Lydia's periods are like clockwork, coming as regularly as the moon. And her moods change like clockwork too. There's the grumpiness, the tell-tale spot, and normally, just before they're due, the horniness. She knows the reasons behind them all, the chemicals, the hormone levels.
What she doesn't know is the reason for how they've managed to line themselves up perfectly with Derek's moon-related moods. She doesn't know why and part of her wants to research, to analyze every part of them. But by the time the thought occurs, she's more occupied with fucking Derek than figuring out why.
Normally Derek's always so gentle; when given complete control he makes love to them, he worships them with every kiss and touch. Stiles barely has the patience for it, and it takes Lydia so much longer to get off when he's gentle. It's nice, but it's not what she'd choose.
Lydia likes it rough, she likes it hard, she likes pushing them all to their extremes; she likes seeing what she can take, what they can take for her; she likes Stiles sobbing, begging to come and begging for it to never end. They enjoy it, oh god do they enjoy it; they break apart and come all over her. And she does too.
Stiles? Stiles is like a... well, a kid with ADHD. Stiles will take your slow, sensuous fuck and turn it into a gigglefuck, where no one can stop laughing. He'll take your intense, begging scene and turn it into careful vanilla fucking, just because he wants to. He doesn't even realize he's doing it half the time. Stiles will worship them one day, with careful words and caresses, and the next he'll beg to be fucked, to be strung out and withheld. It's not like a different person. It's like one person who wants their partners every which way and just can't decide. It's so very Stiles.
Lydia spends the day distracted by thoughts of them. Her nipples are tender, aching against the material of her bra, wanting her to touch them. She tries to keep her thoughts on her work, on what she's supposed to be focusing on but it's so hard; her mind wanders and every thought falls to sex.
Someone will bend over and she'll think, 'Derek's ass is nicer than that,' or someone will be talking and she'll think, 'Stiles's mouth is riper than his.’ Then she'll be agitated, squirm on her seat, and will her work day to be over.
When she gets home Derek and Stiles are already there. The Camaro and the cruiser are sitting in the driveway. Stiles has the early shifts this week. It sucks waking up each morning to an empty space in their bed, but at least it means he's here in the evenings, waiting when she gets home.
Before she makes it to the door, Stiles is already opening it and Sandy and Sparkles are running out to meet her, tails wagging and pushing each other out of the way trying to get to Lydia. Sparkles jumps up and nearly knocks her over; whoever said dogs take after their owners was entirely right.
Sparkles forgets she's seventy pounds of German Shepherd and nearly as tall as Lydia when she jumps up, paws almost on Lydia's shoulders, licking at her face. Sparkles might not be a puppy anymore but she still acts like one.
Just behind them (as Sandy winds her way around Lydia's feet, nosing for attention) is Stiles, smiling and still in his uniform. The dogs race away from her to fuss around his legs, begging for attention. They might love Lydia, but Stiles is their master. He drops them each a blueberry before leaning forward to give Lydia a welcome home kiss.
She likes coming home when Stiles is already there, loves that she never has to come home to an empty house because of Derek. She had enough of that growing up and she knows Stiles did too. She wants her house loud and warm and filled with love. Fuck anyone who thinks that's trite or traditional.
"Honey, I'm home," Lydia sing-songs, watching the grin break out across Stiles's face. Never in a million years will she tire of this.
"C'mon." Stiles drags her by the hand and leads her up the porch steps into their house. "Dinner's almost ready and you're exactly on time."
Stiles goes straight through the kitchen and Lydia waits for the dogs to get through before closing the door to their house. (The old Hale house, the new Hale house, fuck it, just the 'Hale' house, because one day, she's going to find a way to marry these boys, find a way to make the government acknowledge the three of them are together, for better or worse. They're going to the Hales and they're going to be so well prepared no-one will ever be able to help them.)
Lydia follows them through to the kitchen. Derek's already sitting at the table, barefoot and relaxed, watching Stiles cook. Sandy settles next to his chair and he reaches down to scratch at her scruff. Lydia walks over and his face is already tilted up in preparation for a welcome home kiss.
She leans down, letting a hand cup his jaw, rubbing the scruff that's built up there as she kisses him for slightly longer than a chaste hello kiss. She feels the ache between her legs again and squeezes her thighs together slightly.
Derek's never one to miss the cues-- her dilated pupils, the flush on her cheeks that has to do with more than just the cold outside-- when she pulls away there's a small smile on his lips. "I thought it might be tonight."
She nods and leans back down for another kiss. "You too?".
He 'hmms' his assent. The best bit is, just before the full moon, Derek gets... edgier, rougher, hungrier. He feels the need to show everyone what's his, to mark every inch of them. He used to be ashamed of it, but he's not any more; Lydia and Stiles worked him through that.
"Come help me dish up!" Stiles calls from the stove. "I made it, you can at least give me a hand serving!"
Stiles gets up to take the dogs for their evening walk, grinning at the way Sparkles jumps up at Stiles when he says the word 'walkies'. Sandy, smaller for being a beagle, ducks to run under Sparkles' legs and gets to the door first. Her tail is wagging so fast it makes her bum waggle.
"Be back in a bit," Stiles calls as he opens the door. "Don't start without me."
Derek slinks down onto the sofa next to Lydia, pausing a moment before he lies down, dropping his head onto her lap.
She cards her fingers carefully through his hair as they settle to watch Criminal Minds re-runs. Derek always says Stiles must get enough of this at work; Stiles always insists you can never have enough of Criminal Minds. They all have a soft spot for the show now.
Stiles has barely been gone ten minutes when Derek turns his head up to face her, accidentally rucking up her skirt a little. The feel of his hair on her bare thighs makes her shiver in anticipation.
He doesn't say anything but that doesn't mean he doesn't have something he wants to ask. Derek's still not very good at asking for things in bed.
"What do you want?" She brushes his hair away from his forehead. He doesn't bother to put any product in when he's not leaving the house that day. The life of a house-husband is a hard one. (Well, it will be when they have children, because Lydia has her PhD to finish, and she's seen Derek with Scott's kids; he'll be fucking amazing with theirs someday.)
He's quiet, but she can be patient. She pets Derek the same way she does Sparkles or Sandy; she'll never tell him but she has a funny feeling he knows. She doesn't do it intentionally, they just seem to love the same things.
The silence drags on and she tries to think of what he can want, "Do you want me to get the harness? To fuck you?" He's only asked for that once; normally she pulls it out and he-- well, he rolls over.
He shakes his head slightly and then nothing. Eventually he speaks, "I want to... can I... can I knot you?"
Derek doesn't do it often. Stiles had been the first one he'd knotted and unfortunately partly by accident. They'd fucked so many times, joked about knotting so much, assuming it wasn't a thing, that when it actually happened they mostly freaked out. And then Stiles bitched about his ass a lot.
Stiles doesn't mind it though, not really, has to be in the mood and Lydia's pretty much the same. Derek knows her well though, because she is so very much in the mood, and apparently so is he. The thought of it sends a thrill running through her, causes the ache to grow.
"Vagina?" she asks, because she wants to know what he's thinking, she likes knowing what they're going to be doing.
"If that's okay?" He sounds so young when he asks, so far from the self-assured person he's become.
"I'm looking forward to it, but I bet you smelled that, didn't you?" she teases, bending down to drop a kiss on his lips before he can even answer. The question was mostly rhetorical anyway; she knows he can smell her wetness. He always can.
By the time Stiles comes back Derek has her pinned to the sofa. She's lying down, legs spread with Derek settled between them. Lydia knows the skin near her lips, her neck, her throat, must be red by now. But they couldn't wait, and Stiles was taking so long...
"Hey!" he shouts, hanging up the dog leashes and shrugging off his coat. "You guys started without me."
Sparkles and Sandy have run straight up to Derek and Lydia, Lydia getting a face full of hot panting dog breath and pulling a face. "Stiles, get your dogs away from here."
"Oh they're my dogs when they're interrupting sexy times now, are they?" Stiles says, hands on hips and tone teasing.
"Stiles, you're their handler; they're literally your dogs. They probably see you more than we do," Derek huffs, although he does reach out to scratch at Sandy's head (Derek and Sandy have a ~bond, Lydia's not sure why, maybe it's because they both have to put up with Sparkles).
"Aw, baby," Stiles says, using the tone universally reserved for animals and babies. "Don't get jealous. You're totally my favorite. You cook, and clean up after me, you're totally my handler."
Derek rolls his eyes. "Did you just compare yourself to a dog?"
Stiles stage freezes, shirt half-unbuttoned. "Oops? Not my usual dog jokes, I know..." he grins and carries on walking towards the sofa.
"Stiles, put the dogs in the kitchen," Lydia orders. "You know I can't fuck when they're watching. And Sparkles always tries to join in, it's disturbing."
"It was only once! And honestly, she was just licking your foot, it's not like she was licking your--"
"Don't even finish that sentence! Dogs in the kitchen. Then you back out here. It's the full moon tomorrow."
Stiles actually stops in his tracks this time, eyes flicking between Lydia and Derek on the sofa. "Oh," he says. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"It's not exactly like we keep it a secret, Stiles. It's not like it all happens every twenty-eight days..." Lydia teases.
"Whatever, whatever. Let me put our babies to bed and then we can play." He heads towards the kitchen, the dogs following without needing to be called.
Derek frowns down at Lydia. "Did he just call them--"
"Our babies? Yes. Yes he did."
"Huh. Do you think he's wants... kids?"
"...he's only twenty-two, he's too young for that."
Derek's quiet for a moment and Lydia wonders if she's said something wrong; he's got the look he gets when he's thinking about something he's lost. Lydia doesn't like it.
"Derek?" she prompts. He's still propped on top of her on their sofa, their bodies pressed together from stomach to knee.
"Nothing," he replies, voice distant.
"What're you thinking?" She reaches up a hand to cup his face.
He leans into the touch and Lydia rubs gently against his stubble. "My mom was just a bit older than you when she had Laura."
Lydia thought he might have gone there. "Derek..." she says, warningly. They've not really talked about this, but they're still young, there's still so much time, so much more to do. (She needs to be prepared, to make sure no one can ever harm them before she's ready to add children to this.)
"I know, sorry," Derek says, and drops a kiss onto the palm that's cupping his face. "I didn't--"
"It's okay," she tells him soothingly. "Just not yet, okay?"
He nods and leans down to kiss her. "Can we still--?" He rolls his hips against her and she can feel the bulge of his cock pressing against her pelvis.
"Oh yeah, little UID in me? Remember, ridiculously high success rate? The thing you complain changes my scent even though you love that it means you can fuck me without a condom?" Lydia's tone is light, but Derek ducks his head down anyway, cheeks flushed.
"Sorry, Lydia," he says, voice small and muffled by her breasts.
"Oh, I'm sure you can find a way to apologize, hm? You're being suspiciously passive tonight."
When Derek lifts his gaze his eyes are glowing red and Lydia smiles down at him. "That's better. Now, let’s go get Stiles before he gets even more distracted by the dogs."
They both make Stiles wash his hands and take off his uniform, which is way too covered in dog hair, before he's allowed in the bedroom. (Not that Lydia doesn't know that Stiles lets them up there when Lydia's away for the weekend.)
Lydia flops down onto the bed first, watching as the boys strip out of their clothes, down to only their boxers. She's only in a top and skirt, but she feels like being fucked in her skirt tonight. Enough people had tried to make her play out the naughty cheerleader fantasy, but-- and here's a secret-- she kind of loves it.
She pulls off her top and tosses it to the side (she can't help but smile at the way Derek grabs all of their discarded clothes and drops them in the hamper).
"What do you want?" she asks, looking up at Derek. Before the full moon it's always about what Derek wants, what Lydia wants. Stiles tries his best not to distract or sidetrack their plans; he doesn't always succeed.
It's only seven o'clock; there's plenty of time left in the evening. (Even though she'll bet Stiles will fall asleep on them partway through. He's useless when he's on earlies.)
"I want to fuck him," Derek says. "Then I want to fuck you, and knot you."
Lydia nods. "Stiles?"
"Hell yes." He bounces onto the bed and shuffles up so he's resting on the cushions. He strikes an absolutely ridiculous pose, like a 1940s pin up. "How do you want me?"
Lydia reaches over and slaps him on the outer thigh. "Cut it out."
"Meanie," he retorts, sticking his tongue out.
"How is he the police?" she asks Derek incredulously.
He shrugs. "Beats me, but at least it gets him out of the house."
"Oh my god you two are so mean. I'll have you know my last performance review said that I was the most shining example of--" Lydia crawls over and slaps a hand over his mouth.
"Derek, this is who we've chosen to spend our lives with. What were we thinking? What was I thinking?" Lydia laments, gesturing at Stiles, who is still trying to talk through Lydia's hand.
Derek's got this hungry look in his eyes. He starts moving towards the bed and Lydia feels a thrill of excitement. She drops her hand from Stiles's mouth and moves over towards Derek.
"Old Mrs Sanders said I was the kindest and most polite deputy she'd ever met AND she baked me cookies so really-- Oh."
Stiles stops talking when she reaches Derek; his eyes keep flashing red and she likes it like that. She stretches up to him, standing on her knees on the edge of the bed. Even like this she's still shorter than him, his arms wrapping around her as hers slip around him.
She leans into the kiss, pressing her breasts against him. It eases the ache there but makes her want more. As she moans he breaks the kiss, letting his lips slide along her jaw, down to her throat. His stubble tickles as he moves lower, and she'd let out a giggle if she weren't so focused on what he was about to do.
The first kiss against her neck is chaste, gentle. The second one isn't. He slips into open-mouthed kisses, chasing the taste of her skin. She leans back, baring her throat and pushing her breasts against him, seeking more friction.
Derek's kissing slips into sucking and biting, rough and hard, and she needs something between her legs, this is ridiculous, she wants... She feels the bed dip behind her a second before Stiles is there, slotting in behind her like he belongs.
Deft fingers are undoing her bra before pushing in the space between the pair of them, slipping into her skirt and panties. Stiles's hands, Stiles’s fingers are one of her favorite things. She lets out a contented sigh as his fingers glide between her folds, crooking and resting along the length of her swollen clit.
"You're so good..." she sighs, spreading her knees wider.
Derek's gone from her neck, but his scruff is brushing against her still, rubbing against the skin he's made tender. She lifts an arm up and yeah, the boys are kissing over her shoulder, as Stiles starts rubbing her clit excruciatingly slowly and as Derek slowly starts pushing them back onto the bed.
Stiles falls back first, withdrawing his fingers as he goes, shifting back and Lydia falling into the vee of his thighs, Derek pinning her there.
"You total lug," Lydia complains at Derek, missing the friction on her cunt. She squirms out from under him and pulls her panties down her thighs, taking them off and throwing them at Derek's face.
He catches them easily and she swears he's looking a little hairier than normal, a little more of his 'wolf showing through. His expression, though, looks like a wounded puppy.
"Oh, don't look at me like that. Get up here you overgrown pup. Honestly."
Derek pushes off his boxer-briefs and his cock bobs as he crawls up the bed towards Lydia. Stiles has done the same and has settled against the headboard. Clever boy.
She licks her lips, looking down at his cock. She can feel Stiles hard and warm at her back and oh, she's spoiled for choice. All day she's been dreaming about finally getting something inside her, finally getting to touch her cunt, and now she can't decide what to do.
Slipping her hand around and up her skirt she slips a couple of fingers along her slit, feeling how warm and wet she is, how her pubic hair is sticking to her cunt with her own juices. She rubs back against Stiles's cock and feels the wet tip slick across her back.
It's Derek's hand that grabs hers, pulling it away from her cunt.
"No, I want to," he says and replaces her fingers with his own.
Stiles's fingers might be lovely and slender, but Derek's are thick and blunt and right now that's just what she wants. His fingers don't get callouses like a human’s and she thinks that's a downright shame.
Someone's kissing at her neck, over the mark Derek had sucked into it and of course it's Stiles. He laps at it before sucking and making it even bigger.
A low growl comes out of Derek and Stiles laughs into her neck.
"Mine," Derek says and starts rubbing Lydia's whole cunt with his fingers, from hole to clit. Oh, yes.
Stiles lets a growl of his own out; it's not as animalistic but it's deep and real. "Ours," he replies. They all know how to play with each other now.
Derek gives him an appraising look, nods and agrees. "Ours."
He reaches over and then the boys are kissing over her shoulder, Derek's other hand rising up to wrap around Stiles, pulling him closer, keeping her squished between them.
He's not let up with the rubbing and if it wasn't tonight Lydia would have stopped him, but she's not going to. She moans against her boys, arching and pressing her breasts forward.
Without prompting Derek drops his head down to bite and suck at her left nipple. Teeth rough and bites bruising, just the way she likes it.
She can feel it building, can feel her muscles clenching and the heat building, pooling low in her pelvis and building, increasing. She wanted something inside her for her first orgasm, she wanted...
Stiles's fingers slip in just as she comes, bumping with Derek's thrusting hand and she cries out. It's all too good, all too much, not enough. Her cunt tightens around Stiles's fingers and she bats Derek's hand away. Derek's still tormenting her nipples and Stiles has started kissing gently at her neck as she comes down.
"Stiles, get in me," she murmurs and tries to rise up, back onto him. She can feel his hard dick there, waiting, so much better than his fingers.
"Always, Lyds," he whispers and between them they lift her up, letting her get her knees under her.
Her cunt's still contracting when he withdraws his fingers, and a moment later she feels the slide of his cock into her. He's going slow because while she's absolutely sopping wet she's still really tight, not stretched. Not yet.
That won't do. Slow's not what she wants tonight. She sinks down fully on Stiles's cock as the last of her contractions peter off.
The way they're positioned there's no chance for any leverage for Stiles, but he tries anyway. Derek's in front of them still and has started stroking himself, watching the pair of them.
With a flick of hair over her shoulder, Lydia seeks out Stiles's hands to give her leverage to rise up on his cock. The first thrust is good, making Lydia's toes curl. This is what she's been thinking about all day, the fullness of something inside of her, the slide as it moves. But this isn't enough, this isn't a position for the fucking she wants.
She reaches behind her, snaking an arm around his neck as she leans forward, trusting Derek to catch her before she falls. It takes a moment but they settle, Lydia on her hands and knees and Stiles kneeling behind her, still buried balls deep.
Lydia squeezes her walls around his cock and he doesn't need to be told twice.
"Holyshit Lydia, yes."
She hisses her agreement and pushes back against Stiles, driving him deeper into her.
Before they can set a good rhythm Derek is there gently pulling Lydia forward and off of Stiles's cock.
"Derek! What are you doing?!" Lydia complains but lets herself be pulled forward, because Stiles quickly follows, missing her hole and sliding his cock through her folds, bumping against her clit. Oh, they should do that more.
She doesn't get it and then she does, when Derek slips in the space behind Stiles and she knows Derek's run a finger near his hole (the finger smeared with her) when Stiles shudders and stutterfucks along her slit.
They hold still, Stiles carefully caressing her back, dropping kisses onto it, as he leans forward to give Derek access to his hole.
"You gonna fuck me good?" Stiles slurs, and she knows he's hit that sex-stupid stage.
She cranes her neck and sees the beautiful, blotchy flush he's still not outgrown running from his cheeks down his neck and onto his chest. His eyes are hooded and his mouth slack. She loves him.
Behind him she can see Derek biting a mark into his neck to match her own, the rhythmic sucking, and she tries to contract her cunt in the same rhythm now he's inside her again. She must get it right because Stiles's fingers dig into her sides, urging her on.
"God, Lyds, Derek, you're going to kill me," Stiles groans.
She knows when Derek enters Stiles because he fucking thrusts forward into her, like he can't help himself. Derek gives him a moment, barely a moment, before he starts fucking into Stiles; it's a good, hard rhythm, something she can't wait to get into her. Every thrust Derek makes drives Stiles into Lydia again, letting Derek direct them all.
"Harder," Lydia grunts, pushing back against Stiles.
Derek acquiesces and Stiles straight up whimpers at the change in pace, falling back against Derek but not stopping his thrusts into Lydia, not able to.
Lydia doesn't want to touch herself, not that she could without falling flat on her face. But she wants to try and get off on this alone, and if she doesn't, well, she's got Derek to look forward to. But Stiles doesn't agree; he reaches a hand down and slips two fingers in, crooking them to stroke against the bottom side of her clit. She'd never really gone soft after her first orgasm, and this time of the month always leaves her wanting more.
"No, don't want your fingers," Lydia complains.
"Shh," Stiles hushes. "I want to. I want you to come around me. I want you tightening and clenching, sending-- Ah! Jesus Derek, there-- I want you sending me over the edge."
Oh, Lydia likes that. She likes when Stiles makes demands.
Stiles is now just a puddle of grunts and whimpers. When she cranes her neck she sees Derek grinning at her.
"If you want to be the one to bring him off, you better be quick about it," he taunts, thrusting in particularly roughly and Lydia watches as Stiles's eyes roll back and he makes a gibberish noise.
Lydia's eyes narrow and she starts thrusting back against Stiles, raising her hips to meet every slam of his cock.
She drops onto her elbows, letting her shoulders take some of her weight so she can wiggle a hand down to touch herself. She can get two fingers on herself-- her cunt's so puffy, so hot to the touch, and so wet. She can smell them all from here; their sweat, their juices, the squelching thrusts that are obscene in the quiet of their room.
Taking no prisoners, she drops three spread fingers down and rubs the entire length of her cunt, knocking against Stiles's cock where he's thrusting in and out of her.
"Lyds," he groans and she would stop to tease him, but it's turned into a race to the finish now, wanting to be the one that comes first.
Stiles falls forward onto her, bracing himself with a hand next to her shoulder. She feels the oompf of weight as Derek does too, they're holding up a lot of it, but a lot is resting on her, pinning her to the bed, pushing her cheek into the mattress.
His fingers are so close to her face, if she could just... "Stiles..." she grunts. "Let me suck on your fingers, let me--" She doesn't have to say more. His own arm drops down next to her head to hold his weight and he's feeding two fingers into her mouth.
Has she mentioned she fucking loves his fingers? They're covered in the taste of her, and he presses down on her tongue, stroking as she sucks them. The position is so awkward, her hand trapped under her, his fingers in her mouth. But it doesn't matter, because she's so fucking close, she works herself harder, rubbing down, seeking friction, so close, so very close.
Stiles comes first. His rhythm gets erratic, causing him to thrash back and forth between Lydia and Derek, neither easing up their pace and before she knows it she's coming, fingers working hard on her cunt, wet slapping sounds coming where she's soaked herself.
He stills within her but Derek's still thrusting, pushing Stiles into her, making him fuck her through her orgasm. She pulls her hand away, finally too sensitive to keep stroking herself.
Stiles drops kisses all along her back, his fingers still in her mouth as she slowly sucks them, gently coming down. They're both being shaken with the force of Derek fucking Stiles, of him fucking her.
When Derek comes it's with a growl. She can hear the whimpers of him holding back the change, keeping himself human so he doesn't knot Stiles. It's adorable really.
How Derek's the sensible one she doesn't know, but instead of slumping forward he lets himself fall back. The weight disappears and Lydia can breathe easier. She shoves at Stiles who is looking decidedly sleepy. He flops back, laying himself half over Derek, still panting slightly. (They both are, but not Derek, the fucking werewolf.)
Stiles is soft and pliant on top of Derek, so Lydia leans over to kiss him. He might not be out of breath but there's a sheen of sweat on his forehead. She knows what he's going to do even before he reaches for her. A finger winds its way towards her over-sensitive cunt.
She stops him. "That better not have been in Stiles's ass."
He huffs. "I know better than that."
Derek and his total love of come would be disturbing, except it's not really. She'd asked Scott once, to his mortification, if it was a wolf thing or a Derek thing. The color in his cheeks said at least some of it was a wolf thing.
A finger slips inside of her, literally slipping in Stiles's come and her own wetness, painting some of the come out and onto her lips. As he kisses her she feels him swipe a finger through it, gathering some up and pulling out of her.
Stiles is mostly asleep, plastered over Derek's side and legs, just at the right angle to give them access to his ass. His hole is all puffy and swollen, dark red and slightly gaping, only the tiniest bit.
There's already a slight dribble of Derek's come running out of him and Derek takes the finger of his own come he'd just taken from her and pushes it into Stiles.
Come-dumb and pliant he shifts on the bed. "D'rek, sleep now."
Derek hushes him and pushes two fingers inside, trailing the come out of him like spiderwebs. Drawing lines up and out, pausing to rub it into Stiles's stretched out hole as he squirms away.
Lydia doesn't see the appeal but she can't stop watching. Stiles settles and his breathing evens out as Derek carries on fingering him, dipping down to lick at his own come.
"He always looks so calm when he sleeps," Lydia says, stroking Stiles's shoulder.
Derek nods and finally pulls his fingers away. "Not even ten o'clock and he's fast asleep." He rests a hand on one of Stiles's ass cheeks and strokes idly over one of his moles.
She looks down fondly at Stiles, face slack with sleep. If he didn't have work in the morning she'd try and coax him awake, maybe drop her fingers in there, or convince Derek to slide his cock in. But she doesn't want to send him to work tired, not with what he does; that could end badly.
"I suppose it'll have to be a washcloth for him tonight, no way is he waking up for a shower," she says.
"I'll go get one." Derek carefully gets up off the bed, letting Lydia take his place and pausing to watch the way Stiles curls around her.
Lydia waits until Derek is in the bathroom before calling out after him. "Don't forget to wash your cock. We're not done here yet."
The sound of falling toiletries makes her smile.
They've settled Stiles under the sheets on the far side of the bed after wiping him down. They could fuck elsewhere but they won't; they're not the noisiest and she wants the closeness of Stiles there, the intimacy.
They bury themselves under the covers as well, Derek lying back with Lydia kneeling atop him, thighs spread wide and crouched down low.
Derek's already half-hard again, but Lydia's cunt is still so very tired; even though she wants to go again she's not there yet, she's not ready.
"Go on, Derek, say it, tell me what you're gonna do," she urges, rubbing up against him.
Derek's silent, stroking gently at her sides as he watches her writhe above him.
"Tell me, please?" she asks, voice low so as to not wake Stiles.
His voice is rough when he speaks, the slightest echo of his alpha-voice lurking and when she looks, yeah, his teeth are looking a bit sharper than normal. "I'm gonna open you up."
"Mmm, and then?"
"I'm going to fuck you until you're so full, I'm going to knot you and fill you with my seed, I'm gonna breed you--"
Derek freezes, the fingers on her nipples pause and he's staring at her with wide eyes.
"Shit, Lydia, I didn't--" he starts to apologize but she stops him.
"It's fine, it's fine. Besides, if you wanted to breed me you're way too late for that. Stiles has already come up there tonight." She keeps her tone light, her words teasing but they have their desired effect.
He flips them over, bashfulness forgotten, pinning her to the bed and snuffling down her throat.
"Can you see what he did? Did you see how he marked me on your mark?" She strokes at Derek's neck. "I wish we could mark you properly. So it'd stay without you having to consciously stop it healing."
Derek offers her his throat and she feels her breath catch. "Do it for now," he murmurs. "I'll keep it as long as I can."
She leans forward, running her kiss-swollen lips along his stubble, loving the scratching feel against her raw lips. She drops down to just where his scruff ends and
mimics Derek's earlier actions. She kisses first, gently, then falls into open-mouthed kisses that suck and bite at the skin of his neck, drawing the blood to the surface and marking him.
Lydia pulls back to admire her work, his skin already turning red. "Stiles is going to be jealous when he wakes up."
"He can mark me then, he's going to need a good shower in the morning..." Derek grins at her and she finds herself grinning back.
"Stiles does love shower sex," Lydia says, conspiratorially.
Derek snorts. "He's not the one that has to clean the shower afterwards."
Stiles stirs next to them like he's heard he's being talked about, then mumbles, "Showers're self-cleaning..."
"No they're not. Go back to sleep," Derek hushes him, and Stiles rolls over, hugging a pillow close and slipping back into sleep.
They kiss until Lydia's ready again, until the ache of wanting to be satisfied returns, until her nipples are puffy and sore from the attention he's been lathering on them.
Derek's been hard for a while now, and he's been so very, very patient, the wet tip of his cock smearing pre-come all over her stomach, her thighs, as he ground against her.
It's Lydia who drops a hand down and grasps hold of his dick, Lydia who drags his cock through her slick cunt, still pleasantly tender from earlier. She wets his head more and holds him over her entrance. Waiting.
Derek leans down to kiss her and thrusts in carefully, slow, but not stopping until he bottoms out. It's been an hour at least since Stiles fucked her and her cunt's shrank back some, and Derek is thicker than Stiles. Not an insult, just a fact.
He starts out thrusting slowly. He's still not fully inside of her, but they'll get there. There's time enough. It's not as rough as Lydia would normally push him for, but they're quiet in the room, just the heavy sounds of their breathing and the slap of skin on skin.
Derek is totally hunched over her, arms bracketing her head as he carries on thrusting. Lydia buries her head in the crook of his neck and holds on; this has turned weirdly intense and it's good, so good.
She holds onto his back, lets a hand slip up to grasp at the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. She feels the growl more than she hears it, rumbling deep in his chest. She looks up above her and yeah, his ears are pointier and his adorable sideburns are out.
He fucks in to her and she rises up to meet every thrust; he's rubbing against her, filling her up and stretching her wide.
She feels fuller, there’s more friction with each of his thrusts but it takes her brain a few minutes to realize what's starting already, what he's about to do. She doesn't want to be knotted in missionary; it's murder on the hips staying like that.
She pushes at Derek, and he stops right away. Even this far gone he knows who's in charge.
"Knot me from behind," Lydia orders, pushing him off of her.
She turns on her side so she can face Stiles and feels Derek come to rest behind her, slick cock smearing fluids up her ass cheek before he moves it down towards her cunt once more.
She moves a leg forward, pulling it up until he has easy access to her and he slips back in. He doesn't have as much leverage like this, but she loves the feel of him against her back, cradling her to him and holding on tight.
His thrusts speed up and Lydia whimpers, they're short but fast, and oh so good. It's not long before he's burying himself in her and letting out the slightest howl as he comes. The base of his dick really starts swelling then, and Lydia's so very glad she's so fucked out and loose now.
She groans as he keeps getting bigger; she knows what to expect but somehow it still surprises her every time. Derek's shuddering behind her and she knows he's coming. His chin is hooked over her shoulder and she wants more, she wants him to move, but she knows he can't, he's locked in place.
She tightens around him a little and he growls behind her, ending in a whimper. "Lyds..." She knows he's far gone when he says that because he so rarely uses Stiles's nickname for her.
She wants to praise him, tell him how good it is, how she feels, but they've still not worked through that, he still can't take any without being thrown back to the fifteen-year-old Kate fucked over.
He's still coming, she knows he is; he comes longer in wolf form, especially this near the full moon, more than a human.
Derek slips a finger down, still twitching behind her and runs down to where he's sealed within her. He presses his fingers against her rim and she shudders. Her clit is hard and standing out, begging to be touched. When he does it's almost like relief.
He sets a steady pace that has Lydia sighing and coming in a long, drawn out orgasm that rises and rises and rises before crashing down in contractions on his cock, his knot.
He cries out at that and pulls her close, not stopping his stroking until her thighs are trembling and she's trying to push his hands away. Eventually he gives and stops touching her, leaving the pair of them shaking against each other as they float on their high.
When Lydia looks over at Stiles she sees his eyes are open, watching them. "Sorry," she murmurs. "We might have been loud."
He shifts over in the bed until he’s pressed up against her, half-hard against her thigh, but he doesn't press in, doesn't rub up against her. He just leans in to tenderly kiss her, then Derek. He slips his hand into hers, entwining their fingers, and Derek throws his arm over them both, as the three of them lay there, waiting for Derek's knot to go down.
Lydia falls asleep. She doesn't mean to, she just does; she's so tired and so fucked out, and the boys are pressed either side of her, and she feels so safe, so warm, so secure.
She doesn't stir when Derek slips out of her, but she does stir when she feels the warm, wet press of a tongue against her abused hole. Slowly but carefully eating the come out of her as it dribbles out of her overstretched cunt.
Derek's hair is sweaty and damp as his head grazes her inner thighs. She can't keep the effort of keeping them together and lets them fall slack and open.
She slips back into sleep, with Derek still tenderly lapping at her hole, avoiding her clit and other oversensitized parts of her. Stiles is smushed into her neck, drooling slightly against her hair; everything is so very perfect right now.
Lydia's periods are like clockwork. So when it's late, she knows.