Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/681148.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Lydia_Martin/Jackson_Whittemore
  Character:
      Lydia_Martin, Jackson_Whittemore
  Additional Tags:
      Femdom, Submission, High_School, Teenagers, Power_Play, Power_Dynamics,
      POV_Alternating, Mildly_Dubious_Consent
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-02-12 Words: 2740
****** What You Crave ******
by ohtheway
Summary
     Lydia knows exactly how to pick her boyfriend apart. It's her
     favorite thing in the world. She can't control the impulse to pull at
     his threads...
     Tagged as 'Underage' because they're in high school, but both around
     seventeen.
Notes
     A sort of an alternate timeline split off from the middle of season
     one.
      
     Couldn't decide between 'mature' and 'explicit'. It's leaning toward
     'mature' but tagged 'explicit' for caution's sake.
      
     Considering writing the rest of what happens.
Lydia considered herself to be an actress, honed in the skill of reading people
and even further in the skill of playing them to get what she wanted. By far,
Jackson was her favorite to play with. While her boyfriend may have been a
hothead on the field, she could spot his weak points from a mile away.
All she had to do was apply a little pressure, and he caved in like a deck of
cards.
Leaning back against the couch, she admired him through the corner of her eye
and played with the hem of her mid-thigh, deep blue skirt. With his square jaw,
broad shoulders, and sometimes brutish posture, he should have reminded her of
a caveman - some hunched and feral, Alpha male jock. The "perfect" male
specimen.
Should have.
Instead, she admired her handiwork in seeking out and reaffirming all of the
little weaknesses she'd found in his facade. The curve of his bottom lip - he
was biting the inside. The way those shoulders curled inward - insecure. The
small movements of his fingers - restless.
She undid him over and over in her mind, so many times that by the time the
movie was over she had to work to get the sly, pleased smile off of her lips.
This was especially true when Jackson looked up, a random muscle in his jaw
tight with irritation.
"If I watch any more of this chick flick bullshit, they're going to take away
my man-card," he grumbled, prickling for a fight as he tossed down the remote.
It didn't matter that they were at her house, her parents gone. He would
continue to charade as if he were the one in control - she'd seen it plenty of
times. It reminded her of a small child throwing a tantrum, which removed all
power from the imagery he kept trying to present.
Lydia busied her fingers, twirling them through red curls and adopting her
patented look of sophisticated condescension. His blue eyes landed on her and
she pretended not to notice the way that nervous muscle in his jaw twitched.
"No. We've watched plenty of things you've wanted to watch, Lydia. I swear to
God if I don't catch the end of the game, I'll-"
She spared him the embarrassment of not having a proper threat and tipped her
head to the side. "You'll...?"
The implied message was more than clear in her expression. What? Tell your
buddies that you spent the whole night watching The Notebook?  Jackson would
rather die before admitting he'd seen The Notebook, much less admitting it to
his team mates, and forget about the fact that he'd seen it twelve times
already. It wasn't happening - not in this lifetime.
Watching him growl over being interrupted made it difficult not to smirk, but
she did her best. He sat there, staring at her and baring his teeth for a
moment before grumbling under his breath. Lydia continued to simply watch him,
arching one slim eyebrow as she listened to the half-completed threats he'd
never make good on. For all that Jackson tried to be properly angry, it never
translated very well.
Even though he grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder in a hurry to
escape her house, she waited it out, counting silently through the seconds
until he reached the doorway.
"I suppose that means that you didn't want to get laid tonight, then."
When Jackson stalled abruptly - as if constrained by an invisible, choking
leash - she knew she had him in her grasp. Bingo.
You're mine tonight, boy.
It was her favorite part of the game, studying the way he leaned back on his
heels and the way the slope of his shoulders evolved from highly strung,
insecure anger to instantly submissive, almost desperately relaxed. He'd given
in quicker than she'd expected him to, tonight, and she licked the inside of
her lip in anticipation.
The way he turned toward her was so tentative, she momentarily wondered if
she'd pushed him too far. Lord, the way he looked at her - eyebrows drawn
close, one fist half-way shoved into his pocket, other hand grasping the strap
of his backpack too roughly to simply have been carrying it. He licked his
lips, eyes darting away from her every few seconds as if he knew she was
winning.
Jackson had no idea she knew he craved it.
She'd seen it. From nearly the first moment, she'd known: Jackson only wore the
mask of a dominant person as a day-to-day masquerade. Inside, he was like a
frightened puppy that wanted anyone else to be bold enough to take the lead. He
was a book she desired to splay open and pick to pieces. From the cautious
surrender written in his expression, Jackson wanted it just as badly. Maybe
more.
Her eyes trailed his movement as he settled his bag onto the floor, lingered
around his lips as his nervous thumb brushed across them. Finally he caught on
to her predatory stare, faltering mid-motion like a deer in headlights. In the
silence that consumed them, she draped her arms over the back of the couch -
not bothering to hide the way she looked at him as if he were meat.
Lydia swore she heard a whimper as he tried to speak and failed, forced to
clear his throat.
"This - this isn't funny," he breathed out, a nervous blush creeping over his
cheeks.
She laughed. His blush deepened.
Without leaning forward, she curled a finger in his direction. "Come here,
Jackson."
The use of his name seemed to unsettle him further, she noted as he wiped his
hands down the front of his jeans and tried to force the look of panicked
desire from his eyes. It turned her on, Jackson's struggle not to give in. He
wanted to be in control, but not nearly as much as he wanted to give control up
to her.
Lydia refused to wait all night. The longer she let him dangle, the more
awkward he would become until he finally drowned in it. Cocking her head to the
side, she pinned him with green eyes and curled her finger a fraction more.
It's all right, beautiful. You're going to have a good time tonight.
This time, as if drawn by that leash, Jackson took a half step forward. Then he
took another, and another, until his trembling knees gave in at her feet. Chin
angled to the floor, eyes staring at her heels and their tiny silver buckles,
Jackson was gorgeous. Some anxiety still laced his features, most present in
his body posture, but he seemed to have resigned himself to the moment. His
face no longer held uncertainty.
"There, that wasn't so hard, now, was it?" she murmured, reaching out to those
blond locks. Short cropped, but still long enough for pulling - good. Her hazel
eyes trailed up and down, memorizing everything she could see of him...
Especially the way those jeans were beginning to look confining, bunched around
his crotch.
Jackson licked his lips, still not meeting her eyes.
"No." His voice was soft, embarrassed without being resentful. It sounded
unlike him, but the way he attempted to peek up at her and those blue eyes only
made it to her chest? That had Jackson written all over it. Her Jackson, the
wayward puppy that never felt good enough.
The same Jackson whose parents had given him up for adoption, who harbored
unease at the idea of not being wanted... So much so that he'd do anything to
feel desired.
Suddenly possessive, her fingers combed through his hair, rubbing his scalp
with a perverted sort of affection. She adored the way he subsided, letting her
do what she pleased to the hair he'd spent at least half an hour styling, still
fidgeting in a quiet way.
It was interesting to her, the way that he waited her out. Tempted to see how
far she could push him, she did nothing - nothing but stroke and tug that hair,
until the fidgeting became so much that he shifted on his knees.
"Lydia.." he whispered, discomfort becoming evident in the way his voice
rasped.
"If you want something, Jackson, you're going to have to ask for it," she
countered.
His head shot up. Nothing had been more difficult than shoving down her
pleasure to the way that desperation slipped through his eyes. It was enough to
get her thighs shifting, the heat pooling between them was starting to make
things uncomfortable.
In a mixture of awe and embarrassment, he lifted those unsure hands and settled
them on her thighs. That blush was back, threatening to overtake his face,
painted over his nose and cheeks. His breath was drawn and held. She loved
every second of it.
"Please, let me.." He looked so eager, so full of lust, that she spread her
thighs further - more than enough for him to catch a glimpse of her underwear.
Just that glimpse had him breathing out in a rush, hips shifting. Lydia noted
the pressure being placed on his zipper, and smiled to herself.
Shifting her foot, she rubbed the toe of that heel against his trapped
erection. He'd always been quick to arouse, especially when he didn't feel
fully in control, but this was borderline impressive.
Jackson was groaning under the added pressure, trying not to break even as he
crumbled to pieces. "Baby, let me.. p-.. please..."
It was cruel to prompt him like this, rubbing her shoe against him, but the
fire that blazed through her belly was just as addictive as seeing Jackson lose
his cool. She wanted more.
"Let you what, Jackson? What do you want?"
Another groan came, louder and with more of a whine to it. "I.. want.."
His hips twitched forward as the blush spread down his neck, all but making him
glow. She could see it in the way he held himself, he was rapidly losing
control. Head lolled back, his hands barely resting on her thighs,
concentration out the window - being placed on his knees was working for him.
Lydia fully planned to utilize it.
"Do you like being on your knees, Jackson?" He whined, a pathetic noise that
ripped a trail from her navel downward, igniting her. "I think you like taking
orders."
"I d- don't," he denied automatically. The stutter and whine gave him away, as
did the twitch in his hips. They wanted to rock forward, to grind shamefully
against the sole of her heel for any kind of relief she was offering him.
Embarrassment was enough to keep him still for the moment, she knew, but it
wouldn't last long. Her fingers tugged his hair, holding tight - he hissed and
moaned.
No, his resolve wouldn't last long at all.
She continued, tapping her foot against him, wondering how much it would take
to break fully through the barricade of denial he'd built around himself. "I
know you like taking orders. It's kind of easy to work out, you know? Even I'm
not that stupid."
His thighs were shaking, vibrating up through his whole body, but it was in his
breathing that she could pinpoint it the most. Each exhalation had a shudder of
its own. He couldn't keep control. He was breaking down, right in front of her.
She knew that he'd need some incentive to let go, and teasing him was wearing
thin on her own best interests.
So, to solve it...
"How about this. You do a good job eating me out, and," she hummed, pressing
her foot right against the forming wet spot in his jeans, "I'll see about doing
something for you."
The whimper that came from his throat barely sounded human. He reminded her of
a puppy, lost and confused without an owner. In fact, the thought of him in a
collar was more than appealing - it was good enough to go up as a mental note.
Lydia stopped to consider what else the lacrosse player may have been into that
she wasn't informed of. Not that it mattered whether he told her outright or
not. She had ways of getting him in the position she wanted him. It only took
one glance to the boy in question to know it: on his knees, thighs spread wide
while she teased him, face flushed, hands braced against her thighs with timid
conviction.
The look written in his eyes told her that she owned him, whether or not his
pride would allow him to admit it in company. It was this reason, and this
reason alone, that she arched her eyebrow expectantly. "Well?"
All at once, Jackson's expression spiraled into something between terror and
pathetic arousal. His hands caressed her thighs, inching the skirt up bit by
bit. The higher her skirt crept, the more he struggled to breathe. Languidly,
she spread her thighs, leaned back, and closed her eyes, the fingers of her
right hand still wrapped tightly into his hair.
The first swipe of tongue came over the fabric, not teasing so much as shy, but
by the second... A broad, flat swipe of his tongue was accompanied by the nudge
of his nose. Jackson eased into it, nuzzling between her thighs and mouthing at
the fabric of her underwear as if he had no right to remove it unless she told
him to.
A thrill shot up her spine with every stroke of tongue, the damp fabric turning
rough against her skin in a way that caught her breath in her throat. She
shifted, moving her leg from between Jackson's so that the boy could press
closer to her body.
Within seconds he was there, face buried against her.
If you were a dog, your tail would be wagging,she thought, almost in a haze
from the desperation his licks took on.
Her green eyes blinked open, taking stock of her boyfriend. With his face
buried under her skirt, what little she could see told her a surprising amount.
His hips rocked forward as he switched from licking to suckling, trying to gain
friction from the confining denim. Jackson's strong arms were wrapped close
around her thighs, anchoring himself in place.
The sight of it could have had her moaning. Determined to retain control, she
pulled his hair until he was forced to lean back with her hand.
Once his face emerged from beneath the deep blue fabric, Lydia was able to see
the full extent of her influence. The blush that had stained his cheeks was
burning brightly at his ears and neck, turning darker every moment she studied
him. Blue eyes met her green eyes, then darted to the floor. Lips were licked
and bitten.
Most of all, he almost seemed to collapse in on himself with shame. Probably
shame for having given in to his urges, only to be denied just as he fully let
go. She could all but hear the clockwork turning in his head, telling him he
was stupid, making him want to run again.
"Relax," she scoffed, sitting up and fixing her long red curls with one hand
while she stroked the other through his hair. "I was just thinking a bed would
be more convenient. You know, so my parents don't get home and ruin the mood?"
The condescending tone to her voice would typically have riled him into anger,
but this Jackson blushed deeper and licked his lips. Lydia had to force herself
not to be interested in the flushed red of those bitten lips, or the curious
way that his nervous, submissive behaviors magnified under power exchange.
Unsure of himself, Jackson stayed on his knees as she stood and looked down at
him. With one last ruffle, she released his hair and half-turned in the
direction of the stairs - stairs that could take them to her bedroom. Walking
to the door arch was more difficult than she allowed it to seem, monitoring
each step so the quake in her legs didn't cause her to topple over.
Jackson's tongue was better at its tricks than she let on, even through fabric.
"Are you coming or not?"
Her voice may have sounded impatient, tossed over her shoulder, but the frantic
scramble she heard from behind her made it all worth the while. Knowing
Jackson, he was tripping over himself to follow her - exactly the lost puppy
she'd pinned him for.
And she knew just what to do with him.
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