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The Same Damn Hunger

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Allison stops at the sound of Stiles’s voice.

“Look, can you come over this weekend?”

She strains to hear over lockers slamming and students running for the exits on a Friday afternoon, so she gets as close as she can without actually turning the corner and coming into view.

She’s not surprised to hear Scott. “Dunno, probably? Why? I’m working at the Deaton’s this weekend.”

Stiles sounds—weird. Allison doesn’t know how to describe it, but she doesn’t sound anything like she normally does. “Look, I need you to do me a favour and punch my V-card before I end up murdered.”

What?”

Allison agrees with Scott. The request seems out of the blue. Stiles starts babbling, quiet and frantic. “Scott, please. People are literally dying, and I don’t want my dad to have to ID my bloody, strangled, bludgeoned corpse!”

“It won’t come to that. We’ll make sure he doesn’t have to, okay?”

Stiles’s voice rises. “That’s not a chance I want to take!” And, well. Allison doesn’t blame her. It’s not a chance she’d want to take in Beacon Hills, either.

“Okay, I guess I get that, but like—why are you asking me?

There’s a pause, and Allison admits to herself that her ex-boyfriend can sometimes be an idiot about the most obvious things. “Because Erica and Boyd are together—and not that I’m against being the filling in that sandwich, but Erica is not the kind of girl who shares—and Derek turned me down. I’m desperate, so I’m asking you.”

“But like—you’re basically my sister. It’d be weird. Have you asked anyone outside the pack?”

Allison covers her face with her hand, resisting the urge to bang her head against the wall. Stiles scoffs. “Gee Scott, that’s a great idea! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it!”

“Seriously?”

No.” Allison moves her hand to her mouth so she doesn’t laugh at the amount of indignant sarcasm Stiles managed to pack into the word. “Of course I asked other people! Jesus, it’s only the prospect of leaving my dad alone to eat himself into an early grave, why would I explore all my options? I just figured that the people who know what’s going on would be more likely to understand why I’m of the opinion that fast is good, here.”

Allison hears a locker close—Scott’s probably—and a shuffling sound before he speaks again. “Look, I wanna help you, I just . . .”

“You just won’t.” Stiles’s voice is flat. “Great, fine. Guess I’ll go ask Peter then—pretty sure he won’t turn me down.”

“You can’t!”

Allison’s hands tighten around her backpack straps at the thought. No. Absolutely not. Forget that he killed her aunt, forget that’s he’s way older, that it’d be illegal. There’s something just—wrong about the guy. She doesn’t trust him with Stiles. Not—not like that.

Stiles’s voice goes deceptively airy. “I’m pretty sure I can. You don’t get to make my decisions for me.”

She’s really, really glad that the hallways are empty. This isn’t the kind of conversation any of them want the administration hearing.

But Scott doesn’t seem to care about that—his volume rising as he gets angry. “He Bit me, Stiles! He ruined my life!”

“And he’s about to save mine. Should go a ways towards making things up to you, shouldn’t it? Saving your best friend?”

And then Stiles walks out, leaving Scott spluttering and running after her, calling her name. She ignores him. Allison waits, counts to thirty before she turns the corner and heads out the door behind them. Stiles is getting in the Jeep when she hits the parking lot, and by the time she gets home, she has an idea.

 

***

 

It’s ridiculously easy to convince her dad to let her have Stiles over tonight. He doesn’t want any more murdered teenagers, and the Sheriff’s daughter being involved in the supernatural and home alone because her dad’s at work isn’t a combination that sits well with him, either.

Allison may have also pointed out that having a parent who is extremely proficient with firearms helps her feel safer, but it’s a fact. 100% true. Which means it’s not ego-stroking.

It’s a lot harder to convince Stiles to come over, since they’re not really friends. They’re in the same pack, she’s Scott’s ex-girlfriend and Stiles is his best friend, so while they’ve always been socially-adjacent, they’ve never been close. So she has to plan this carefully. Stiles is smart, and cycling through offers until she accepts one is going to look more suspicious than Peter in a white van.

She only has one real chance at this, so she goes for the least personally flattering, but best shot: she asks Stiles to come over and help her look through the bestiary, because she thinks she might have a lead on what’s killing virgins.

Stiles is at her door, backpack half-unzipped with a hoodie spilling out half an hour later.

(If she’s being honest, Allie’s surprised it took her that long.)

“So, research night?”

Allison smiles, waves her inside. “Yeah, but we can’t be super-obvious about it? Dad doesn’t want me digging into it.”

Stiles nods, biting her bottom lip. “Yeah, no, I get it. My dad doesn’t want me sticking my nose into this either, but we’re involved whether they like it or not.”

Well. She’s not wrong. Allison heads towards the kitchen, trusting her to follow. “So the plan is, we get a snack, do homework, and then head up to my room for the girlie sleepover stuff.”

Stiles’s face scrunches as she squints. “Your dad bought that?”

Allison shrugs, opening the fridge. “I’ve done it with Lydia and other friends enough times, and he usually prefers me have friends over than go out. Says he knows I’m safe here.”

“Yeah, I mean, aside from all the weaponry and badassery in this place, there’s also the alarm system, so.”

“Mhm. Diet Coke or Dr. Pepper?”

“Wha—oh, Dr. Pepper, please.”

For a little while, it’s just food and homework and Stiles energetically telling stories about the many, many ways she’s earned detention with Harris. Allison doesn’t want it to stop, but neither of them are behind, so it doesn’t take long before she’s leading Stiles up to her bedroom, stomach tight as she runs through ways to turn the conversation in the direction it needs to go.

She stays quiet as they cross-reference the bestiary with other books, the tightness in her gut growing heavier and heavier until Stiles does the thing she least expects, and brings up the topic herself. “God, I never knew there were so many nasties who enjoy snacking on helpless virgins.”

Allison looks up, and decides she’s not going to get a better opening than this. “Yeah, it’s—really scary to think about. I mean, I know a lot of the time, the victims are kids? And, like. I know there’s some bias in here, but,” she pauses, laughing as her cheeks heat. “I’m just really glad it’s one thing I don’t have to worry about.”

She can’t see Stiles’s face with her head ducked and her hair in the way, but she doesn’t need to, to know that she took the bait. “Must be nice.”

She leans back, but doesn’t look up. This isn’t the time to play the Scary Hunter card, this is the time for the Non-Threatening Teenage Girl card. “What, sex? Definitely.”

Stiles snorts. “No—I mean—well, yeah, obviously, I imagine sex is pretty great, but I actually meant not having to worry about dying because no one wants to get all up in this.”

Allison lets out a breath slowly. She knows this is delicate. “I’m pretty sure there’s someone who wants you, Stiles.”

She’s paying attention, so she sees the way Stiles’s jaw clenches, how she avoids Allison’s eyes. “Nope, there actually isn’t—I checked.”

The bitterness in Stiles’s voice tugs at her heartstrings. “Is it something you wanna do because of the latest threat, or is it bigger than that?”

At that, Stiles looks up, and there’s something impossibly sad in her eyes. “This stays between us?”

It’s not really a question, but Allison nods anyway. “Of course.”

“It—it is something I want, though I probably would’ve been okay with waiting some more, if it weren’t for the latest round of murders.” She pauses, nibbling her lip and fiddling with her pen. “I don’t—it doesn’t have to be romantic, you know? I’d like it if it was, but,” she shrugs, and Allison thinks she gets it.

“But you’re interested in the experience itself, rather than who you have it with?” She can work with that, if that’s the case.

But Stiles is shaking her head. “Not—I’m explaining this badly.” She takes a deep breath and rubs the back of her neck before meeting Allison’s eyes. “I want to have sex, and I want it to be—I don’t wanna just get it on with some stranger. I’d rather my first time be with someone I know, even if it’s not romantic. Good memories, you know? Plus,” she laughs awkwardly. “Sheriff’s kid, so like. I’ve heard all the horror stories.”

And yeah, Allison can see how that would make her cautious. “I get it.”

“But it’s just—I asked, you know? I asked around, and everyone said no.”

She’s trying so hard for nonchalance, but the hurt it caused is impossible to miss. Allison reaches out, takes her hand. “Everyone, really? Who’s everyone?”

Stiles pulls away from the touch, shoulders hunching. “Derek, Scott. Isaac—we’re more likely to kill each other than to kiss, so. I didn’t bother, there. I asked around some of the others at school, but. No dice.”

It doesn’t escape her notice that Stiles only mentions boys. “You didn’t ask Lydia?”

Stiles’s head snaps up, her gaze sharp. After a long moment, she shakes her head slowly. “No, Lydia’s made it . . . pretty clear, that she’s not interested. I didn’t wanna push my luck.”

Allie dips her chin. “I understand that.”

There’s a heavy moment, where Stiles stares at her silently. Allison doesn’t know what she’s looking for, but is pretty sure that she’ll find out, if she’s patient.

“You’re not, uh. You don’t . . . seem surprised?”

Allison didn’t know that awkwardness could be so endearing, but that’s Stiles for you. “About you being interested in Lydia? It’s, uh, kinda common knowledge.”

Stiles ducks her head, letting her hair fall like a curtain around her face. She’s quiet for a long moment. She doesn’t look up when she speaks again. “I considered asking Erica, but it seemed cruel. She, uh. She had a crush on me, once upon a time, and. I don’t think Boyd would be okay with it, either. But I, uh. I was considering asking another friend of mine. Heather. You, um. You wouldn’t know her—she doesn’t go to our school anymore.”

Allison keeps her voice carefully positive. “Yeah? You think she’d say yes?”

Stiles’s head jerks up, and the naked hope there makes Allie’s chest ache. “You don’t mind?”

A wave of protectiveness crashes through her, but she’s trying to play it cool, so she shrugs. “It’d be pretty hypocritical of me if I did, being bisexual ‘n all.”

Stiles’s mouth drops open, wonder stealing over her face, lighting her eyes. “Oh. Me—me too.”

It’s a gamble, but she’s not an Argent for nothing, so Allison reaches out and tucks Stiles’s hair back behind her ear. “You have your heart set on Heather?” she murmurs.

Pretty doe eyes blink at her rapidly as Stiles’s mouth opens and closes without sound. Allison tips her head to the side, and Stiles finally stutters out a, “No?”

She smiles, and watches Stiles lick her lips. “In that case . . .” She slides across the bed, tilting the mole-dotted jaw up with her fingertips, and presses a kiss to the lips everyone at BHHS has fantasized about at least once. She leans back after a moment, taking in Stiles’s stunned face. “Okay?”

“I mean—I wanna say yes, but like. I have to ask: is this to get back at Scott, somehow? Get me in shit with him?”

Allison clenches her jaw, and takes a deep breath. It’s a shitty thing to ask, but after what she heard today, she knows that it’s not really about her. She may have to go punch her ex-boyfriend, though. For now, she pastes on an innocent expression. “Who?”

It gets her a smile, but it doesn’t last. Allison doesn’t take it too hard, though—especially since Stiles leans closer, so their arms brush. “You’re really okay with that? This isn’t—it’s not because you pity me?” She pauses and snorts, and Allison wants to use every person who fed and watered her insecurities for target practise. “Tell me it’s not just pity, at least. No more than 70% pity. That’s the cut-off point for me in this situation if I’m going to respect myself in the morning.”

Hearing her talk about herself that way makes something click for Allison, makes her commit and stop being careful. “Look, this isn’t about pity. At all. This is me being angry the pack isn’t taking care of you the way they should, it’s me being angry at Scott for being a dick to you about this, and more than anything else, I want to keep you safe.” Stiles’s eyes are the size of dinner plates, so she reins it in a little. Reaches out and cups the other girl’s face. “This is because I want your first time to be something good. Something you think about and smile, because you deserve that, even with everything else that’s going on. I want to give you that, if you’re okay with it.”

Stiles tips her cheek into Allison’s palm, almost nuzzling. “Okay,” she murmurs.

And that’s great, but—“Don’t just say yes because you’re scared. This—I don’t want you to say yes because you’re afraid. If you don’t want it to be me, I’ll—help you find someone else.” The thought makes her guts twist, but she would, if asked. Allison might want to be the one to do this with her, for her, but that doesn’t mean she can’t back off if Stiles needs her to.

There’s a long moment of silence as she waits for an answer and Stiles’s gaze dances over her face. It’s not until she shuffles closer, erasing the distance between them to drop a hesitant kiss on Allison’s lips that it breaks. She pulls away before Allie can wind fingers into that thick hair and drag her back for more. “I want—this, with you. I just, um. New at this, so like—”

Allison smiles. “Don’t worry too much about that part. You just—do what I tell you, okay? I’ll run the show, you just tell me if something’s happening you don’t like. Or if there’s something you want more of, I wanna know that too.”

Stiles swallows loudly. “Yeah, I can. I can do that.”

Allison pulls her in for another kiss, and this time, it’s not hesitant. She has to coax Stiles through the first bit—it’s awkward, figuring out what angles work and which don’t, how to adjust for the height difference—but it’s smooth sailing once Stiles gasps and Allie flicks her tongue over the lush lower lip. After that, long, elegant fingers lace behind her neck, and the kisses get hungrier. Allison doesn’t think she can be blamed for sliding forward, encouraging Stiles to lie back against the pillows so she can press close and feel every squirm and shudder and hitched breath.

Unfortunately, it also breaks their lip-lock. And Stiles—stops looking like she’s drowning in sensation, and starts looking nervous. Which won’t do at all.

Allie leans back, straddling hips that are wider than they look, under the layers Stiles wears. “You okay?”

Stiles nods. “Yeah, it’s just—this is really happening? And, uh.”

Allie sighs and rolls to the side. “What’s bothering you?”

Stiles sits, up, gnawing on her bottom lip. She looks ten times more fragile than she really is when she draws her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. “Would you mind if I borrowed your shower?”

It’s not what she expects to hear, but that’s okay. “Sure. Towels are under the sink.”

Stiles nods and rolls out of the bed to dig through her backpack. “Thanks. I just—if we’re gonna do this, I, uh.”

The proverbial lightbulb clicks on. “Yeah, I get it. Whatever helps you get comfortable. Besides,” she reaches out and trails a hand up Stiles’s leg, stopping just below the curve of her ass. “This gives me a chance to get everything we’ll need.”

Stiles looks at her curiously, but doesn’t ask, scampering off to the bathroom. Allie doesn’t know how long she has, so she moves quickly, gathering up the research and dumping it on her desk. Looking around the room, she thinks about what might put Stiles at ease. This—it might not be romantic, but she can still try to make it good, maybe even special.

By the time Stiles comes back, hair damp and curling at the edges of a messy bun and swimming in an oversized Sheriff’s department tee, the curtains are closed, the overhead light off, the lamp on, their phones off and on the desk. There’s a towel spread out on the bed, and a few necessities on the bedside table.

There’s no soft jazz, no flower petals or candles, because that’s not what this is. But, even if it were, Allie thinks Stiles would prefer licorice and popcorn with Star Wars in the background.

Stiles seems to appreciate the effort anyway, because she blushes when asked, “Ready?” crossing the room with only a moment of hesitation. The kiss she initiates isn’t hesitant at all.

 

***

 

Allie goes slow. Some of it is for Stiles’s benefit—lazy kisses and wandering hands make her melt—and some of it is because Allison was raised to believe that anything worth doing was worth doing right. Some things can’t be rushed.

So she winds Stiles up slowly, tracing her curves and nipping down her neck, pushing the worn tee up to kiss down the lean belly before using her mouth and fingers to make Stiles come with a stuttered groan. She savours the way Stiles moves under her, skin soft and body squirming and desperate, and she—she missed this, didn’t even realize how much, too lost in Romeo and Juliet romances, and the way wolf-boys don’t yield under her hands.

But Stiles—Stiles does. Everything about her gives into Allie’s voice and hands and lips. And when her thighs part to let Allie sink inside her with the strap-on—Allison doesn’t know what counts and she’s not taking any chances with Stiles’s life—when she’s clinging desperately and gasping out sobs against Allie’s neck as she shakes towards her second orgasm, Allison knows that she wants this again and again and again. Wants this whip-smart cut-glass-sharp girl in her bed and under her hands as long as she can keep her.

And after, when Stiles finally lets go long enough for Allie to pull away and ditch the harness, there’s an unfamiliar burn in her stomach and chest and throat as she whispers instructions, telling Stiles how to make her come. It’s not until after, when she’s running her fingers through thick hair, fingernails scraping along her scalp, that she realizes what she felt was powerful. It’s been so long she didn’t recognize it at first, but it’s something she wants to feel again, and often, in the midst of all the chaos and bloodshed that is Beacon Hills.

She wonders, as they climb under the covers and curl up to go to sleep, what Stiles would think about doing this again.

 

***

 

The next morning, she’s woken up by fingertips stroking her hip. It doesn’t quite tickle, but it’s close, so she rolls over and wraps her arms around Stiles, nuzzling into her neck. She doesn’t know what time it is, but it’s too early to be awake.

Stiles huffs a laugh, and cuddles quietly for a while, hands constantly moving. It feels nice, having them skate up and down her back, thumb across her ribs, play with her hair. Makes being awake seem less like a punishment.

Sometime later, when she’s closer to coherent, Stiles murmurs, “I didn’t know you had a tattoo.”

It takes her a moment, but she puts it together. The sigil on her hip. “S’posed to prevent possession. Dad took me to have it done once I found out about werewolves.”

“Those exist? Real, actual protection sigils? They actually work?”

Allie hides a smile at the fascinated curiosity in Stiles’s voice. She knows this probably going to lead to a hundred and one questions, and weirdly, she’s looking forward to them. Just, not all at once, not when sleep is still calling her name. “Mhm. ‘S a family thing. Other hunters, families, have other symbols. We do werewolves.”

There’s a long pause, and Allie can hear the gears spinning in Stiles’s head. “Argents only, huh? Maybe I could distract you, snap a pic of it.”

She gives Stiles a little squeeze. “Don’t. I’ll take you to my guy, get you one.”

There’s such a long stretch of silence in response that Allison pulls away to take in Stiles’s expression. She looks hopeful, but perplexed. “You’d really do that for me?”

Stiles doesn’t get it yet, but she will. Allie will make sure of that, but, for now—“’Course. This place is a Hellmouth, and if it’ll keep you safe, there’s no reason not to. Plus,” she smirks, and Stiles’s cheeks turn pink, “I can always claim that you’re my partner. Argent by association, if anyone asks.”

The way her doe eyes widen and her cheeks flush even darker is something Allison’s never going to get tired of seeing.

 

***

 

Monday rolls around, and with it, the confrontation she knew was coming and absolutely wanted to avoid. But, because Scott doesn’t understand that her sex life is officially none of his business—that’s what breaking up means—here they are.

His nose wrinkles and his eyes flare as he takes in the scent of them. Allison doesn’t know what he could possibly be smelling, because they definitely showered, but apparently not thoroughly enough. His nose wrinkles, and she thinks she sees his teeth lengthening. “What the hell?” he growls lowly. Allison levels her best stony glare at him, because that’s really the only answer his question deserves.

Unfortunately, he’d takes one look at her expression and sets his sights on a much easier target—Stiles. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me!”

Stiles looks around, but luckily, the student body seems to be writing this off as standard-brand Stiles-and-Scott Weirdness. “I didn’t do anything to you.”

His face twists, and he gestures between her and Allison. “Really? Sleeping with my girlfriend counts as not doing anything?”

And that, that she can’t let slide. Allison steps forward, wrapping an arm around Stiles’s waist. “Ex-girlfriend, Scott. Which means who I sleep with is none of your business.”

His mouth drops open in shock for a moment before he pulls himself together. “She’s my best friend! Of course it’s my business!”

She snorts. “Could’ve fooled me.” He scowls, and tries to respond, but no, nope, they are not doing this before first period on Monday. “Get over yourself. Not everything is about you.”

“Did either of you think about my feelings at all?”

She can feel the way Stiles flinches at that, and pulls her in close. She fits in under Allie’s arm perfectly. “You know, weirdly enough, we had more important things to think about.”

“Besides, it’s not like you were thinking about my feelings—or my life—when you told me no on Friday, so I really don’t see how you get off being butthurt,” Stiles adds, tucking in closer against Allison.

Scott’s eyes dart to her face, and his ears start turning red. “You told her about that? You’re supposed to be my best friend, and you—”

Allison’s had enough. “Yeah, and unlike some people, I take care of what’s mine.”

“What?”

Allison tilts her head pointedly—but doesn’t bare her throat, because he doesn’t get that from her, not now, probably not ever again—and gives Stiles a little squeeze. She’s done with this conversation and his attitude, and she wonders, just for a moment, where the sweet boy she fell in love with went, because she can’t find him in the stubborn idiot standing in front of her.

He stomps off when all they do is glare in the face of his spluttering, and Allie drops a discreet kiss on the top of Stiles’s head before leaving for first period.

Her phone buzzes in her jacket pocket during attendance. Allison checks it under the desk while the teacher is distracted.

 

From: SS
Yours, huh?

 

To: SS
If you want to be

 

From: SS
Hook me up with your tattoo guy and we’ll talk ;)

 

Allison smiles, warm satisfaction running through her.

To: SS
Consider it done