need to succeed.
Derek shares the burnt out remains of his family's home with his psychopathic, murdering, zombie uncle. Lydia doesn't really plan to do what she does; she just finds it too easy, too simple. Having Derek means having power. She doesn't love him, but she didn't love Jackson at first either. And she knows she can make him into a better person. Make their pack better.
Stiles and Lydia are supposed to be at a pack meeting. They're late because she's in that ramped up state of horniness she gets just before her period. There wasn't much time and if they'd fucked they'd have had to shower before going into the room full of werewolves so Stiles had fingered her and then scrubbed his hands until they were almost raw.
None of the other 'wolves notice when they walk in but Lydia catches it out of the corner of her eye. Derek sniffs and frowns, shooting a glare towards Lydia and oh that can't be... she settles next to Stiles on the old sofa and carefully runs a hand up and over his buzzcut, the same way he does when he's nervous-anxious.
It's an intimate gesture, almost a step too far in this company no matter how close 'friends' they are. But she notices the way Derek follows her hand and suddenly she understands his coldness towards her.
He wants Stiles. She has something Derek wants. Now she sees it she realizes Derek's not been subtle and it's only a matter of time before the rest of the pack realize, and would that really be good for anyone? Especially when Stiles has shown no indication of wanting him.
She has something Derek wants. She has Stiles. So now her interactions with Derek are on terms she can work with. She has something he wants and he has something she most definitely wants. He has the power to bring them all together, to knit them together as one cohesive unit, to lead. And if she has Derek, she gets control of all that power.
As long as he doesn't fuck it up by scaring Stiles off first.
She starts touching Stiles around Derek. Nothing big, just casual brushes on the arm and gestures that are slightly too intimate for friends. She knows how Stiles will react, he's still so easy to set off, and if he has to uncomfortably sit through a pack meeting at half-mast, well, he fucks her less gently when he's irritated with her.
Lydia makes sure she doesn't scrub quite as thoroughly as she can after she's been with Stiles. She thinks it's letting the rest of the pack know there's something going on between them but she doesn't care. The self-confidence that comes from having Lydia fucking him doesn't suddenly turn Stiles 'cool', but it does help. He still flails and does stupid things, but with Lydia at his side to keep him on track and focused even an idiot can see that he's brilliant.
It doesn't hurt that she's partly taken to buying clothes that actually fit him too. He feels like her little project.
So no, Lydia doesn't really mind people knowing she's fucking Stiles; they're not going to be stupid enough to interfere, not when anyone can see the improvement in him. She might be using him, but it's not like he's not using her too. Even if he doesn't realize it.
Stiles is her ride home, and they've lingered just enough that they're the last ones in the house except for Peter and Derek.
She leaves Stiles in the car, saying she's forgotten something in the house. She finds Derek sitting on the sofa, in the spot she and Stiles had been sitting.
It's almost too easy, except for how it's not. Derek's all gruff pleasantries to her face, no matter what he might want to do or say.
"You didn't forget anything," he says as she appears in the living room.
"No, I want to talk."
"There's nothing to talk about." He sounds distracted and morose. Lydia can't believe this sulking man-child is supposed to be running their pack.
"There is. You want him."
Derek looks up sharply. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, I think you do. I've got him, but you want him." She feels so clever, so bold.
Derek's shoulders slump in defeat. It's this she needs to work on. "What do you want? Congratulations? You've got him because he wants you, he loves the idea of you."
Lydia laughs. "Honey, he loves fucking me as much as he loves the idea of me."
"He doesn't love you, though."
She shrugs. "Maybe not, but he seems pretty happy with me."
Derek doesn't say anything to that.
"I want you." It's forward and not a lie, because she knows he can detect those. She does want him; she could sort out the pack without fucking him, but this brings him one step tighter to her.
If Derek wants Stiles, and Stiles really doesn't seem like he wants Derek, then the packs are never going to work together. They'll never be one pack. Derek will fuck up around Stiles, put him off, and take his normal stance of avoiding shit until it goes away and... no. She's not letting that happen.
If Derek is fucking her for his Stiles fix, that gives them time to bind together into one pack. He looks up at her sharply and yeah, it won't be any hardship to fuck him. He might even be more attractive than Jackson.
She's got to stop comparing people to Jackson.
"I don't want you," he says.
"No, but you want him, and this is the closest you're going to get."
He's quiet. Their gazes are locked and he doesn't look away.
"Why? What do you get out of it?"
What's the point in hiding her intentions? It's nothing more than a transaction. "We need to be working together as one pack; we can't keep fighting and bickering. I can help you do that."
A look of understanding shows on his face. He wants that too, she knows he does. "You don't need to fuck me to do that," he states, confusion in his voice.
"No," she agrees. "That's just a perk." It's not a lie, but it's not the whole truth and motivation. He shouldn't be able to detect it.
Stiles calls for Lydia from the car, beeping his horn.
"Think about it." And she leaves.
Derek doesn't agree to the fucking, but he does agree to letting her make more of the decisions and promises to back off Stiles. He stops pressuring Isaac to pick a pack, and instead tells him he's still part of Derek's pack and Scott's always welcome. It works and slowly she sees the changes in them, Scott and Derek discussing the best way to handle the alpha threat, the whole pack throwing movie nights, and everyone training together. Which is good because there's a nasty group of alpha werewolves at the school making things... annoying.
She stops by to see Derek sometimes, and even thinks she sees him creeping outside of her room. Stiles is still all soft and puppy-like, eager and gentle, and Lydia finds herself wanting more. She's seen the anger beneath Derek's gaze and she thinks, 'I want that, too'.
The trick to getting Derek is most definitely Stiles.
Stiles's dad is working a night shift so they've got the house to themselves. Stiles and Scott are getting along much better now; Scott's realized that now that there are more people in their lives, that their lives are more complicated, that they've got to make time for their friendship.
Lydia and Stiles have spent the afternoon fucking in his bed, but now Stiles has a standing date with Scott to play Call of Duty. He offers to cancel it but she shakes her head. She might have planned this anyway.
She doesn't ask if she can stay in his bed; she just rolls over and settles in watching as he fishes his boxers and jeans out of the pile of their clothes and pulls them on. They've long ago stopped pretending they aren't fucking to the rest of the pack so there's no need to bother with a shower. It's only Scott anyway.
He leans over the bed, smoothing her hair down and dropping a kiss onto her cheek.
"You'll still be here when I get back?" he asks.
She nods and snuggles deeper into the blankets. "I'm not going anywhere. Have fun with Scott, send my love."
He smiles, grabs his jeep keys, and leaves the room.
She counts to twenty after she hears the jeep pull away before calling Derek's name. She knows he's close; he can't resist creeping near Stiles's window when they're fucking.
"Stop pretending you're not there when we both know you are."
Still nothing. She reaches over for her phone and calls Derek. The ringtone sounds from just outside the window, a second before Derek slips through.
He looks ashamed and guilty, standard Derek emotions.
His nostrils flare and she can't even imagine what the room smells like to a werewolf's nose; it reeks of sex to her regular human one.
"I want you," she says and leans back, letting the sheets slip down to bare her chest to him. His eyes immediately focus on the hickeys on the sides of her breasts. Yeah.
"Lydia..." His voice is oddly breathless for a werewolf.
"Do you like them?" She trails a hand over them, caressing them. "You should see how I marked him up. He'll be wearing those for days."
Derek's eyes flash a warning red and Lydia grins. This is what she wanted. For all Derek complains they're not actually wolves... there's a lot of the wolf's instinct in them. Especially Derek.
"You're his girlfriend. I won't do that to him," Derek says stubbornly and determinedly.
"He's under no illusions, and he can't give me everything I want." Lydia runs a hand down, pushing the sheets away. She's not sore at all; most of the afternoon she spent blowing Stiles, keeping him at the edge of orgasm.
She lets her hand trail down and tangle in the patch of ginger hair at the top of her cunt. She lets a finger slide in and finds enough moisture left over from their earlier fucking.
Derek's nostrils flare. Yeah, he can smell that. She's practically fucking bathed in Stiles's scent.
"How seeped into his bed is the smell of his come?"
Derek's tongue darts out to wet his lips before he speaks. "It's... everywhere."
"Does it smell good?" she asks, slipping a finger down to where she's starting to get wet. She drags the moisture up towards her clit.
Derek doesn't say anything.
"Does it make you want to roll in it?" She circles her clit and kicks off the covers so Derek has a better view.
Derek is practically eye fucking her. His gaze is roaming up from where her fingers are buried in her cunt, to where her other hand is pinching at her nipple, to her face.
"He's eaten me out today. Can you still smell him down there, between my thighs? Or is the smell of me too overwhelming? How about my tits?" She cups her breasts. "He came on these today, can you still smell it? Do you want to taste and see if there's any of him left on them?"
That breaks Derek, and before she knows it he's all over her. His leather jacket is cold and rough against her naked skin but his lips are hot against her breasts. His stubble is a wonderful burn against her tender skin.
Derek's just as rough as she thought he'd be and stays until Stiles's jeep sounds in the driveway. Stiles doesn't notice or doesn't comment on the stubble burn covering her thighs and breasts.
The alpha pack don't attack. They don't do anything but settle in and wait. Lydia hates it. She keeps alternating between Derek and Stiles. Derek knows, and she thinks maybe he feels a bit guilty about it, but he just can't resist the touch of Stiles. She sees him watching Stiles constantly and doesn't understand how no one else can have noticed.
Whenever she catches him he gets an uncomfortable and angry look on his face. He always fucks her harder after those times.
She doesn't stop teasing him. Sometimes she even puts together presents for him. She has to time things carefully; she's on the pill and she knows Stiles wouldn't dare fuck anyone else. It's a risk but it's a calculated one, and those are Lydia's favorite kinds of risks.
Step one is banning Stiles from jerking off for the week; she wants his come nice and thick, not thin and watery. Step two is convincing him to fuck her without a condom. Actually, that's the harder part. Stiles is sensible and he's had the safe sex talk drilled into him over and over again. He knows statistics. He knows the calculated risk. She just needs to make it one he's willing to take as well.
"Think about it, Stiles. Nothing between you and me, think how slick and warm I am around your fingers, think about that around your dick," she whispers filthy hot in his ear.
She's straddling him as he sits on the ratty armchair in his living room. His top's long gone and so are her panties. His jeans are undone and her slick cunt is resting against his dick through the thin cotton of his boxers.
She likes being above him, being able to clutch his head to her chest, making him suck and bite at her breasts.
"Even after you pull out there'd still be a bit of you inside me, even if I wash it away some'll still linger. The smell of you, coming out of the core of me."
She feels his dick twitch against her cunt; he nips hard at her nipple and she knows she's won.
They shimmy his boxers and jeans a little further down and then she's reaching down to hold his cock steady as she teases it up and down, wetting the head in her juices.
He's panting hard, hands gripped tight into the arms of the chair. She brings the head up and rubs at her clit, using it like she would her fingers but it feels... good. The head is slick and blunt and the slick slide against her clit doesn't give her any relief; it just works her up more.
She drags his dick down and positions it just at her entrance, nudging her folds open. She sinks down onto it until she's settled fully into his lap. Stiles doesn't have the thickest cock she's ever seen, nor the longest, but it's good. It fills her up just right.
The material of his jeans is rough against the soft skin of her thighs. Her skirt settles over him and if it wasn't for her bared breasts and his fucked out face it could almost look like they weren't fucking.
She clenches her muscles tight around him and feels him try to thrust up into her but all he does is push them both up.
"Lydia..." he sighs and leans in once more to continue worshiping her breasts. She's the only person that's ever had him and she's got him trained just right.
She rides him slow, setting the pace because Stiles always goes jack-hammer quick when he gets the chance. Her pace matches the mood of the dying light of the autumn sun that come through the open curtains and casting them in a golden glow.
Slipping a finger down between them, she rubs in circles at her clit. She wants to come with his cock still hard within her. Stiles is always so considerate; he sees her hand and quickly slips his down to take over. She likes his fingers. They're bigger than hers and beautifully blunt. She likes her nails when it comes to her nipples, but she just finds they irritate her cunt.
She comes on his cock and he fucks her through her aftershocks until he's coming in her with frantic thrusts that nearly throw her off.
Part two of the plan is a little trickier. She pulls off of Stiles and reaches down to push his come deeper within her, to stop any slipping out. Fuck, it's so hot and sticky that if she could see she'd bet it's a stark splash of white peeking out of the fucked pink of her pussy. She wants to see it, but... maybe another time. She has plans.
She stands carefully and pulls her underwear on, remembering a fake dinner with her parents that has her kissing Stiles quick and chaste before he can even tuck his cock in his shorts.
She pulls on the rest of her clothes, straightens herself and drives over towards Derek's.
She doesn't like fucking in the Hale house, but the only other option is the Camaro and that's not really practical. She walks up to the porch and Derek appears out of the shadows. The sun is almost gone from the sky and it's chilly like autumn evenings are.
Derek's nostrils are flaring as he takes in the scent of her.
"Lydia..." he says, a warning tone to his voice. Like she's done bad, like she should be punished.
She doesn't care about any of that. "Is Peter home? Is Isaac?" That's all she cares about.
He shakes his head.
"Then I've got a present for you."
Derek's still standing on the porch, dumbstruck. She leans over, taking one of his hands in hers and leading him through the house to the shitty mattress he calls a bed. She pushes him down onto it and despite his strength and her lack thereof he falls back onto the mattress.
His stubble is closer to the earlier stages of a beard and that's fine with Lydia, she doesn't know if she could take the scratch of his regular stubble against her cunt right now. It feels too raw and fucked out.
She reaches under her skirt and pulls off her underwear, tossing them to him. She's not surprised when he catches them. He brings them to his nose and smells, like the good boy he is.
"Taste them," she commands and he does. His eyes flash red and she can hear him sucking on the soaked cotton crotch of her panties. Fuck, yeah, this was a good idea.
She doesn't take anything else off. Not her shoes, not her jumper, nothing. It's too cold in here to take much off; even her cunt is starting to cool and no one likes a cold cunt.
Kneeling on the mattress, she pushes Derek flat against it. He's already hard in his jeans, straining against the denim, and she reaches a hand down to pop the fly. Carefully she straddles his face, she's no longer hypersensitive from her orgasm not so long ago with Stiles but her cunt is loose, her clit is soft.
Right now this isn't about her. This is about rewarding Derek for a job well done, for binding him closer to her. She settles herself so she's kneeling with a knee either side of Derek's head. She roughly pulls her panties out of his mouth and reaches down to spread herself wide over Derek's face.
She can feel his hot breath against her cunt and feels the first slick touch of his tongue against her opening. He starts licking Stiles's come out of her, tongue striving to get deeper and deeper. Chasing Stiles's taste far into her. Until his tongue can't reach any more, 'til all he's getting is a diluted taste of Stiles amongst Lydia's own juices. (She likes it rough, she likes starting when she's fucked out and soft. She's already hard, her clit peeking out and occasionally being nudged by Derek's nose or tongue.
Lydia feels like she's just an empty bag of chips to a dog. When he can't reach any more with his tongue he slips his long, blunt fingers inside her. He's not gentle and she loves that about him. He's the opposite of Stiles in so many ways.
Stiles fucks her like she's giving him a gift, every time. He's gentle and quick. Derek, though, Derek fucks her like he resents her, like he hates her for having the thing he wants. Which he probably does. He fucks her like she's done him some great personal wrong and she fucking loves it. It's hard, rough and biting. Her favorite kind of sex. Even if it does look like Derek is punishing himself.
The only thing they share in common is they both do exactly what Lydia tells them.
Derek's fingers aren't gentle as they thrust inside her searching for more of Stiles within her. Before she can direct him he's flipping her over onto her front, face-down into the filthy mattress with his cock sitting at her entrance.
He makes a pained noise like it's costing him a lot not to thrust in right the fuck now.
"Can I?" he asks, voice strained.
"Fuck me," she says, pushing back onto him.
He fucks her hard and fast, her forearms, cheek and knees burning against the mattress. She'll have to find a way to explain them away to Stiles, or maybe she'll even tell him. Right now she doesn't fucking care as long as Derek never stops fucking her.
"Harder," she grunts and feels him speed up. She pushes back and up trying to get more against the front wall of her.
He pulls out and comes all over her cunt; she can feel the hot spurts hitting her puffy lips. He slumps over her back when he's done, all sweaty and solid muscle. She still hasn't come, but Derek's almost as well trained as Stiles. He reaches a hand down and easily slips three fingers in her, curling his fingers and pulling at her, causing her to move back towards him. He rubs his come into her pussy, into her opening and avoids her clit.
He works her to orgasm by ignoring her clit and focusing on everywhere but. It takes a little while but fuck it's good. She comes and bites into the disgusting mattress to stifle her screams. He doesn't relent, holding her down, moving up to her clit and working her past sensitive until she's coming again.
The fourth time she comes he finally stops, pulling his hands away and gently bringing his tongue up to lick her clean. She tries to close her thighs to push him away; it's all too much right now, far too much. The touches are light, not meant to excite, and she knows he's just licking himself off of her.
When Lydia can think again she congratulates herself on a perfect birthday present. She wonders if Derek even knows she knows it's his birthday.
Part Three: Derek & Stiles.
The alpha pack aren't doing anything and it's driving Lydia mad. Derek's still wary of them, Peter is still alluding that he knows their real purpose (she's ninety percent sure it's a bluff) and all of the teen members of their pack are just... ignoring them.
Stiles can't give up thinking about them though; she can see it every time he catches one of them in the hallway. He's on alert and he just won't relax, not even when she's fucking him. What she does notice, though, is he starts becoming very protective over certain members of the pack. Herself, Scott... Derek. No one else. Not Isaac, not the newly returned Boyd (they don't talk about Erica; they never talk about Erica), not even Allison. Lydia. Scott. Derek. She can understand herself-- he's fucking her after all-- and she can understand Scott-- they've been friends for as long as she can remember. But where does Derek fit into all of this?
Then she catches him looking. Not at Derek, not really. Stiles is down making them sex-sandwiches (he calls them that, he really calls them that, why is she fucking him again?) and Lydia is on his computer. She wants to try fucking him with porn on in the background and she wants to see what types of things he's been looking at.
What she finds is gay porn. A lot of gay porn. A lot of gay porn with stubbly dark-haired guys doing younger boys. It doesn't take a genius to see what's been on Stiles's mind: Derek. That surprises her; she hadn't thought Stiles had been able to hide anything from her... apparently her puppy is growing up.
Stiles comes back with their sandwiches and Lydia doesn't try to hide what she's been looking at. He's just settling back onto the bed when he catches what's on the laptop screen. He freezes.
"Derek. Really?" she says, and he goes bright red, the color running down his neck and onto his chest.
It's Stiles so he recovers pretty quickly. "Derek? Where?" he asks. Quick, feigned innocence.
"I'm not stupid, Stiles. You've been thinking about Derek fucking you, huh?"
He's over-exaggerated in his reply, the way does when he's caught in a falsehood. "Oh, you mean the porn?" He squints at the screen and tilts his head. "I guess it kinda looks like Derek. A little bit?"
She rolls her eyes. He can be as coy as she wants; she knows now, and getting him to admit he wants it can be their new game. "Whatever, Stiles. Why don't we play..." She moves the mouse over the clips until she sees him perk up at a specific one. "This one?"
He licks his lips and swallows. He nods.
Lydia had pulled on one of his t-shirts after they'd fucked to keep the cold out, and Stiles had only pulled on his boxers to run down and make their sandwiches. Not that they'll be eating them anytime soon.
She carefully balances the laptop on a pillow near the foot of the bed, making the video as wide as possible. She settles next to Stiles as the little chatty bit from the actors starts on the screen.
The older guy is leaning back against the headboard introducing the kid next to him who just can't sit still. French Canadian? Nice.
By the time the older guy is showing off the kid's ass she looks over and sees Stiles is already half-hard. He's a ball of nervous energy next to her, fidgeting on the bed, constantly looking between the screen and her like he's not quite sure what's going on here.
She slips a hand into his boxers as the guy starts rimming the boy. Stiles is hard now and Lydia leans over and tugs his cock out. She looks up and finds Stiles staring down at her, his hands hovering just above her head like he's still not sure where to place them.
"Watch the screen," she says and drops a kiss just above the base of his cock. "And don't pull my hair."
Stiles is such a good boy when he's getting what he wants, and sometimes even when he's not. His eyes fix on the screen just as she hears the rustle of jeans being pulled off coming from the laptop.
She feels one of his hands settle onto her back, rucking up the t-shirt so he can stroke at her bare skin. She can't see the screen but part of this is knowing what's turning him on. "Tell me what they're doing, Stiles."
He doesn't normally have trouble talking, but apparently this is too much.
"Tell me." She withdraws her mouth from his dick and he suddenly starts speaking.
"Fuck, okay, Lydia, just-- don't stop." His voice is low and rough.
She grabs the lube that's still tangled in the sheets from earlier and puts some on her hands. She doesn't let it warm up before she's wrapping her hands firmly around his dick.
Stiles gasps at the coolness. "They're kissing and Jake is palming Gabriel's dick."
Jake would be the kid, Lydia knows, and Gabriel the Derek. Lydia rewards him by wrapping her mouth around the head of his dick and squeezing just where the head meets the shaft. It's one of Stiles's favorite tricks and he bucks up knocking her head slightly.
"Fuck, Lydia." His hand digs into the soft flesh of her back. "Jake is sucking him off and fuck, he's taking him so deep."
Lydia drops her hands and sinks down on his dick. She can't properly deep-throat but she can go pretty far.
"Lydia, fuck, just like that."
She bobs her head up and down, enjoying the heavy weight of him against her tongue. She can hear, So you like sucking cock? amidst the moans and groans coming from the screen. The wet sucking sounds from the screen are overlaid with the sounds she's making around Stiles's cock.
The sounds are dying away onscreen and she can hear, I wanna fuck your ass. Stiles's dick jumps at that and he lets out a load moan. Huh. Maybe she shouldn't have been keeping her strap-on back from him.
"He's-- Lydia that's good so good don't stop, don't stop. He's pushing his dick in Jake's ass."
Lydia pulls back. "Tell me what he looks like," she whispers against his cock before dropping down to suck at his balls.
"He's throwing his head back... he likes a cock in his ass. He's biting his lip and fisting himself. Fuck, he loves it."
Stiles's hand is fisted in the t-shirt she's wearing, pulling it tight across her breasts, and that feels so good against her nipples. She sucks at his balls, flicking her tongue over the tight skin. Stiles is closer, fuck, Stiles is really close.
She moves over and bites at his thighs, letting her hair brush over his dick.
"No, Lydia," he whines. "I was close, c'mon, come back."
She drops lower, nudging his legs further apart so she can get at his hole.
"Oh fuck, Lydia, you don't have to--" He's pulling at the t-shirt she's wearing harder.
"Tell me what they're doing, Stiles, or I'll stop."
"Fuck, okay, Gabriel's fucking plowing him, and, they're kissing and it's so fucking filthy perfect, Lydia."
She spreads his cheeks with her hand and lets her tongue lap at his hole. She's done this before, to Jackson, but never with Stiles.
"Oh God, Lydia, that's like... Fuck, please don't stop."
I'll fuck you like the bitch you are. Lydia almost snorts. Seriously, Stiles? This is the porn you're watching?
"They're going doggy style, Jake's biting his fist, his arm, fuck, everything, his eyes... " Stiles is babbling now, so far into describing it like he can't stop. "Jake's licking his lips and tugging at his cock. His eyes are barely even fucking open, he's loving being fucked open."
Lydia brings a finger up to press against the tight muscle of his ass, she licks around it but it's not going to be enough to get in. Stiles is so fucking tight.
"Give me the lube," she demands, feeling Stiles frantically scramble about to give it to her.
She lets it warm up in her hand a little before she starts spreading it around his hole. She presses up and eventually it gives and her finger slips in.
"Jake's riding him and he's still so hard, his dick's bobbing up and down as he rides Gabriel and fuck, he's really into it."
Lydia isn't expecting the finger that slips down to her asshole. She's still loose and slightly wet from earlier in the evening. Stiles's fingers are so fucking long It's maybe one of her favorite bits about him. He doesn't push inside, just strokes around her rim; she's still a little sensitive but it feels... comforting and reassuring.
She counters by roughly pushing another finger into Stiles's ass. She's not expecting him to stutterfuck into the air and come straight away. His hand grips her ass cheek hard enough to bruise.
She feels him clenching around her fingers and she doesn't remove them until he's finished coming. When she feels him slump back she finally pulls her fingers out. The air is cool on her fingers, especially with the lube drying on them and after the heat of Stiles's body.
He's laying back against the bed, cheeks flushed, lips bitten and still his gaze is flicking between her and the laptop. The Derek-guy is licking his come off of the other guy and Stiles is just... fuck, okay, she can admit that's seriously hot.
She can't resist teasing him. "So, you're still gonna deny you want Derek to fuck you?"
His eyes snap to her, like he's forgotten what started this in the first place. But he doesn't deny it this time.
"Yeah, I didn't think so." He's managed to hit his chin with his own come. She crawls over him to lick it off.
Stiles moves, capturing her lips in a kiss, and his dick twitches slightly.
"You dirty boy, you like the taste of yourself, huh?" she teases before swinging her leg over to straddle his thigh. She pushes her wet cunt down and grinds into him. "Now it's my turn."
Lydia can't decide if bringing Stiles and Derek together is the best idea she's ever had, or the worst. They're a pack now, young enough that anything going wrong between Derek and Stiles would be... risky. But Lydia isn't one to keep people who want each other apart when she can't think of a really valid reason to do so. Maybe she's in too deep; she finds herself oddly hesitant at the idea of not having them as hers anymore.
They want each other, she knows that now, but if they have each other... where does that leave her? Powerless. Derek doesn't want her, not really, and Stiles hasn't yet realized that it's the idea and power that comes with fucking Lydia Martin he likes, not her. But he will, when he's fucking Derek Hale, because that's the biggest power trip there is. And together would they be better for the pack and each other than she is? Would Derek keep Stiles focused? Would Stiles force Derek into doing the smart thing?
The thing is... she can't get the idea of fucking them both... of watching them fuck... out of her head. It'd be so hot and Stiles was never meant to be anything permanent, not really. He was her rebound after Jackson, to pick her up and let her have some indulgent worship. And Derek... the pack is working together. He's got an idea of how to handle things, and even if she likes fucking him... she could live without it.
In the end the decision is taken out of her hands by Derek, the motherfucker. (And don't think she doesn't know he did it on purpose, no matter how much he denies it).
It's Stiles's birthday. She can't not fuck Stiles on his birthday, but Derek has left the biggest hickey known to mankind on her breast. She was pissed enough when he did it (no, no she wasn't, it had been the final thing that pushed her over the edge). She could have just fucked Stiles with her bra on, but part of her wanted to see, how he'd react, what he'd do... So maybe it isn't entirely Derek's fault, he just gave her the easiest way to do it.
She lets Stiles undress her, unwrap her like she was his birthday present instead of the ridiculously expensive leather jacket she'd bought him. She knows when he sees the hickey, because he pulls back with a frown on his face.
"Lydia, couldn't you have... it's my fucking birthday." And oh, she's never seen Stiles angry with her before. This is... new. Interesting.
She doesn't say anything, just sits there watching him. She doesn't try to cover herself up, just sits there in her jeans.
"I know you're fucking him, but did you really have to rub it in my face on my birthday? It's hard enough seeing his stubble burn on you all the time, but this..." Stiles is angry and he can't stop staring at it.
"Don't you want to know when?" she asks, trailing her fingers over it. The skin's slightly numb in the middle where Derek bit so fucking hard.
His eyes are following her fingers. "I know this is a game to you, but... Just because you get to have him, doesn't mean you have to taunt me with it."
Oh, he's not mad about what she thought he was. Stiles isn't that dense, though, is he? The decision's well and truly made by the time she asks, "What if you could have him too?"
His eyes snap from the hickey to hers. "What do you mean?" he asks slowly.
"I mean, Stiles," she says, the way Derek would, with the same stresses and intonation. "He wants you. He's only fucking me because he thinks he can't have you."
"Lydia, I know you can be mean, even downright cruel sometimes, but... what did I ever do to you? Why are you doing this?"
"Stiles, I'm being serious. You remember the first time you fucked me without a condom?"
He nods, though by the confusion on his face he's clearly not seeing where this is going.
"That was a birthday present to Derek. He ate every last drop of you out of me and then he fucked me so hard into the mattress I had rugburn."
Stiles looks at her in stunned disbelief. "You told me you skidded on some carpet."
She shrugs. "You believed me."
"I'm beginning to think I do that too much."
"I didn't... I didn't know you wanted him then, but now... there's no reason you can't have him. And me. Think about it, Stiles." She leans forward again and presses herself against him.
"Lydia..." he warns, but what's he even warning against? Having everything he wants?
"Imagine having the two people you want most... you could eat me out while he fucks you... You could fuck me, while he fucks you... the list of what we could do is endless. Tell me you don't want it." She leans in and kisses him filthy sweet.
He responds to her kiss, pushing his tongue into her mouth more forcefully than normal and she likes it.
They fuck rougher than they ever have before, and she thinks her puppy is almost grown up. She thinks maybe he'll always look like a puppy to outsiders, until they bring out the Stiles underneath. Because the thing about puppies is that they grow up to be dogs. They still roll over for people they love, but they've got the ability to bite and attack the people who give them shit. Dogs can defend themselves.
Stiles is growing up. Lydia likes it.
When they're finished, as they're slipping off to sleep she hears Stiles say, clear and loud in the quiet of the room: "I want it."
Of course Derek agrees. Of course. Except... they're suddenly awkward around each other. Gone is their sniping, their sarcastic and snarky banter. Instead they're not arguing with each other and... Lydia needs to get them comfortable with each other before the rest of the pack notice and ask what's up. Because this is the shit she was worried about in the first place.
The Hale house has heating now, and actual windows. (Because Lydia had refused to fuck Derek until he agreed to get them fitted.) The top floor wasn't livable but the bottom two were coming along nicely.
Stiles is driving them to the house and he's so fucking nervous that she almost thinks he's going to pull over on the way there. He doesn't, but his hands are tight on the steering wheel like it's taking a lot not to turn back.
Derek isn't waiting for them on the porch when they reach the house and that's weird. She nudges Stiles into taking another Adderall even though he's not supposed to. Normally he wouldn't this late in the day but she needs him focused for this. They find Derek inside the living room. They've not spoken about this, none of them, and maybe that's reckless but Lydia doesn't think speaking will get them there.
No matter how many words Stiles uses or how few Derek does, actions speak far louder.
"Hey," Stiles says nervously, fidgeting with his car keys.
"Hey," Derek replies and seriously? She needs them to relax.
Lydia walks over to Derek and greets him how she normally would. She leans up as he leans down and she kisses him. It's not a quick welcome kiss, no. It's a kiss with promise, a kiss that says 'I'm going to fuck you hard and you're going to enjoy it'.
When she pulls away she doesn't move away from Derek. She whispers in his ear. "Can you smell him? Did he like that?"
His gaze flits to Stiles before returning to her. There's a tiny bit of wonder in his voice as he speaks. "He's half hard already, from watching us."
She nods. "I told you he wanted you."
"I didn't... "
"Why don't you kiss him?" she asks and doesn't wait for his answer before glancing over her shoulder towards Stiles. "Stiles! Come here."
He comes over hesitantly, dragging his feet. When he's close enough Lydia reaches back and grabs his hand, pulling him in. His eyes keep nervously darting to Derek and licking his lips.
Stiles is almost as tall as Derek these days and he knows how to lean down for Lydia when she reaches up. They kiss so differently, Derek and Stiles. Derek is all demanding heat and Stiles is all frantic one moment and slow slide the next. He's hesitant and gentle compared to Derek's force.
She kisses Stiles until he relaxes slightly, until (she assumes) he forgets Derek is there watching them. When she pulls back she watches as his eyes flutter open and his gaze fixes on Derek once more.
"Kiss him," she commands them both.
She's not surprised it's Stiles that takes the initiative, who learns forward. Neither had to duck to kiss the other, not like when they kiss her. Stiles brings his hands up to cup Derek's face and she sees him run his hands against Derek's stubble, more than a caress, like he's been waiting to do that for too long.
Derek leans in to Stiles's hand. Stiles leans forward and brushes his lips against Derek's. It's almost chaste... the kind of kiss you'd give a friend. When Derek doesn't pull back Stiles ducks in for another kiss; he tilts his head to avoid bumping noses with Derek and then... they're kissing. Derek's hands come up to mirror Stiles's. She can see Derek take control of the kiss, the way he deepens it and leans in to Stiles.
They're fucking gorgeous and Lydia wants them right the fuck now. She shrugs off her jacket and lays it over the sofa. The boys are still kissing.
Walking over to the stairs she starts unbuttoning the front of her top. When she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she turns around and lets it fall open, revealing the teal of her bra. She stands on the stairs watching the boys; her nipples are hard against the mesh of the bra and she pinches at them through the material and feels the prickles of pleasure.
"Boys," she calls, hands not leaving her breasts. They both turn to look at her. "Shall we?"
She pushes Derek down onto the bed and he goes easily.
"Strip," she orders him and he starts by pulling his vest over his head.
Stiles and Lydia both watch as Derek strips, until he's just laying there in black boxer-briefs, the hard line of his cock obscenely tenting them.
"Good boy," she says and he frowns. Derek doesn't like praise. Derek likes... silence, really. But she's got a feeling he's going to love rambling Stiles anyway.
She reaches over and tugs at Stiles's t-shirt until he pulls it off over his head. She presses her chest against his, and rubs up against him. His hot flesh through the mesh feels so good. She kisses at his chest, biting at his nipples, and he gasps.
Derek's still on the bed, palming himself and watching them. She quickly pops the buttons on Stiles's jeans and he shrugs them off. Lydia can't believe he's wearing Star Wars boxers but somehow she's not surprised. They all knew what was going to be happening here; Derek was dressed in his normal clothes and underwear, she'd gone to the effort of a pretty teal bra set and panties, and Stiles... had worn his dorkiest boxers.
Catching her look, Stiles flails slightly. "They're my lucky boxers!"
Derek snorts from the bed and Lydia rolls her eyes.
"Hey! At least my underwear shows some personality," he snarks, offended, towards Derek.
"Underwear is not the way to show personality. Personality is," Derek responds.
That's better; she can't have them awkward. She needs this to work.
"Whatever, you're just jealous of them."
"No... no I'm not. I'll stick to my underwear thank you very much."
Lydia ignores them, shucking off her skirt and kneeling on the bed. She crawls her way up Derek's body. She's left in underwear and Derek in his. She moves up so she's straddling his hips, her cunt hovering over his cock with only the thin material of their underwear between them. The warm, hard length of him pressing against her feels good and she grinds down on him.
She's rewarded with a sharp hiss and Derek is reaching up to grab her hips and hold her there. Oh no, Derek doesn't get to pretend he's in charge here any more than Stiles is. She reaches down, grabs his hands and pins them above his head to the bed. He could fight her and throw her off but he doesn't. If there's anything Lydia's taught him it's that she'll make it worth his while.
Derek had been so difficult to fuck in the beginning, and so very hard to get anything resembling trust out of. Over the months she'd worked her way to here, to being able to hold Derek down and fuck him. And something inside of him loved it. Loved that she let him be as rough as she could take with her.
Using her hands on his wrists as leverage she leans forward and rubs her breasts against the length of his chest. He gasps as the seams of her bra catch against his nipples and she pauses to rub harder. She's touching him but not; she can feel the warmth of him on her breasts.
She lifts her ass so it's away from his cock, but keeps leaning forward. She looks over her shoulder at Stiles. He's standing there with his hand on his dick and his eyes glazed over. She hadn't been sure Stiles would still want her with Derek in the room, but then she leans forward, her hair obscuring her face in a ginger curtain and says coyly, "Don't you want to join us?"
Stiles's eyes are fixed firmly on her, starting at the curve of her ass to the crotch of her panties. Her juices must be darkening it now and this position will give him the perfect view. His gaze travels up until it's fixed on her face. Yeah, he still fucking wants her, and that feels... fantastic.
Derek's been quiet so far, but he calls out to Stiles then, "I want to see your cock."
And wow, that goes straight to Lydia's cunt as she's sure it does to Stiles's cock. She leans down and kisses Derek, her hair providing a curtain of privacy and making it so Stiles can't see anything.
She drops her ass back down onto his cock and carries on kissing him. The bed dips and suddenly her hair is being pulled back behind her ear and of course it's Stiles.
"Let me see," he says and runs his fingers through Lydia's hair, keeping it in place as she continues to kiss Derek.
She breaks the kiss and leans over to kiss him instead. This is too fucking much. She lets go of Derek's hands and lifts hers up to run her nails lightly over Stiles's chest. He sharply draws in a breath and surges forward into Lydia. It's Derek's werewolf reflexes that stop her from falling backwards onto the bed.
Stiles has ditched his underwear; his cock bumps against her stomach as he kisses her, smearing pre-come in its wake. Stiles is rubbing her nipples through the bra and... did she mention she had him well trained? He drops down to mouth at them through the material of her bra, biting and sucking hard.
She cradles his skull to her chest, running her fingers across the short hair of his buzzcut. She loves the way it feels against her fingers, against her anywhere. She's so distracted by Stiles that she doesn't even notice that Derek is doing anything until he's pushing the crotch of her panties to the side and slipping a finger into her folds.
She's so wet, so slick his fingers are slipping against her clit, having to push hard to give her any type of friction. He scratches his barely-there nails against her outer lips; her pubic hair there is stuck to her with her own dampness. He lightly scritches through and she thrusts up into his hand. So fucking good.
"Lydia," Derek sighs and moves away from her clit, parting her folds and gently pushing one finger into her. That's not like Derek at all. She grinds down on him and forces the finger deeper into her.
Stiles has soaked the front of her bra and she reaches behind her, quickly undoing the clasps and pushing Stiles's head away to pull it off. He barely pauses, dropping back down to worship her nipples. She likes nipple play, but fuck, she really wants a cock in her right now.
Choices... she has choices, and fuck, she knows exactly what she's going to do with that. She pushes Stiles away from her again and pulls his hand away from his dick.
"Stop that before you come too soon. Grab a condom and lie down on the bed."
He lets himself fall back, head sitting on Derek's crappy pillows. For all that this isn't a monogamous relationship it is a steady one. Derek can't catch or carry anything, Stiles is still riding the high of getting to fuck her that he wouldn't consider anyone else (except for Derek), and she's still on the pill.
That doesn't mean she's going to let Stiles fuck her without a condom. Maybe every now and then as a calculated risk, but she's still well aware that it's not a hundred percent on the pregnacy front and she's not ready for a kid right now. Derek can talk all he wants about breeding her as long as that's all it is.
She pinches the tip and rolls it down his dick. Derek has moved so he's on his knees next to the pair of them. Lydia straddles Stiles's hips and leans back, grabbing hold of his dick and positioning it at her entrance. She drags it up and down, slipping between her folds and wetting it up. Stiles squirms beneath her and fists his hands in the sheets.
"Lydia, you feel so fucking perfect," he says, voice strained.
She grins and sinks down onto his cock. He whimpers and screws his eyes shut. Lydia settles herself flush against his hips and makes no attempts to move. Stiles still has his eyes shut. Derek's looking at her, so she grins and leans down to kiss him.
Stiles's eyes fly open and then he's kissing back, cupping Derek's face and pulling him in closer. Lydia lifts herself up, using her knees, and slowly sinks back down onto his cock. She grinds forward and feels the delicious friction of his pubic hair against the front of her cunt.
He only breaks the kiss with Derek to gasp, "Lydia!" as she starts fucking him in earnest.
She's moving quick enough that her breasts are bouncing with each thrust, Stiles's hips rising up to meet hers.
"Don't you dare come," she warns, leaning backwards and gripping his calves to get a better angle, so he's rubbing against the front wall and it's so good, she can hear the squelch-slap of their thrusts, and she's drenched his whole crotch.
Derek moves up to kiss her now and she's close, she's so close, she's got Stiles thrusting into her, and Derek's moved to working his fingers fast and furiously against her clit. It's taking skill to follow her as she's moving but Derek is managing it. She's getting closer, closer, closer. She grinds down harder on
Derek moves down to suck over the remains of the hickey he'd left on her breast weeks ago and it pushes her over the edge. She stutterfucks and clenches hard around Stiles. He doesn't stop thrusting up into her but she stops moving on top of him. Derek doesn't withdraw his fingers either; he keeps working her as her thighs snap closed around Stiles's hips.
She's shaking as they both don't stop and she finds herself pushing Derek's hands away and clamping down on Stiles. It's too much, she's hypersensitive and she can't take this. Finally Derek pulls his fingers away from her clit and pulls away to kiss lightly and lick at his mark on her breast.
Stiles has stopped fucking her, but his hands are still tightly fisted in the sheets. She looks down from where she's slumped over Derek. Her thighs are quivering with the effort of keeping her upright; she's already slumped over Derek, arms wrapped around his shoulders to keep her up. Derek's hand is keeping Stiles's hips pinned to the bed. That'd be what stopped him fucking her.
"Don't come, Stiles," she says and fuck, is that even her voice? She sounds utterly raw.
Derek lifts her easily off of Stiles and settles her against the pillows, propped up against the headboard. She settles back with her legs spread wide, and oh, she knows that look in Derek's eye. He crawls forward and spreads her legs wide. At the first feel of Derek's tongue on her clit she squirms away. She's still too sensitive, it's not...
He licks lightly until she starts to feel less sensitive and more into it. She's so engorged, so puffy from the fucking. She closes her eyes and sinks back into the pillows. Fuck, Derek knows how to use his mouth.
What she's not expecting is for there to be a familiar buzzcut brushing against her thigh. She looks down and there's Stiles, leaning down to join Derek in eating her out. She has to spread her legs so wide so there's space for both of them there but it just works. Their cheeks are pressed up tight against each other and she looks down and sees both boys fisting their dicks.
Lydia has the fleeting thought that Stiles is going to have an absolutely wicked case of stubble burn on one cheek before she can't think much of anything. There are two tongues working at her, lapping at her. One will rise up and suck and fuck at her clit, while the other will dip down to lap at her swollen hole. They keep stopping to kiss each other, her juices smeared all over their faces.
She comes, and comes again, unable to push them off and it's fucking heaven and hell at the same time. She doesn't want them to stop but oh god she wants them to stop. It's all too much and-- she doesn't black out. She just... goes out of her mind a little bit.
When she comes back the boys are leaning over her closed thighs and kissing each other, working each other's dicks.
"No," she says, her voice dry and scratchy. "Fuck him, Derek. He really wants it and he's been so good. You've been a good boy, haven't you, Stiles?"
He ducks his head, embarrassed but pleased. A little praise goes a long fucking way with Stiles.
"You don't--" Stiles starts.
"I don't--" Derek does at the same time.
Stiles smiles bashfully. Lydia rolls her eyes. "Lesson we all apparently haven't learned by now: listen to Lydia. Fuck him."
"You want that?" Derek asks, voice low and filthy.
Stiles licks his lips and nods. "Yeah, I want it." He looks down at Derek's dick. "I want all of you."
Derek smiles that stupidly blinding smile that makes him look like a Japanese school girl, not the badass alpha he is. Dork. (Lydia is unsettled that her inside voice is starting to sound a lot more like Stiles. She doesn't like it; she knows it's probably just the post-coital oxytocin flooding her system, but she doesn't care right now.)
"Take him from behind," Lydia instructs. "The angle will be easier for him; he's not done this before."
"Lydia," Stiles whines. "I'm an adult. I can do this."
"Legally, Stiles," she drawls. "You're a child, and so am I. But don't bring that up to Derek over there. He's got enough guilt and hesitation as it is."
Derek does look guilty, but only for a second.
Stiles looks like he might want to argue but he does crawl over and settle on his hands and knees over Lydia, with his head resting near her stomach. He might want this but it doesn't mean he's not going to be nervous about it.
Derek grabs the lube and hesitates on the condom. "I don't... I can't carry or catch anything, and I can't get you pregnant. Do you mind if we don't..." He trails off, looking uncertain.
"It's fine, but you don't like-- there's not any freaky werewolf surprises like buckets load of come or a knot, is there?"
Lydia rolls her eyes. Stiles has got to stop reading werewolf fanfiction on the internet.
Derek frowns, looking up at Lydia. "Knot?" he mouths and she rolls her eyes again.
"Ignore him," she says.
Stiles huffs indignantly. "I'll take that as a no then?"
"No, no freaky werewolf things. Not when I'm in my human form," Derek says and oh, Lydia hadn't even considered fucking him in his beta form. Now she wants to know what extras there are.
Derek's slow preparing Stiles; the amount of lube he uses fucking ruins the sheets. She's glad it's not her bed because Derek's going to have to sleep in it, although thinking about it he'll probably love it.
Derek's big (like really big), so when he pushes in, Stiles's erection flags and he buries his head in her stomach. She pets his hair and whispers encouragement to him.
Derek pushes in slowly until he's fully inside. He keeps having to stop and add more lube and Jesus.
"Hurts," Stiles whimpers and Lydia hushes him.
Derek's curled over Stiles's back and is kissing at the back of his neck. It takes a long time for Stiles to adjust to Derek's size but eventually Stiles is pushing back on him and making the hottest fucking gasps and whimpers Lydia thinks she's ever heard.
Derek fucks him slow until Stiles is shooting all over Lydia's stomach. Derek pulls out, comes all over Stiles's back, and collapses onto him, pushes Stiles down onto Lydia. She lets them lay there for a moment before pushing them off of her.
Derek licks them both clean and while it's not exactly as clean as she'd like to be, they're snuggled into such a nice pile she can't stomach the thought of getting up and out to shower or wash themselves down.
It's good for the pack. It's so good for the pack she can't believe it. They're not awkward around each other any more than their normal social ineptness dictates. They still bicker and snark at each other, but now it's fond and comfortable.
Stiles won't split from Derek's pack, and he won't split from Scott's. The packs are firmly cemented together and ready for anything that comes up against them. She even sees Stiles feeling bold enough to pull Derek back when he's punishing himself and wallowing in guilt in a way Lydia never felt she could. Conversely, Derek's another person to help Stiles focus, take out all his excess energy. He's someone else forcing him to sleep, forcing him to get up, forcing him to do what needs to be done to protect them. Nothing focuses Stiles like the need to protect the people he loves, and Derek just gives him one more solid urge.
They fuck, the three of them, but never alone, never in pairs, not anymore. When Lydia wants to surprise Stiles by blowing him in the locker rooms after practice, all she has to do is text Derek and he's there lurking in the shadows with her.
Stiles start initiating things. He pushes them to try new things, making them do what he wants, what he needs them to do, and doing whatever needs to be done. Lydia's never been so fucking proud of someone. Stiles is almost as brilliant as her. Almost. And Derek is there to keep them grounded, to stop them getting too carried away with their schemes. Fuck, he's almost the human compassion of their trio and how ironic is that?
The postcard arrives on a Thursday. Lydia finds it on the doormat when she gets home from school. It doesn't matter what it says, all that matters is it's from Jackson and it's another fucking thing on top of the low she's been riding since she realized Derek and Stiles are starting to function as Derek And Stiles. She knows that she's just tagging along for their epic love story and eventually they'll realize and kick her out. But that's okay, she can live with that. For now they need her, for now she's there to balance their relationship, but not for much longer.
But she can feel them working together, and she knows it's going to be soon. The postcard from Jackson just pushes her over the edge and she finds herself crying in her bedroom because seriously, fuck you, world.
She doesn't hear him show up but then she never does.
"What do you want, Derek? Now's not really a good time." She doesn't really have the patience to deal with Derek right now.
Derek looks uncomfortable. "What's wrong, Lydia?"
"Don't-- it doesn't matter, Derek. Don't worry about it."
"But you're upset." He sounds so confused, like a lost puppy. Fucking puppies.
"Derek, it's not your responsibility to worry about that. It's not like we're boyfriend and girlfriend or whatever," she says, having to force the flippancy in her voice. When did she start having to do that?
Derek's frowning. "I thought-- You are my girlfriend, or whatever phrase you want to use. You're mine."
That makes Lydia angry. She feels the sorrow and despair turn easily to rage. "You ass! I'm not yours. If there's any owning going on here, you're mine."
Derek's quiet for a minute, nonplussed by her anger. "I think it's both, and we're both Stiles's and he's ours. I think... I think that's what being in a relationship is, Lydia."
Derek's quiet statement has taken the wind out of her sails. What the hell is he on about, does he really not see how this is going? "Derek, that's... really sweet. But wrong. You, me, and Stiles? Right now we're a set, but one day soon you're going realize you don't need me anymore. That's okay; it wasn't ever a long-term thing."
Derek frowns. "I don't think you're right."
"I'm always right. Kind of a genius here."
"At math maybe, but... I don't want to give you up. Or Stiles. Why can't I have both?"
"You can't," Lydia says, turning away because she just can't take the wounded expression on his face. When she turns back he's gone.
Lydia hasn't called Stiles in a few days. She's not sat with him at lunch and she doesn't sit near him in any lessons. She's not spoken to Derek either. She is surprised when Stiles slips into the seat opposite her at lunch. It's not their table but it's not exactly hard to find someone in the lunch hall.
"Derek says he thinks you broke up with us." He bites into his apple and eyes her suspiciously. "I told him he was just being stupid and socially inept again. He said he didn't think so. Then you didn't call or speak to me for three days. Tell me he's wrong."
Lydia exhales. "He's not wrong, Stiles. You two don't need me anymore, and while it was--"
"Bullshit!" Stiles says, loud enough to draw the attention of people around them. "Why do you get to suddenly decide it's over because we don't need you? And why is it over just because we don't need you? What if we want you? That's all I've ever done, Lydia Martin. Want you."
She rolls her eyes. "You've got Derek now. You don't want me."
"You don't know what I want. If this is you finally growing bored of us and not wanting us, that's... well, it's not fine, but I can respect your wishes. Or, I can try. I'll probably go back to being stalker Stiles, but--"
Lydia doesn't mean to say it, but he's in one of his rambles, and it's the truth and suddenly she realizes she's so fucking proud of who he's become. Who she has helped him become. This isn't the Stiles that followed her around like a puppy. This is the Stiles that's fighting for something he wants. He's fighting for her. "I want you."
Stiles smiles blindly bright. "Then what's the problem?"
She returns his smile tentatively. "I guess there's no problem at all."
And Lydia realizes. It's not what she can get her boys to do or feel that makes Lydia feel powerful. It's the way she feels about them that makes her powerful. She loves them, and she'd do anything for them... just like they would for her. That's real power.