They don’t kiss anymore, not on the lips. Not before or after, not even during. They kiss cheeks, eyelids, foreheads, necks, but not lips. They used to, but not anymore.
He never thought he’d get this lucky. After years wanting to be with her and knowing that he couldn’t… it still takes his breath away. But eventually it became more about lying with her than wanting her. All that hoping and knowing that he’d never have her made him colder, made him more hesitant when they finally did come together. And that coldness kept them separate, even when his mind was screaming, ‘Here she is! She wants you too! Fall back in love with her!’
But it was too late.
Their first time together, he didn’t really care that he came too soon. He could feel her, touch her, go again, and that was infinitely better than worrying about what she thought of him.
Their second time was against the bedroom wall. His father was downstairs watching TV, and they had to be quiet. She muffled her cries on his neck and he panted into her hair. But they didn’t kiss at all that time.
Their third time was only a couple days later. He showed up at her house with a token bouquet of flowers that she liked. They had sex four times, but it still wasn’t quite as he imagined. Not even in his elation that he had finally used up his box of condoms. Scott would be so proud.
They fell into a pattern, seeing each other at school and sharing no more than hugs and gentle touches, then ending up in bed no more than a few hours later. They showed up to pack meetings together, they sat together, they discussed their favourite movies, worked on their school work. Did all those normal things, but not as lovers. More like friends. Friends who fucked.
By the time he realized this, they were weeks into their sexual relationship. He knew her body more intimately than he ever thought he would have, and it wasn’t enough to keep him interested, to keep him invested. And when he realized that, he spent a night ignoring her texts, panicking about what he was going to tell her.
He’d waited so long for her, and when he finally had her, he was going to fuck everything up.
It turned out, it didn’t matter. She already knew. He was cradling her in his arms, post-coital, when she breached the subject.
“This hasn’t gone at all like I was expecting,” she begins. He huffs. “Not that the sex hasn’t been great, Stiles. You are an excellent student.”
“Oh, thank you,” he says, grinning at her.
“But… I kinda thought you would be more into this. You’d be more nervous, worried about fucking it up. Worried about losing me.”
He freezes. He doesn’t dare look at her. “Lydia… I, uh…”
“You have nothing to worry about.” She slides her fingers along his chest. “I haven’t been able to… to want you the way you used to want me. And I think we should be honest with each other. You’re not in love with me anymore, Stiles.”
He shifts uncomfortably, but he can’t deny he’d been thinking the same thing. So he decides to go for the truth. “No, I’m not.” He looks down at the frowns in her eyebrows and thinks/says, “And you’re still in love with Jackson.”
That revelation startles her, but she nods. “Yeah.” She circles a nipple with a finger. “And you’re in love with Derek.”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“No, I’m not,” he persists. “That guy is a jackass! He wouldn’t recognize a friendly gesture if it killed him, and it probably would kill him.”
“No, I’m sorry, but I can’t stand the guy.” He grimaces at the thought of being in love with him. “And he can’t stand me. What makes you think I’d be in love with him?”
She’s starting to lose her patience. “Stiles.”
He opens his mouth, but can’t even say anything. He’s that off guard.
When he doesn’t say anything else, she continues. “I thought you knew how you felt about him.”
“Yeah, he’s annoying asshole, that’s what I feel about him.”
“But it looks like you are deluding yourself.” As if he hasn't even said anything.
“I’m not deluding myself, Lydia. I have no romantic feelings or otherwise for the guy.”
She’s staring at him, something like a smirk tugging on her lips. “We’ll see.”
He’s determined to get back into her bed once more that week, but he can’t stop thinking about what she’s said, about his ‘feelings’ for Derek. He’s so absorbed in figuring out how he could possibly be in love with Derek that he doesn’t notice that she disappears every time she sees him at school. He doesn’t notice that they go a week and a half without seeing each other after school, without sex.
And of course, now that she’s put this idea into his head, he starts examining it, picking it apart, looking into the deepest corners. He starts noticing how he interacts with Derek, and how Derek interacts with him. And if there is more softness in their interactions than in the past, he's going to keep it to himself.
Derek defers to him. He gives him research to do, then listens patiently for his explanations on the research. Stiles’ opinion matters to Derek, and he’s flummoxed as to how that happened. When did anything a spastic human being said matter to Derek?
He also finds that when he’s not sitting with Lydia or Scott, he’s sitting with Derek. No, he gravitates towards Derek. Derek, who occasionally touches his arm or his shoulder, who tries to hide his smiles at his jokes, who gravitates towards Stiles. Derek, whom Stiles could not have imagined ever liking, is actually one of his favourite people. Hell, when he’s in a bad mood, he wants to see Derek.
After the second sleepless night turning this over, he resolves to see Lydia. He shows up mid-afternoon on the weekend with a couple of coffees, and as soon as she opens the door, he offers one to her and says, “You were right.”
She looks him over, then smiles gently.
Her mother is gone on a trip for the weekend, so they eat pizza and have sex in the living room. They somehow make it up to her bedroom for round two and fall asleep, cuddling.
He wakes up first, sometime early morning, has a shower, then gets back into bed, spooning her. She gets up a couple hours later, has a shower, then climbs back into bed, cradling him. When they both wake up at nine in the morning, he’s hard, thinking about Derek and about Lydia, naked, beside him. And he’s wondering how it came to be that he was content to be inside her, but not always beside her. And how is it that now he can’t stop thinking about Derek, and what Derek would feel like inside him.
She must pick up on that because she says, “Tell me what you like about him.”
He huffs a laugh. “Funny you should say that, but there was a time I didn’t like anything about him. I thought he was hot, sure. I mean, you’d have to be dead not to find him hot.”
“Stiles, focus please.” And she’s smiling at him.
After some hesitation, he says, “Well… I like his smile. And his laugh. They’re both so goofy, it just melts your heart because you think, ‘How could this guy not smile and laugh?’ I mean, did his mother drop him on his head as a baby so he doesn’t like smiling or laughing?” And he’s saying this sarcastically, because he does know the real reason Derek doesn’t do either of those things.
“And… his eyes, how they seem to change colour. Like, his regular human eyes, not his Alpha eyes. I can never tell if they’re blue or green or hazel. I think I have spent a lot of time during one pack meeting staring right into his eyes to figure out what colour they were.” He huffs a laugh, and she grins at him knowingly.
“And I think I discovered one of my kinks because of him. Fragile human body, and I like it when he pushes me into walls or doors. God, I get so hot when he does that, and I’m always afraid he’s gonna figure out that I’ve popped a boner. And his arms, man, those arms. I think about what it would be like to ride him, gripping onto his arms, looking into his eyes.”
She smiles, self-satisfying, and begins circling his nipples with her fingers. “What else?”
“His ass.” She kisses a nipple. He swallows. “He’s got a really great ass. I want to get my hands on it—” she licks a stripe down his chest slowly, hands travelling over his belly button, “—get my fingers inside him. Open him up, feel how hot he runs on the inside.” She licks down his abdomen, curling her fingers in the hair of his happy trail, while his dick gets harder and harder.
“I wonder how big he is. He’s gotta be big.”
She’s levering herself down, hands gliding along the skin of his thighs, when she says, “We’ve seen him in boxer briefs, swimming shorts. It’s not that hard to guess.”
“Not that hard,” he grins at her. She rolls her eyes, hovers her mouth over the head of his cock, looking like for all the world she wants to swallow him whole. Then she pulls off, and he whimpers.
“Go on,” she urges.
He swallows. “Yeah, he’s big. He’s probably got a big cock. I’ll be so full taking him in, filling me up. Getting an ass-full of werewolf cock. I’ll love it.” She kisses the head of his cock, using her tongue, and he jerks with a moan. “I want his cock inside me, filling me up, fucking me hard, claiming me, marking me on the inside as his.” Her mouth closes over him, all the way down until he hits the back of her throat, and he moans. She comes back up with a pop. “I want to feel his come dripping out of me. I want him to push it back in.”
He gasps when a slick finger touches his hole. He looks down at her. She’s mouthing at his cock, smirking up at him, as she slowly works her finger inside. They’ve never done this before, and it feels fabulous and frightening all at once. He’s used his own fingers, but this doesn’t compare, this absolutely doesn’t compare, to Lydia working him open, mouth on his cock, while he talks about how Derek would feel like inside him.
He’s silent for a moment as he gets used to the burn and stretch. She’s found lube somewhere and slicks up another finger and pushes that one in. “God,” he moans, voice cracking. She thrusts her fingers, in and out, in time with sucking his head, and he writhes in the sheets, trapped by the sensations.
She slips a third finger in, and he bucks. She maneuvers to pin him down, and continues sucking him down, fingering him open, slowly increasing the pace. He finds himself babbling again, “I want to fuck him too. I want to feel him from the inside, feel how tight and hot he is, make him beg and whimper, make him want my cock. Make him want me to fuck him, and fuck him so hard. I want to fuck him in my bed, in the shower, in the woods. The back of the Camaro. I want to claim him too, make him mine. Bite his neck and fuck him raw—aghh—”
He comes so hard, he nearly jostles Lydia. She fingers him through it, even though his muscles are clamping down on her fingers, and sucks him off. His hips jerk and twitch as she finishes swallowing him down, cleaning him off, and she pulls off with a pop and works her fingers out gently.
Hands trembling, he helps her move back up the bed. She collapses down beside him, breathing heavily , as if she’d been the one to get sucked off, which—hey, idea. He slides his hands down her sides, grabs her ass, fully intending to give back, but she pulls his hands up and curls her fingers around his. He can’t help but note three of her fingers are still warm and wet from being inside him, and god that’s turning him on so much. There’s some come on her chin, and he sucks it off, swallowing himself down without a thought. Then he realizes—
She actually looks sheepish, which he thought he’d never see on her. Ever. “I forgot,” she says. “But I’m clean. I’ve only been with Jackson and I’ve been tested. And I’m pretty sure you’ve only ever been with me.”
He grins. “Well, with you, and my hands.” She huffs a laugh. “And now with your fingers.”
He cleans off the rest of his come from her chin and her lips. It’s the closest they’ve ever come to kissing in a long time.