Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/549785.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Peter_Hale/Lydia_Martin
  Character:
      Peter_Hale, Lydia_Martin, Original_Female_Character, Jackson_Whittemore,
      Stiles_Stilinski, Scott_McCall, Allison_Argent, Isaac_Lahey, Erica_Reyes
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Faeries_-_Freeform, Deals, Violent
      Sex, Shadows_-_Freeform, Biting, Lydia_Martin_-_HBIC, Knotting, Comeplay
  Collections:
      Pydia_week_2012, Pydia_Porn_Collection
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-10-30 Words: 5935
****** Sacre du Printemps ******
by KaelsMiscellany
Summary
     When he reaches her he has fangs and teeth at the ready, like he’s
     about to attack her again, and she screams. Not in terror, but in
     anger; it’s her mind and she’s had it up to fucking there.
     He pauses, smiles, and vanishes.
Notes
     Day six of Pydia week and dear god this has passed quickly.
     Title comes from the Stravinsky ballet of the same name, so do the
     titles for the parts.
                                  Jeu du rapt
Lydia Martin has always prided herself in being mentally strong, it being able
to figure out what was going on and adapt faster than everyone else.
The first time she sees her attacker she isn’t actually sure it’s him, she only
sees him from behind as he leads her a merry chase through the school to the
sports awards cabinet. Where she finally learns his name, if it hadn’t then the
whole hallucination would have been pointless, Peter Hale. She knows of the
Hales, everyone does, arson and murder were all Beacon Hills could talk about
for months after the fire happened.
But it’s only later that night at the ice rink when she realizes that he is the
one who attacked her on the lacrosse field. She doesn’t know if this is some
sort of weird PTSD or something completely different (because she’s certain she
didn’t hallucinate the teeth and claws and eyes), but she won’t let it get the
best of her. When she finally gets home, after assuring Stiles a million times
that she’s ‘fine.’, she looks up the flower she’d seen. It takes her longer
than she would have liked to finally find it and she can’t help the bit of
hysterical laughter that escapes her when she does. Wolfsbane, or Aconite, has
been associated with werewolves for centuries and is supposedly just as deadly
to them as silver.
There isn’t enough data to conclude of werewolves are real or not, but a closed
mind isn’t going to help her with her apparent problem.
-
The not-really-remembered nightmares are bad, but unless she decides to take up
lucid dreaming (definitely an option to consider) she doesn’t really have much
control over her subconscious.
Lydia doesn’t usually let herself indulge in irrational hate, but she does with
Mrs. Morrell. There’s just something about that woman who rubs her in all the
wrong ways. And meeting the cute boy who looks like he stepped right out of the
90s Seattle grunge scene and feels vaguely familiar only makes the ensuing
meeting only a little more tolerable.
-
When she gets home from the game that night she wants to hurt Stiles. Right now
she doesn’t even care that her hands somehow healed themselves from this
morning. She waited an hour and he never came back.
She doesn’t cry herself to sleep, but she does shudder and shake.
-
Over the weekend she dives right into researching lucid dreaming and dips a toe
into the cesspool that is werewolves on the internet. Really, it's not like she
has anything better to do.
-
When Peter appears in her Econ class she knows it’s a hallucination because no
one else is reacting to his sudden appearance (also the fact that they suddenly
disappear when he turns to face her). She fights through the fear and panic as
best she can, and she feels pride when she doesn’t do more than flinch when he
starts flinging desks around. When he reaches her he has fangs and teeth at the
ready, like he’s about to attack her again, and she screams. Not in terror, but
in anger; it’s her mind and she’s had it up to fucking there.
He pauses, smiles, and vanishes. And she finds herself in front of the class
with idiot-Finstock making a supposed crack about answering in English and
grunge-boy looking for all the world like he wants to help her.
It does something to her that he doesn’t laugh.
-
The world seems to be trying her patience today. First Econ and now Chemistry
and Allison telling her not to talk to Erica and Isaac, and then not saying why
(not even the pitiful reason of ‘they’re bad news’, which of course they are.
You don’t go from epileptic to smoking hot and fine without something helping
you along.)
Scott at least seems more concerned with his own problems than trying to
dictate her life. It’s a small relief that he lets her do her thing and doesn’t
say a word.
When Isaac sits next to her she can practically hear the ‘I’m a serial killer’
vibe coming off him (they still haven’t, after all, found out who killed his
dad). For a brief moment she contemplates taking her pen and stabbing him with
it, at the very least it would get some of the frustration she’s feeling out.
But that would mean a mark on her record and she can’t let that happen.
So she has to content herself with being more aloof than usual. Which works out
perfectly really, because Isaac seems to think he’s hot shit right now, and
she’s not going to have any of it; after all he still doesn’t have an engine on
his bike (the Camero he’s been hitching rides in doesn’t count).
She wants to smack Scott for his outburst. Lydia Martin is queen here and even
though he’s now co-captain of the lacrosse team he’s still beneath her. He’s
got no right to make a fool of her in front of everyone, her stupid fucking
hallucinations are doing that enough for her.
The rock candy tastes slightly off and for a brief moment she thinks she might
have gotten the reaction wrong, which is silly. But once she gets past that
first bite there’s nothing wrong and she blames her paranoia (though Isaac
refusing to touch the stuff isn’t helping much).
-
Lydia lets out some of her pent up frustration by being a snarky brat to Mrs.
Morrell. And she prides herself on the fact that she doesn’t even flinch on the
last Rorschach blot, even when she sees Peter.
-
She lets out more of her frustration when Stiles appears after her session and
starts herding her like a sheep. Every time he brushes against her she smacks
his hand as hard as she can.
“Hey, what was that for?”
She just gives him a saccharine smile and doesn’t answer.
Then the rest of the Scooby gang starts herding her too (and she hates that in
this scenario she’s helpless Daphne).
They give her one lame excuse after another and she wants to strangle them all.
Jackson, of course, is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Him and his
stupid-ass key.
Then for some reason he starts accusing her of altering a tape and taking
everything from him and she wants to scream back that of course she does, it’s
her right. She doesn’t understand where that realization came from and it
scares her.
Despite what Jackson might say she really does hate him, but because they're
teenagers in an emotionally charged situation when he kisses her she doesn’t
fight back.
And either she’s hallucinating again, or he’s suddenly grown scales. She’s very
tempted to go with hallucination, especially when she starts hearing animal
noises downstairs, but Peter never shows up and so far he’s the constant in all
of them.
Right now she’s more than happy to hide when Allison tells her too. Once she’s
locked herself away in the bathroom she does the smart thing and calls the
police.
When she hears sirens she lets herself out and like the queen she is demands
answers.
And, of fucking course, the Scooby gang doesn’t give her any. Allison just
herds (she’s really starting to hate that word) her to Allison’s car. Once
they're inside Allison turns up the music, loud enough to make conversation
impossible.
Lydia lets herself fume.
When they finally get to Lydia’s house Allison has the gall to tell her not to
tell anyone. Because she’s afraid her family will find out she’s still dating
Scott. Lydia decides not to point out that her priorities are seriously screwed
up if that's her main concern and instead sits through a speech about love that
feels like it came straight from some teeny-bopper rom-com.
Then Allison goes on to equate her and Scott’s relationship with Lydia and
Jackson’s. This time Lydia does laugh, because lust and popularity does not
‘twu-luv’ make. Allison stares at her stunned a little by the outburst, Lydia
just gives her a saccharine smile and says, “thanks for your concern by the
way,” before getting out of the car.
Prada nearly bursts past her as she opens the door, but she cages him with her
legs and he turns around to scurry to the back door. She leaves her shoes in
the foyer and follows him, this time letting him run out when the door opens.
She steps out onto the patio just in time to see him scurry out the back gate,
and she curses which ever parent was stupid enough to forget to shut it.
Knowing he could be anywhere she heaves a sigh and goes after him. “Prada?” She
peers up and down the alleyway but doesn’t see him.
A rustling noise draws her attention to where the Beacon Hills Preserve meets
the Breen’s house. And after the day she’s had it feels a bit like she’s
walking towards a scene from a horror movie. “Prada?”
A shape appears in the underbrush and starts heading towards her (she seriously
regrets not grabbing her mace). When the shape steps into the light and shows
himself to be grunge-boy (though he doesn’t look so grungy in his very-warm
looking coat) carrying Prada the tension in her rushes out. “I think you just
scared a year off my life.”
He ducks his head and gives her a twist of the lips that isn’t quite a smile.
“Sorry.” He sets Prada down and the dog trots over to her with a happy little
‘yip’. “You’re lucky I was taking a walk, you’d’ve never found your dog in the
preserve.”
The smile she gives him is a real one. “Thanks.”
“You're welcome. So how are you?”
Lydia finds herself completely thrown by the question, because it's been weeks
since someone's asked her that. She straightens a little under his gaze. “I'm
fine.”
His denim blue eyes narrow for a second, as if he's trying to decided whether
to leave it or push. Apparently he decides to leave it be (and good for him,
she's not sure what she would've done if he hadn't). “Well that's good.”
The silence that falls between them is, for a change, nice and Lydia doesn't
feel pressured to fill it like she does with Mrs. Morrell. Grunge-boy sticks
his hands in his coat pockets and pulls it closer around him. She's tempted to
go up to him and see if he'll share his coat (she hopes he would and that it
would turn into something more) but she resists.
“What’s your name?” She finally asks, because she can’t call him grunge-boy for
the rest of her life. There's also that strange part of her that wants more
from him, and that his name is just the first step.
He ducks his head a little and gives her a shy smile, though it’s belied by the
mischievous glint in his too blue eyes. “I’ll tell you tomorrow if. . .” He
hunches down for a moment and picks a flower from she doesn’t know where. When
he stands he offers it to her and she takes it. The small yellow flower isn’t
anything truly special, but as the cliché went it was the thought that counted.
“If you keep this.” His lips twitch. “I’ll ask you tomorrow and if I find out
you tossed it away I’ll be really sad.”
She scoops Prada up, careful not to bruise the flower. “Well if I do, then
tomorrow I’ll just lie.”
The only response he gives is a sad little smile; for a few moments she remains
in the preserve and watches him walk off. She gives herself a small shake, pull
it together! And heads home herself.
She gratefully lets Prada down once they’re inside. Once in the kitchen she
sets the flower by the sink and makes herself an Irish hot chocolate. As she
drinks it she watches what little of the preserve she can see, like it holds
all the answers.
 
                            Evocation des ancêtres
It’s a bit strange to come to school and after two classes realize that her so
call friends (and ex-boyfriend) aren’t there. In a way it’s a bit of a relief.
Sure Erica and Isaac are there, but they’re a complete 180 from yesterday and
seem content to leave her be.
She eats lunch alone and nurses the small seed of excitement at seeing grunge-
boy and finally knowing his name.
Lydia does see Scott and Allison later on, but once again they’re so wrapped up
in their own miniscule drama that they don’t even notice her.
School’s almost over when she finally sees grunge-boy, and her seed of
excitement blooms. He leans against the lockers next to hers and gives her a
small smile (she wonders what a real smile from him would look like). “Hey.”
“Hi,” Lydia thinks she might be blushing (she doesn’t know if she likes it or
not).
“Well? Did you keep it?”
“I. . .I tried, but I think my mom threw it away. It’s my fault though, really.
I left it out and my mom’s never really liked flowers, but I didn’t think she’d
throw it out. . .Sorry.”
That sad smile from last night is back. “It’s OK, at least you didn’t lie like
you said you would.” He fiddles with his backpack strap for a moment. “Do you
still want to know who I am?”
She waits a beat before answering, she doesn’t want him to think she’s that
eager. “Of course.”
For a moment he just shuffles his feet, then he stops meeting her eyes. The
bloom of excitement starts to whither. “What?”
“I’m afraid if I tell you my name you won’t like me anymore.”
Lydia shakes off the lumbering dread in her heart. “Well you won’t know unless
you tell me won’t you?”
He finally meets her eyes again and the weight of them staggers her a little.
“I’m Peter.”
Nononononono, she’s finding it hard to breath and it feels like her heart’s
missing. Anger quickly follows the pain.
She slaps him. “You bastard.”
Peter doesn’t say anything just lets her march off, head held high. She barely
holds back a shudder as she feels his eyes following her.
-
When she eventually gets home Peter-the-adult is waiting in her bedroom. She
slams the door on him and storms down to the kitchen. But he’s an hallucination
so it really shouldn’t surprise her that he’s waiting for her at the island.
She doesn’t acknowledge that she sees him, just angrily opens and closes
cabinets as she makes herself a snack.
“Lydia. . .”
She ignores him in favor of rummaging around in the fridge.
“How else was I supposed to get you to trust me?”
She whirls on him. “You don’t need to gain my trust! You’re not real. Only a
hallucination brought on by post-traumatic stress.”
The smile he gives her is far too patronizing for her tastes. “You’re right
about me not being real Lydia. But this isn’t post-traumatic stress, no, you’re
far too strong for that. To put it far more bluntly than I usually would I’m
dead and. . .nesting in your mind until the opportune moment arises.”
Lydia bursts out laughing.
Peter's on her in a second, grabbing her shoulders and giving her a good shake.
“Last week you were more than willing to contemplate the existence of
werewolves, but you draw the line at ghosts?”
When he puts it like that he has a point, loathed as she is to admit it and her
laughter dies down.
He's still holding onto her and she quickly shrugs him off. “What do you want?”
She scoots away to lean against the cupboards.
He doesn't approach her. “To not be dead again.” The smile he gives her is
chilling. “And I need your help.”
-
Her first lucid dream happens completely by accident. It's her math class and
she's desperately wishing that Beacon Hills had an IB program because then she
might actually be challenged, and not have to deal with Mrs. Hobson repeating
the same exact things she's been saying for the past three years. So Lydia lets
herself drift a little, her notes quickly devolving into a doodle of swirls and
spirals. She blinks and something shifts.
Lydia's first clue that something's different is the fact that Mrs. Hobson's
talking like she came from a Peanut's cartoon. It takes her a moment to recall
the battery of 'tests' for lucid dreaming: she pinches the skin between her
fingers and doesn't feel anything, she leans over to touch the floor and
instead of feeling cool linoleum there's only this strange fuzziness, and more
for fun than anything else she climbs up on top of her desk and screams all the
while thinking don't look at me, don't look at me.
No one does. 98% certain this is a lucid dream Lydia closes her eyes and
thinks: I want to be in my room. When she opens them she does indeed find
herself in her room. She lets herself relish in the flush of victory for a
moment before feeling the need to explore. She passes by her vanity on her way
to her bedroom door, pauses, then slowly returns to her mirror. Biting back a
scream when the person staring back isn't herself, it isn't even Peter like she
would have expected.
The woman staring back looks like she was carved from precious stones. Her skin
is obsidian, hair black opal, the brief flash of teeth Lydia sees reminds her
of mother of pearl, but it's the woman's garnet eyes that keep her frozen to
the spot and make her feel, for the first time in her life, truly insignificant
Those mother of pearl teeth flash again as the woman smiles. “Hello, please
have a seat.”
Lydia sits.
“I have a deal I'd like to make with you Lydia Bridget Martin.”
Hearing her full name feels a bit like being doused with ice-cold water, but it
gives her back some control. Her eyes narrow. “You have me at a disadvantage.”
It's old fashioned, but Lydia still manages to make it biting. “What kind of
deal?”
The woman laughs. “I've had many names over my long life, in fact I've probably
forgotten most of them.” She gives a lovely little shrug. “You can call me
whatever you like. As to the deal I find myself growing tired of my position
and wish to make you my heir.”
“Heir of what?”
“Of many things. Shadows and darkness, of the lies people tell each other and
the secrets they keep to make life more bearable, the monsters and horrors that
no one likes to talk about. Mysteries.”
For a heartbeat it feels like there's ice in her veins. “Why me?”
“Why not. You already think yourself a queen, there's a glorious little spark
in you that could be so much more if you let it, and you intrigue me.” The
woman gives a real smile this time and she reaches out of the mirror and sets a
small vial full of something dark and smokey. “If you do decide you want to
take me up on my offer drink that.”
Lydia leaves the vial where it is for now; she's not sure how much this woman
knows about her life right now, but she feels compelled to ask. “What will
happen to Peter?” She's not sure what she wants to happen to him. He's left her
alone since yesterday in the kitchen when he outlined his plan to come back to
life. He also broke her heart, and she can't let that stand.
“Your wolf parasite?” The woman gives another lovely shrug. “If you drink that
while he is still inside you he too will change and become what you want him to
be. A sword and shield? A toy? Someone who will bloody his hands when you will
not? It is up to you, he will be yours and he will Serve.”
A shiver races through Lydia, but she's not sure if it's of excitement or
terror. Her hands shakily takes the vial from her vanity; she sets it in her
lap and stares, she's never had power like that over someone, and part of her
desperately wants it. When she looks back up the woman is gone.
There's a knock on her bedroom door and regardless if it's Peter, or some other
strange creature with an offer, Lydia doesn't want to deal with it. She closes
her eyes again and pictures herself back in her math class, wake up, wake up,
wake up. When she opens her eyes Mrs. Hobson's still going on about standard
inverse functions and just to make sure Lydia pinches the little bit of webbing
between her fingers again. There's a small sting of pain that quickly vanishes.
A few moments later the bell rings and Lydia quickly shoves her things into her
bag, freezing for a moment when she notices the glass vial full of smokey
shadows in her lap, it too goes into her bag. Without a backward glance Lydia
heads right out the front door and to her car. uncaring that she still has two
classes left.
-
Once again Peter is waiting for her in her room when she gets home. This time
she doesn't scurry away like a frightened girl, instead she lets her bag slip
from her shoulder, but not before pulling out the vial and setting it on her
vanity. He raises an eyebrow as he looks at it. “What's that?”
She smiles. “A change.”
The boyish smile he gives her doesn't fit him at all, it hurts to see it. “How
wonderfully cryptic.”
Picking up the bottle again she starts to wiggle the stopper out. “Oh, it won't
be so cryptic in a moment.”
Actual fear flashes in his eyes as the stopper pops off and falls to the floor.
She raises it slightly to toast him, then before she can change her mind, downs
it all at once. Whatever's in the vial is rich and fuzzy on her tongue. The
fuzziness continues even after she swallows, but not for long.
Even though she feels it slide into her stomach she's finding it hard to
breath. Like the liquid somehow shifted to her lungs and is slowly squeezing
out all the oxygen in her. She collapses to the ground and she can see her
vision start to white-out.
Then Peter starts screaming.
Barely, just barely she can make him out. Make out his skin and muscles peeling
away leaving bones and organs, before they too turn to smoke and dust. All
that's left is a blue eyed shadow.
The world goes white.


                            Glorification de l'élue
Lydia isn't sure how much later it is when she finally wakes up, lungs burning
with the need for air. Breathing deep she sits up and looks around. It's dark,
but only by virtue of it being night outside, otherwise she can see every nook
and cranny in her room like it was lit up by a spotlight.
Unsure of her legs she gets up slowly using her vanity as a crutch. Her legs
manage to hold her weight and she leaves her room, her stomach driving her to
get food. She pauses for a moment on the stairs when something flickers at the
back of her mind. It takes a few heartbeats to realize that that's Peter,and
when she does she doesn’t bother to hold back her smile.
Her stomach rumbles again and she continues to the kitchen; she can do tests
and experiments later.
-
Lydia spends the first few days of spring break alone and testing. Her mother's
gone off for an 'retreat', not that Lydia really cares, and ever since the
divorce she and her father haven't been in touch. So far she's discovered she
can walk through shadows, manipulate said shadows to pick up or do/ create
things, and paradoxically glow.
Peter hasn't shown himself since Friday, but she can feel him lurking in the
back of her mind, changing even more than her.
-
 Despite her recent bout of crazy her party still turned out to be the smashing
success it usually is, even if the drag queens were new. While passing out
punch she happens to look up in her room to see Peter staring down at her. She
smiles up at him before continuing with her rounds.

-

On Saturday the Whittemores call her telling her Jackson died at the lacrosse
game last night, the one she almost went to. She drops the phone in shock;
emotion wells up inside her thought it's not true sadness, only an echo of that
feeling.
They invite her to speak at his funeral next week and she declines, right not
all she can think of is the bad not the good.
-
Most of April passes in rushed spurts. Peter's still pouting, though she's sure
she could drag him out if she wanted to. School is as dull as usual though
she's noticed that Stiles, Scott and all the rest are A) treating her like
glass and B) a lot more quiet than usual.
She doesn't really care about their long silences, but she resents their
treatment of her, right now glass is the farthest thing she's from.
The woman, who she's taken to calling Garnet, visits in her her dreams,
teaching her politics, history, etiquette, magic, psychology, and anything else
she might need to know when she rules. More often than not Lydia spends most of
her weekends sleeping.
-
Then everything changes on the last day of April.
It's only a few minutes away from May 1st when she awakes with a start. Her
eyes dart around looking for the source, 'there are many who would not want you
to survive to take my throne, be wary', only to find it next to her in the form
of Peter.
His expression is a mix of angry and amused. “Hello.”
Like the queen she is Lydia gives him a small nod. “Peter.”
He sits up a little to lean against her headboard. “That was quite the trick
you pulled.”
She knows he means it as an insult, but she doesn’t take it as one. “Thank
you.”
His teeth flash blinding white. “Don't think I'll underestimate you a third
time.”
Lydia gives him a smile of her own, “good.” Tendrils of shadow wrap around her
arms and legs, creating vines, roots, and spirals against her skin. “Though
there are better ways you could spend your time than fighting me.”
Peter crooks an eyebrow. “What? Being your lap-dog? I'm a wolf not a
chihuahua.”
“I have Prada, why would I need another one, and anyways I don't think you'd
fit.” That gets a laugh from him. “No I was thinking more of an alliance.”
“Not much you could offer me 'Dia, I got my revenge, I'm not exactly a werewolf
anymore so I can't be Alpha, and my body's a bit too rotted for me to return to
it.”
“I could make you a new one, a better one. And don't call me 'Dia.”
He gives a derisive snort. “A younger one? You'd love that wouldn't you? You
the queen of whatever and me as a pup, the eye-candy you can stomach, on your
arm.” Before he can react her shadows trap him against the bed, one is even
bold enough to gag him. She waits for his struggles to die down before
straddling him.
The shadows still on her skin shift to form new patterns as she leans down to
his face. “Well if you don't want your body, what about mine?” The surprise on
his face pleases her. “You can do whatever you want, if it causes me no
grievous harm, as long as you protect me and do everything I ask in all other
matters.” Her shadows vanish, taking her pajamas with them. She gives a teasing
stretch. “Would you like that Peter?”
He can't speak of course because he's gagged, but she can feel his interest in
other ways. Her fingers play with the buttons on his shirt as she sits down and
grinds against him. His gag slithers away. “Do we have a deal?”
His eyes darken to oil slicks and he grins, showing teeth that would shame a
shark. “We have a deal.”
Between one thought and the next the shadows holding him are gone and their
positions are reversed.
He yanks his shirt off and shreds it, using some of the fabric to bind her
hands to the headboard. She watches him stare at another strip for a moment
before tossing it away. His voice sounds like rust in her ear. “Let's see how
quiet you can be 'Dia.”
Peter starts nipping at her jaw while his hand move lower to stroke her
breasts. His touch is heavy but soft and it floods her with a pleasant warmth.
She tries to arch up and get more but one of his hands shifts slightly lower to
pin her down. Mouth and teeth move lower, nipping and sucking at her neck. His
hands move down too, petting and caressing her stomach. A whimper escapes her
at the loss and she can feel a fleeting grin against her.
He makes up for it though with claws gently scratching against her, goosebumps
rising in their wake, and hands that seem to know exactly where to apply
pressure to make her whimper and writhe. He noses at the base of her neck and
she can't help the small giggle that escapes her, because all she can think of
is an overly affectionate puppy.
Then he reminds her of how much a wolf he really is by biting down, teeth
sinking deep; he starts to worry at the flesh in his mouth and all she's full
of now is painpainmakeitstop!
She chokes back a scream and he gives a pleased rumble. One that travels
straight from his throat, slithering into her and making itself right at home
amongst her innards. The hiss of a zipper and the rustle of cloth as he shucks
the rest of his clothes echoes in her ears and she tries to relax so he doesn't
hurt her more than he already has.
But the vicious thrust she's expecting never comes. Instead he's rutting
against her stomach, animal grunts muffled by her neck. An occasional spark of
pleasure goes off in her when he brushes against her clit, but it's only a
brief relief from the ache his bite's become.
Then he's coming against her, covering her in semen. His rumble returns and it
continues when he lets her neck go and pulls away, kneeling in the v of her
legs. She squirms under his stare, wanting him to do something.
Eventually he does, hands sliding up her thighs to her stomach, fingers
pressing and rubbing semen into her; especially her scars. She feels she should
get a medal for resisting the urge to roll her eyes at his caveman gesture. He
leans over her to once more whisper in her ear. “Ready for round two?”
Her cheeks flush in anger, because he'll do round two whether or not she
actually is. That's the deal; he's taking great pleasure to rub salt into her
metaphorical wounds.
This time he licks his way down her, only giving her neck the barest hint of
attention before moving down her nipples and laving them stiff. Pleasure
quickly starts to overwhelm what pain's left in her and she mewls as he moves
down to her stomach.
His shark teeth scrape against her, small furrows blooming with red in their
wake. Implacable hands hold her hips flush with the bed as he moves even lower,
nosing for a moment at her curls before his tongue dips in and flicks her clit.
Her legs fall open as she gives a happy little moan.
Soon his teeth join the equation too, gentler here than anywhere else but every
scrape still sends shock-waves through her making her twitch.
Orgasm crashes over he, coating everything in a haze of endorphins. Her body's
too limp to do anything else but go along when he turns her over and puts her
on her knees, face pressed slightly into the bed.
A whine rips from her throat as his fingers push into her, scissoring and
stretching her. She pushes back as another finger enters; a growl escapes him
and she shivers. He pushes against her G-spot for a moment and she bites her
lip to hold in the scream that wants to escape. His fingers pull out and for a
moment the only thing that comes from Peter is an obscene slurping noise.
Then he's covering her an insistent weight that forces her to spread her knees
slightly to better bear it. His breath tickles her ear. “Very good 'Dia.”
He's halfway in before she even realizes he's entered her. Peter's stretching
her more that she thought he would, but the pressure is a pleasant one. When
he's in her fully a sigh escapes her. He chuckles, nuzzling her neck. Peter
starts moving and her mind shatters a little.
His thrusts are slow and even, and his name finally passes her lips in
plaintive whimper. “Yes 'Dia?”
Instead of an answer a shuddering gasp escapes her at a slightly deeper thrust.
“I didn't quite catch that, you'll have to speak up.” There's a flash of pain
to go with her pleasure as his teeth scrape against his bite.
Oooo, she's going to slap him for that later. “Faster,” she finally manages to
get out.
A thoughtful hum tickles it's way through her as he thinks about it. . .for so
long that she's squirming, trying to get his body to move even if his mind
won't. One of his hands slides up, down?, her stomach to her breasts, bringing
her movements to a shuddering halt.
The thrusts stop and that's even worse. Once again his teeth scrape her neck.
“I think not, 'Dia.” His teeth sink back into the bite at the same time his
maddeningly slow thrusts start again. She's being battered between extremes and
her mind and synapse are firing confusedly.
He keeps pushing, pushing, pushing, and a second orgasm rips through her,
fiercer than the last one and making her bite her comforter to stay quiet. But
it has the upside of creating a pleasant numbness in her.
She can still feel him moving and every once in a while an aftershock spreads
through her. A quiet, barely there sigh passes her lips and like it's some sort
of cue he roarsinto her throat as he starts spilling into her. Something new
starts pushing into her and her eyes widen in surprise. As it stretches her
further a sort of half-orgasm bubbles up, making it more enjoyable than it
would have otherwise.
When his cock gives it's last spurt he releases her throat and shifts slightly
to untie her. Her body aches in good and bad ways as he moves their still
connected bodies into a more comfortable position.
Nebulous shadows swirl around her for a moment as if uncertain they're
finished, before rushing towards her neck to lap up the blood seeping from her
and close the wound. The hand pinned under her starts to absentmindedly pet her
side. He starts rubbing a cheek against the crown of her head and a noise that
she so very badly wants to call a purr fills the room.
Lydia falls asleep warm and safe.
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