Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/745783.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Lydia_Martin/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Lydia_Martin, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Drinking, Mildly_Dubious_Consent
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-04-02 Words: 1684
****** Mistakes We Wouldn't Trade ******
by AlwaysBoth, Chiomi
Summary
     Lydia Martin was kissing him. Even the solidification of his life as
     a teen drama couldn't keep him from kissing back.
Notes
     Mildly dubious consent note is just because of the drinking.
Stiles was exhausted. New Year's Eve, and he was so unbelievably tired. He felt
old.
Lydia's party raged around him, a stark contrast to his usual non-homebody
night which often featured running for his life in the woods. Still, he
couldn't get in the mood, and the desire to get drunk seemed to have fled him.
Allison and Scott were taking advantage of the occasion to claim temporary on-
again status and were off making out somewhere. Danny and his new boyfriend
were dancing in one of the living rooms along with most of the lacrosse team.
Isaac, Erica and Boyd had wandered off who knows where. And Lydia... Lydia was
pushing a drink into his hand that smelled like alcohol and blue and tasted
like kool-aid.
"The thing about parties," she said, giving him a smile that made him prepared
to do anything she asked of him, "is that you're supposed to have fun."
"You know, I think I heard that once. Seems strange." She didn't look
impressed. Stiles took another gulp.
"So! Is there a reason you're neither drunk nor dancing, let alone both?"
"Who am I going to dance with?" She squinted at him for a second, and really,
how did she wrack his nerves like that?
"Me." Then she turned heel and set off toward the source of the music.
"What?"
"Well," she called over her shoulder. "Are you coming?" Stiles quickly downed
the rest of his drink and stumbled after her.
After the second blue drink, Stiles was starting to feel a little better about
life. After the third, he had no compunctions bump 'n grinding with Danny and
his boyfriend. After the forth, it was kind of astonishing he could dance at
all, and he found himself swaying with Lydia, who couldn't be anywhere near as
hammered as he was because it wouldn't be fair for someone that trashed to
still be so gorgeous. And it was kind of hard, remembering where they stood
when she had her arms wrapped around his neck.
"I'm sorry Jackson couldn't be here," he said, mostly to remind himself that he
was still second best.
"He could have been," she all but whispered into his chest and Stiles barely
caught it.
"What?"
"He could have been here," she repeated. "He didn't want to be. He broke up
with me again. Last week." She wasn't crying, but her voice cracked a bit, so
he led her off to a quieter part of the house where he would once again let the
girl of his dreams cry on his shoulder about her asshole (ex-) boyfriend who
she still loved.
There's a certain painful humiliation in realizing your life is a teen drama
and werewolves are the least ridiculous part.
She didn't cry, though, just leaned into him like his scrawny side was the most
comfortable place in the world and one she visited frequently.
"Thank you," she said. "You shouldn't have to keep putting up with me whenever
I break down. It's not fair to you." She pulled back and looked him in the eye.
"I will probably never say this again, but you're a good guy, Stiles." He
didn't have the heart to argue, so he didn't say anything. And then she was
kissing him.
Lydia Martin.
Lydia Martin was kissing him. Even the solidification of his life as a teen
drama couldn't keep him from kissing back. It was... well, it was a drunken
kiss. A bit sloppy, but entirely awesome, and it escalated quickly. One moment
her lips were soft on his while her elbow started getting a little painful,
buried in his side; the next she was straddling his lap and her tongue was
halfway down his throat, and god if he thought it was perfect before-
Her hands came up to grip his face and run through his hair, and a groan
escaped him as he slipped his own hands over her breast and under her shirt to
feel the soft skin hiding there. A shiver ran through her, he could feel, and
their breath fell hot between their open mouths. Lydia gripped his shoulders
and rocked her hips forward and Stiles thought he was done for. And then she
was gone.
"Wha-" It was hard to focus.
"Well, we're not going to do this here." She was swaying, just slightly, and it
made him feel a little better about the amount of stumbling involved in
following her. There was a moment of awkwardness while he stood in her bedroom
as she locked the door.
In fact, the awkwardness continued through their next kiss, as they bumped
noses, and through undressing as Stiles nearly fell over trying to step out his
jeans and discovered that bras were made of black magic and were impossible for
anyone but the wearer to remove. Lydia's knee jabbed into his side when she
pushed him down on the bed and straddled him.
She bit his bottom lip, though, and sucked his tongue as she scratched her
nails down his chest, and any awkwardness was a fair price to pay when Lydia
was biting her way down his chest, fondling his balls and dragging her tongue
up the underside of his cock. He swore when she took the whole thing into her
mouth, gripping the sheets, and then she was sliding up his body again.
"Don't think you get to have all the fun," she whispered against his lips,
pulling one of his hands from the sheets and guiding it between her legs. His
other hand found her breast of its own accord. Pushing her back to sit up, he
followed that hand with his mouth, sucking on her nipple. God, the noises she
made, and her hands in his hair... which she used to pull him back, which kind
of hurt but also made his dick even harder. And though he may have made a
regretful sound when she got up and crossed the room to her dresser, he
definitely enjoyed the view.
But then she was back, with a condom and those lips and a body that moved in
ways his imagination had totally failed to conceive.
“Oh my God,” he breathed as she tore the wrapper open.
She rolled the condom down over him, and his cock twitched at the touch of her
fingers. When it was on, and he was fisting the sheets, she pursed her lips and
surveyed him. “You know, you’re way hotter with no clothes on.”
He reached for her, and she let him, arching her back to press her breasts
harder into his hands. They were mesmerising, their shape and heft and the
little sound she made as she shifted forward, and - Jesus, she was lining him
up and sinking down, and he was inside Lydia Martin.
He put his hands on her hips, anchoring himself as she moved above him. He
wasn’t sure if he was allowed to move, but it didn’t take long before he
couldn’t help himself, surging up into her, trying to match her rhythm. He
didn’t, couldn’t, wasn’t in tune with her like that, but it felt so good that
he couldn’t stop himself.
Lydia took one of his hands from where it clutched her hip and brought it to
her breast, and wow, yes. He touched her, cupped her, ran his thumb over her
nipple, and her head fell back. The smooth pale arch of her throat made a
sinuous line down her center, past clavicle and cleavage and navel and down to
where he could see himself disappearing inside of her. It was the sight of it
that pushed him over the edge, because this was real and it felt fucking
amazing and that was what he looked like, thrusting into Lydia Martin.
He came, hard, and Lydia paused and looked down at him and then got off,
bringing both knees to one side of him and lying down neatly. “You should go
clean up.”
“I - yeah.” He levered himself upright, which was a Herculean effort, because
it felt like he was just noodles made entirely of feeling awesome.
“And then come back. I want cuddles.”
He grinned at her and tied the condom off and threw it out and washed his hands
as quickly as he could, then crawled back in bed next to Lydia and let her pull
the sheets over them.
 
 
When Stiles woke up, Lydia was already awake, sitting beside him on the bed.
She was still naked, and apparently not bothered by it, since she was just
there, brushing her hair. Just the fact that she could get herself fairly
vertical amazed him; he couldn't even open his eyes for pain. Hangovers sucked.
"We shouldn't have done that, should we?" he asked. Whispered. Though really,
he was regretting ever letting that blue toxin past his lips a million times
more than being devirginized by the woman of his dreams.
"We're still in high school, Stiles. Aren't we supposed to make stupid
mistakes? Ones where no one's life is on the line?" He nodded into the pillow,
though even that sent spikes shooting through his skull.
"This was a rebound, wasn't it?" he asked.
"Not... not entirely. But-"
"I get it. Just friends."
"You're still in love with me."
"Lydia, I'm always going to be in love with you. Some part of my heart will be
devoted to you for the rest of my life. But some of that is because you're my
friend. The thing about relationships? It takes two people to have them. You
don't love me, and that's okay. I can't make you. I wouldn't try. I just really
want you to be happy, whoever you're with. And hey, it'd be super awesome if we
could still be friends after this."
"Yeah," she whispered. "Yeah, I think I might like that." Then she pressed a
kiss to his cheek and got up to dress. "Think that friendship could extend to
helping me pick up the house?"
"Does yours extend to supplying me with Advil and breakfast?"
"I think we can work something out."
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