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Orthopedic bodyswap

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You don’t have to tell Lydia that being tall makes a difference. She doesn’t wear four inch heels for her spinal health

But she’s never been this tall before, and the difference is amazing.  She likes it. 

Derek, meanwhile, is staring at his hands like he’s never seen a well maintained manicure before.  She doesn’t like the expression on her face.  It’s a sort of vacant bafflement that makes her look like a frustrated pug.  Of course Derek has no idea how much work it takes to convince people you are a remorseless force of nature when you’re five foot two and cute as a button, and he’s going to ruin it all by wandering around looking like that.

“We’ll tell people I’ve come down with something,” she decides. 

“I have to go to school,” Derek bleats out in horror, which, actually, is the opposite of what she just said, but she’s never really had the impression that he was the sharpest stiletto on the rack.

She ignores him, since he clearly is not going to be able to contribute anything important for a while.  “I can write my own sick note.”  Unless- Will she still have her own handwriting in Derek’s body?  She adds another point to her already sixteen point list of phenomena associated with mystical body exchange which need further investigation.  (She will also be able to knock quite a few items off her pre-existing list of werewolf related phenomena needing further investigation, depending on how long this lasts.  Because it’s temporary.  It will be.)

The very first point isn’t precisely to do with mystical body exchanges, per se.  But it would be a crime not to take advantage of this truly unique opportunity to answer the age old question.  Penis: does it live up to the hype?

Which brings up another point.  “Ground rules,” she says, enjoying how authoritative it sounds, how everyone just looks at her, like nothing can proceed until they’ve heard what she has to say.  She doesn’t plan on living in it, but damn this is a nice place to visit.

“I assume you’ll be curious, which is fine.  Feel free to take my body for a test drive, but I have veto power over anyone you fuck.  Depending on who it is, I may exercise my right to watch.”

“Test dr- fu- what?” says Derek.

Stiles, who has been whipping his head back and forth between them for the past few minutes, slack jawed, now closes his mouth and raises a hand diffidently.

“For example,” says Lydia, because no.  If Derek lets Stiles touch her breasts, she will pretty much have him following her around for the rest of her life.

“I am not going to — with your body!” hisses Derek in a ridiculous squeak that she’s pretty sure a real girl would have learned not to make, because she will never get taken seriously like that.

Stiles is staring at her, really her, not her body, with a familiar expression.  “I am so turned on right now,” he says, stunned.  Lydia rolls her eyes because duh.

Jackson is staring at her body like someone is offering him something purchased at Walmart.  “I am so not,” he says.  He sounds a little stunned about it too.

“Call me if anyone has an intelligent idea,” says Lydia, since apparently they’re just going to compare the state of their erections.  She pulls Derek’s keys out of his jacket pocket where she’d deduced they must be since there’s hardly room in his pants.

“What- that’s my car!” squeals Derek, very unattractive, and lunges for her.  He immediately falls flat on his face, because four inch heels aren’t for beginners, so Lydia turns and with more attention than she normally gives the manoeuvre, swaggers off toward Derek’s car.

“Like, you don’t even understand,” says Stiles behind her, but Lydia ignores him.

She understands.  She just doesn’t care.  She has important research to conduct.