When they get back to Beacon Hills, Allison just wants a shower and a nap. She's daydreaming about her pillows when Lydia says, "I'm coming over tomorrow."
Allison nods. "Okay."
"You're going to teach me how to fight."
Lydia walks away before Allison can respond. She moves fast in those heels. Allison's always been impressed by that, because she wears heels sometimes, but she always feels like she's going to fall over if she goes too fast. Maybe Lydia will teach her the secret of running in heels in return for whatever it is Lydia's hoping to learn from her tomorrow.
Allison hopes Lydia forgets about it, not because she doesn't think Lydia needs to learn some self-defense (not that it will help her against the alpha pack, but no one understands better than Allison about not wanting to feel helpless), but because she can't see this going well. It's not like a training session with her dad, or play-fighting with Scott. Lydia's going to expect her to know what she's doing, and while Allison does, she's not sure she can teach someone else.
She very specifically avoids thinking about the lessons she learned from Kate.
Allison wakes up the next morning to a text from Lydia: I'll be over at eleven.
Allison thinks of all the different ways she could answer that, and settles for, No heels, no skirts.
Lydia answers, I'm not an idiot.
No, Allison thinks, but I might be.
Allison always forgets how tiny Lydia is, because she wears her heels and her hair and her designer purses like armor, but now she's wearing sneakers and yoga pants, her hair caught up in a high ponytail that bounces when she walks, and she looks small and young and fragile. Allison feels a surge of protectiveness that she pushes down, because she's not going to do to Lydia what everyone does to her. And anyway, they all tried to keep her out of it before and it didn't work. Lydia's neck-deep in the shit with them, and unlike some people, Allison tries to learn from her mistakes.
"Okay," she says instead, smiling brightly. "Let's get started."
Of course Lydia has her own defenses--not just the two years of karate most suburban kids get before they turn ten these days (Allison has met too many guys who think they're badass because they learned how to throw a punch when they were six), but the kind of thing they teach young women at the gym.
"This is more effective in heels," Lydia says as she mimes stomping on Allison's instep and then elbowing her in the gut. She smells faintly of peaches, and it takes Allison a second to react.
"Good," she says, "that's a start."
They work on breaking out of holds for a while. Lydia is soft and warm and her hair tickles Allison's nose. She tells herself the flush rising in her body is just from the workout.
Lydia comes over every day after school for the next few days, and Allison pushes the living room furniture against the walls and lays down the mats so they can practice. Lydia's getting better--she's not afraid to scratch or bite or pull hair, and she knows how to use her knees and elbows to hit soft spots.
"You're not going to win against a werewolf," Allison reminds her after she breaks out of two of out three holds, "but you should be able to get yourself free and buy some time."
"Come on," Lydia says. "Again."
Allison pins her this time, flat on her back and head tipped so her throat is bared. Allison wonders if Lydia did that on purpose, but she's not a werewolf and it doesn't mean anything to her. Still, she leans in and sniffs, body wash and sweat and a faint hint of perfume. Lydia's chest heaves against hers, and Allison tries to ignore the way her own nipples are hard and how each brush of Lydia's chest against hers sends a shock of pleasure through her. She rolls her hips and Lydia arches up into her, wetting her lower lip with her tongue.
Allison gasps and tries to roll away, but Lydia grabs her hip, fingers pushing down beneath the waistband of her yoga pants to stroke suddenly ticklish skin. Allison sucks in another surprised breath and Lydia gives her a toothy grin.
"Did you ever, with a girl?" she asks.
"Just slumber party games," Allison says, "for practice." They were all twelve or thirteen and starting to worry about boys and kissing and sex. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, and everyone had done it. She remembers the soft tongues and small hands, the scent of baby powder and girlish perfumes drowned out by something saltier, earthier, something that made her pulse race and her mouth dry. It was a lifetime ago, before Beacon Hills, before she knew anything about anything.
"Mm hmm. Practice is over, Allison. It's time to get in the game." Lydia winds her fingers in the strap of Allison's tank top and pulls her down into a kiss. Her mouth tastes of heat and citrus lip balm and her tongue curls around Allison's, sending another shockwave of heat through her.
She pulls away just far enough to murmur, "Not here. In my room," and she tugs Lydia up off the floor and into her bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them.
Lydia shimmies out of her pants and Allison knows she should slow this down, because they're friends and she doesn't want to ruin that.
"Don't worry," Lydia says, "it won't be weird. I'm not Scott, okay? I'm not going to stand beneath your window with a boombox like something out of an eighties movie, and I'm not going to write you poetry or act out the death scene from Romeo and Juliet. I just want--" She looks away, and then down at the comforter on Allison's bed. "I just want to feel safe."
"I can do that," Allison says, shucking her own pants and kneeling on the bed over Lydia. She thinks about everything that's happened since they met, and amends that to, "I can try." It will have to be enough.
Lydia seems to think so, because she pulls Allison down into another kiss, this one just as hot as the first and a lot more lingering. Lydia's hands are everywhere, soft and warm on Allison's skin, and she's responsive both physically and vocally when Allison touches her. The break apart long enough to unhook their bras and shove off their panties, and then it's all a blur of sensation for Allison--the softness of the neatly waxed stripe of hair over Lydia's cunt, the wet heat of it against her thigh as Lydia pushes up against her, seeking friction, and then beneath her fingers when she slides them inside. The humid gasp of Lydia's breath against her cheek, her neck, her lips. The pulse of pleasure when Lydia sucks on one of Allison's nipples and her fingers find Allison's clit.
They rub and thrust together, licking and sucking at soft skin over sleek muscle, sticky with sweat and saliva and the slickness between their thighs. Lydia thumbs her clit roughly and Allison's orgasm hits hard and unexpectedly, leaving her breathless and quivering as pleasure pulses through her in waves.
Lydia grabs her wrist, showing her how to flex it so her fingers hit just the right spot. Lydia thrusts into her hand and Allison watches her come apart, sweat beading her hairline as her eyes flutter closed. Allison leans in and kisses her, muffling her cries as she comes, her cunt clenching hard around Allison's fingers and then fluttering through the aftershocks. Allison holds her close for as long as Lydia lets her.
Afterwards, they clean up and dress quickly--Allison doesn't know when her dad is coming back and Lydia's not much for the afterglow--and go back into the kitchen to rehydrate.
"Stiles and I are working on getting out of ropes and zip ties," Lydia says, leaning against the counter and drinking a bottle of water. Little wisps of hair have come loose from her ponytail and curl around her face, which is pink and glowing in a way that makes Allison feel proud.
"You mean, you're tying Stiles up and watching until he gets loose?"
"I bet he loves that."
Lydia's mouth curves into an amused smile. "Of course he does."
Lydia is unrepentant. "It's a necessary skill around here. And he's getting pretty good at it."
"Do you really think I'd let Stiles near me with handcuffs?" They both laugh. Lydia looks down at her bottle of water and then up again at Allison lower lip caught between her teeth for a second in a way that makes Allison want to sink her teeth into it too. "No, I was hoping you could help me with that."
Allison feels like all the air's been let out of her lungs, like she's been punched in the gut. She's startled by how much she likes that idea, likes the image of Lydia, bound and helpless and squirming on around on Allison's bed that flashes through her mind. She takes a long sip of water to wet her suddenly dry mouth and cover her response. "Yeah, sure," she finally manages. "I know a few tricks that I could show you."
"I bet you do," Lydia says, voice low and knowing as she gives Allison a long once-over and then licks her lips again. "Same time tomorrow? "
"I'm looking forward to it," Allison answers, grinning.