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Lydia raised her eyebrows at what Danny just told her. "They're talking about what now?" She shut her locker and furrowed her eyebrows. Danny was funny, but he wasn't a gossip, and that was one of his greatest attributes. Also, Danny wasn't cruel to people. Since she'd known him, he'd never been one to talk about people like Scott or Stiles like they weren't good enough. Even with Stiles' medication and him asking endless questions just to make it to the point, he'd always displayed the wisdom of someone much older than his age and been patient.
He was going to father such wonderful children one day, and who could want more than two doting, amazing fathers? Because Danny would always display excellent choice in men. "Stiles was apparently talking about his having a lack of sexual experience being officially life or death." Lydia blanched, blinking twice. This was not something unusual for what she's heard being talked about in the boys locker room. But Stiles was a serious person, and even when he wasn't being serious he still came off as sarcastic to almost a fault. Those boys were going to blow the werewolf thing out of the water the way they talked about supernatural beings in the open.
"So boys talk about death in the locker room now?"
"I guess so."
"What is the latest on why people have been dying?" Danny wasn't a moron. He was insightful and Lydia didn't mind talking to him about certain things. Plus, it was kind of fun waving something she knew to be true around in his face every once in a while. He was starting to catch on to the truth, and she wanted to be the one to congratulate him when he finally come to the right conclusion. She knew he was questioning the validity of the supernatural at this point, and she waited for the day she could finally say, 'Yes, there are werewolves.' But it wouldn't be today, because they were going to work on sacrifices, which was a little more believable to be honest.
"My guess, virgin sacrifice. Stiles seemed pretty adamant to lose his cherry." Lydia crooked a perfectly-shaped eyebrow and changed gears. Bright friend, Danny. Of course, Stiles was a virgin. He'd probably had a few chances to turn that around, ones that didn't fan out. But there was something else. You usually think of someone romantically until they were mentioned in a situation which required a shred of romance. So she unconsciously thought of Stiles for a moment. He certainly had gotten her attention as of late, and he was no longer an unnoticeable person to her. She saw him everywhere.
She noticed his hands, though. Deft was a word that came to mind. Danny smirked at his friend, knowing what she was thinking. When the look in her eyes didn't go away, the tiny bit teasing, tiny bit dark glint, he slumped a bit. "Don't. He's a good guy."
"Shush, I've got an idea." Danny sighed and tried to forget the last time he saw that mischievious look in Lydia's eyes. He remembered when Jackson complained to him about the occasionally twisted mind of his girlfriend, and told him to never, Never, give her the upper hand of a bedroom situation. Danny never intended to find himself in bed with Lydia Martin, cute and devious as she appeared. Thankfully that was one advantage to being gay.
~~~~
She watched Stiles from the back of the room, out of the corner of her eye. Every once in a while she took the liberty to glance over or watch another student struggle to answer a question but it was clear that the brown-haired young man knew the answer. He fidgeted more than anyone else she knew, and it was as normal for him as staying quiet was for her. They were all nervous about teachers, but Harris had been tough on Stiles for as long as she noticed. Stiles, though, was very intelligent, just not very focused. She'd have to remember that. It was hard to forget as he was always looking around, or toying with part of his hoodie, anything with his hands.
Lydia shook her head of the thought.
She was distracted again when he confronted her in the hallway, talking about Calcutta history and ritual sacrifices. His theory about virgins came up again, and then her dog, and Lydia furrowed her eyebrows in consideration. Maybe Stiles was on to something [not about her dog, though], but she wouldn't jump to any conclusions until she had more evidence--a third victim--for proof. When she said this she could feel his desperation, a lingering fear. Maybe it wasn't best to make him worry. Her eyes drifted to his hands again, and she knew how warm they were, how soft. How pliant. She'd been held by him, dancing under pink hues to a live band, and that had been the last really intimate moment they'd had.
He didn't even try to cop a feel, which was more gentleman-like than she'd experienced from Jackson 'It's Hugo Boss' Whittemore. She wasn't kidding when she told Allison that she did a lot of sucking just for his benefit. Jackson was a rather selfish lover, and he made sure he had the upperhand whenever they were together. Yes, she'd climaxed a few times, and she'd be lying if he didn't offer some relief and release from whatever stress she had at the time. It just never seemed to be enough for either of them.
It surprised her, the realization, once she thought more on her ex. Jackson was into her, but he found his progression as a person more important, he was always competing against someone or something. She imagined he wasn't even thinking of her right now.
Stiles was smart, though. There was probably something to his research, because he hadn't been proved wrong in all his analyses. Lydia commended his accuracy, even if she wasn't one hundred percent on board with the virgin sacrifices hypothesis.
So Lydia waited. She was a patient teenager, to disprove the adage. One thing Lydia Martin could do very well was wait to see the story fold out without saying anything. It was one of her tics from when her parents started arguing all the time. Her ability to watch things. . . unravel, was uncanny. She learned one thing: There was no perfect time to do anything, so it was important to do those things before it became too late.
That's why she found herself in the locker room at free period the next day, having thought about it all yesterday and finally bringing herself to address and join the pack stress. She intruded on Stiles trying to talk about a Durach, and Scott was doing an admirable job ignoring the subject. The former was wringing a towel in his hands, trying not to pace but losing the battle. She watched his hands again, his set jawline, and the intensity of his eyes. Though with Scott resisting, Stiles looked at wits' end trying to reason with the werewolf. Stubborn men. Lydia cleared her throat after a minute of Stiles trying to talk sense into Scott, and both jumped. So much for heightened werewolf senses. She stood there, her perfect posture and purse hanging from her shoulder.
Stiles stared at her, his eyes burning with recognition. He didn't seem to mind her presence, but Scott looked concerned. She could only tilt her head and smirk. "I thought boys were supposed to talk about girls and hot bodies in the locker room." There wasn't much light coming from the room, something the school really needed to fix, and Stiles's mouth was a bit slack.
"Hey, what're you doing here," Stiles paused. "in the boys locker room, where there just happen to be," he looked at Scott. "yeah?" Lydia raised an eyebrow at the young man's inability to form perfect sentences, but gave a light smile to hopefully counteract the vanity blush that rose in Stiles' cheeks.
"Looking for you, actually. There might be something to this ritual sacrifice thing. But there's something else I need to talk to you about." Her eyes never left Stiles', to make sure he knew she meant just him. Scott nodded and patted Stiles on the shoulder.
"See you in class." And he ducked out, meeting Lydia's eyes for a moment. She exuded nothing but the most confident reassurance, her usual visage. When she was sure they'd not be disturbed, she cleared her throat.
"So," Lydia started. "virgin sacrifices." Stiles seemed to pale a bit. "Without having to resort to using live bait, how would you stop another death?"
"You're serious?" The look he gave him suggested she wasn't aware of a non-serious habit in which she partook. He nodded and began to pace. "So I was thinking, there seems to be a distinct method to each of these murders, tied down and killed with a garrote, same pose and. . . " Lydia listened with half an ear, her eyes watching his, then trailing down his jawline to his neck. She watched his adam's apple bob every so often, and even understood his breakneck speed phrasing in the gaining mist. She drew her attention to his hands, coming to make an appearance, and instantly her lips were dry. Those hands had to be put in new places.
"Would you like to disqualify?" Stiles paused and turned to look her in the eye. Confusion. Shit, was that insulting? Lydia felt a blush, the first since the morning she went to school after being found wandering in the forest naked for two days. The blush was definitely a positive reaction, though, because Stiles' stare softened.
"Dis. . . qualify for what." She blanched. Was that too cryptic, or was he secretly asking her what she meant because he thought he knew what she meant. Lydia put on her trademark smirk and hoped Stiles caught on.
"Surely you can piece the conversation together, Stiles."
"I, um," he fiddled with his hands, and he looked away for a moment. Lydia wasn't sure what was going through his mind until he actually said it. His body was tense but still now, his brain sorting through the information. She could almost look away from his face to his wrung hands. "Yeah, I get it. But what brought this up?" She dropped her practiced smile a bit and reached for his tense hands. Stiles let her take his hand and she held it gingerly. Her fingers traced the hard lines on his palm, feeling his nerves tense a bit from the contact.
"You. I just," she stopped, and looked down. Realizing how silly she must've sounded. Lydia, she said to herself in her mother's voice, don't slouch. It was enough to stop herself from looking silly and look back up to see Stiles' soft look. "You distract me. Sorry if I sound forward."
"No, it's not that." She huffed, and was Stiles smirking? Lydia put her other hand on his chest, pushing him back until he touched the locker so she could get a better look. The lighting in this room really was horrible. His eyes were amazing and bronze in what light the Sun provided, and Stiles seemed to want to say something more, but they'd been talking a lot lately. She trailed her hand up to his neck and she blinked, a tiny smily on her lips. Stiles had gooseflesh. Her hand caressed his cheek and she leaned forward. He leaned down and their lips touched.
Wow. Lydia pulled closer to Stiles, to his heat. He touched her arm and held her close, their lips parting and tongues mingling. Lydia's hand clenched in his shirt and pulled him close to her, Stiles' hand wrapping around her and rubbing her back. After a moment he tensed and Lydia felt the distinct growing hardness in his jeans. Stiles let his hands fall to his sides and he pulled back his kiss. "Crap I'm sorry." He tried to look away from her but Lydia, with her hand still on his neck, weighed down until he looked back at her. She didn't realize until now that she wanted him, really wanted him.
"Stiles, don't apologize. I shouldn't've kissed you, it was--"
"No, I liked it." Lydia bit her lip and raised her eyebrows. There was a small smile on her face. Stiles wasn't a distraction, he distracted. There was a small, almost miniscule difference, but it was there. She didn't want him in the locker room.
"Clearly. Not here, though, not a locker room quickie." Lydia stared at his lips, and somehow they were kissing against the locker again. Her heart jumped and she pulled Stiles closer. His arms tightened around her and she settled into his embrace, wanting his hands to roam, wanting her own to stop as well. He pulled away and touched his forehead to hers after a moment, readying himself for anything. Lydia licked her lips and tried not to pant. His eyes were closed, and she realized he was preparing a tough question.
"What about Aiden?" Lydia stilled and Stiles looked into her eyes. It may have been dark but she was clear as day to him. How easy it was to discard Aiden, how hard it was not having Jackson around. She knew he wasn't a distraction, but so often the guys she slept with were just that. She had to know for sure.
"I couldn't," she said. "Not after Boyd." They both sighed and the tension released. Stiles stared at her and she chewed her lip. He wasn't done, she realized.
"But you're okay with me?" A rare smile slipped past her lips and she kissed him, gentle.
"I'm okay with you, Stiles." He smiled and she continued. "Would you like to come over and study tonight?"
~~~~
"Lydia, what are you doing?"
She smirked at his alarm. Surely he could take an educated guess. Books forgotten on the chair, jacket tossed aside, duvet crushed. "Taking," Lydia kissed his brow, "my," her hands slid down his chest, "time." Her hands paused at his jeans, and she looked into his eyes. The question in them was easy to spot, and Stiles hesitated, then calmed. He smiled and leaned into her, his hand caressing her cheek.
They kissed. It was his yes, Lydia could taste his mint toothpaste and she couldn't help the smile that crossed her face. Her hands didn't move until they parted and Lydia licked her lips. She undid the button on his jeans and hiked down the zipper. He wore boxer briefs. Stiles reached down and hooked his pants, Lydia giving a little shimmy as she got up on her knees and let him push his jeans down. Lydia walked back on her knees and followed his hands. He toed his shoes off and she turned when they dropped on the floor, and she stripped his and her socks off. They didn't need those. The offending materials fell at the foot of the bed, forgotten.
Stiles reached the bedside table and opened one of the drawers, pulling out an unopened box of condoms. He tore open the box and left a few on the bed stand within reach.
He then pushed his jeans down farther and she pulled them off his feet. It was weird undressing him first, but to her surprise Lydia was finding some joy in it. His eyes were glued to her, and soon she was walking up aside his bare legs on her knees, meeting his heated stare with her own before going forward with her plan. Her hands, warm, trailed up his legs and hips, rested on his tightened stomach. He was nervous. As some boys might say, she was taking his cherry, even though it was a clinically inaccurate description. She followed the treasure trail to his abdomen and grazed her nails across his skin. Her lips fell to his abdomen and parted to taste his mildly salty skin. He smelled fresh, like he'd taken a shower after practice.
Lydia didn't mind the hygienic gesture. She kissed and licked her way up to his chest, pushing his shirt up as she went. Her hair pooled around her, soft against his sensitive skin as she rested herself at chest level. Stiles gasped, oddly quiet. His abs contracted and she smiled, her tongue swirling around his nipple before catching it with her teeth. He breathed heavily, and she swore she could feel his heart beating rapidly under her lips.
Her hands moved down to his hips, messaging his skin and closing in on the one part of his body that ached the most. She kissed her way down his chest, following the trail of hair and letting her hair caress his skin. He was so tense.
She smiled at Stiles and took his cock in her hand. Her silky hands caressed him and massaged his sacs, drawing a loud gasp from the young man. He was perched on his elbows, jaw slack and eyes glazed. She hesitated, and kissed his hip, then his pelvic bone. He found his voice.
"You don't have to," Stiles trailed off. Lydia met his eyes and cradled his cock with her warm hand. She let her lips caress his skin and Stiles trembled, and tried to think of Lacrosse statistics to distract himself.
"I want to. Do you?"
"I'm okay with whatever you want."
"Ooh, whatever I want?" She licked him from base to tip, lingering at the slit where a drop of precum had accumulated. He groaned and his abs contracted.
"The internal debate team has no argument against that wording by any means." Lydia smiled at his rambling. He was actually very much in control of his body at this moment. Virgins who masturbated often acquired a degree of self control. It was no surprise, when she grazed her nails to his sacs, that he bit his lips shut and let out a muffled moan and curled his toes. Then she kissed her way down his shaft and hesitated, curling her tongue as far as she could around his girth. He may not have the longest length, but he made up for it with size. Lydia licked her way back up only to take him into her mouth. He hips jerked a bit but he stayed stable. She raised her eyebrows at him and took him as far as she could before coming back up, her hand wrapping around his girth, with fingertips almost touching.
She could feel his pulse in her mouth. It raced through his body when she bobbed up and down on his length, her tongue caressing him with each stroke and her hand moving with her so she didn't gag.
He put so much emphasis on sex, but she knew sex was just that. There was more to Stiles, he never just wanted one thing. He liked it and wanted it, but he also held a torch for her. And though she found sex important for mental health and maintaining control, and only a portion of satisfaction, she didn't want to discount his feelings. Rarely did she become enthusiastic over carnal pleasures. But Stiles had something she didn't really expect: a honed imagination. Maybe he would impress her tonight. She took in his precome, adjusting. His salty flavor was different, the taste on her tongue distinct. With what he ate, she wasn't surprised, but she could adjust that with the right diet. If he liked her as much as she believed he did, he'd probably like what she had in mind.
She saw Stiles watch her consume him and resist the urge to thrust upward. He stopped himself twice and gyrated instead, squirming under her. She even swore he mewled twice, bringing her close to smiling. Lydia didn't. You didn't smile when you had someone's cock in your mouth unless you talked about teeth play beforehand.
Lydia had to admire Stiles' restraint. He was just as controlled as his werewolf counterparts. The boy who ran with wolves, she thought, may have learned a few extra things about self-control. He wasn't the same as he was before. Stiles hadn't portrayed high levels of focus before all this mess, and it made her work him a little harder.
Her jaw was beginning to ache, and she decided to finish him off. Bobbing her head faster, she grazed her well-manicured nails along his sacs, massaging the delicate skin. She looked up to watch him writhe and she felt the distinct tremble, the tell, when she hollowed her cheeks and sucked.
Stiles groaned and spasmed, releasing into her waiting mouth again and again. None of his seed escaped, and Lydia decided she didn't mind his taste as she took her time cleaning up the aftermath of her practiced work. When she was satisfied she'd cleaned him sufficiently, Lydia crawled up to see his face. Stiles muttered a weak 'thank you' and she smiled. Ever polite, she mused. She leaned down and kissed him. He took the invitation and the noise of delight he made when he tasted himself on her tongue as she explored his mouth made her smile.
Stiles brought his hands up and touched her arms, exploring her skin and leaning into her kiss. So willing to be with me, she thought. Just me. A feral notion crossed her mind, small but domineering.
Mine, she thought, straddling his waist. Her hands came up to hold his face, drawing away a little. His five o'clock shadow was a little scratchy under her fingertips but she didn't care. It felt nice, his soft lips, his body waking up again. His hands were on her back along her spine. "Stiles," she whispered against his lips. His eyes focused on her, question clear in his brown eyes. "Your hands." Her teeth caught his lip and sucked. "I thought you had an imagination." She drew out the words so sweetly and held his attention so absolutely that he hesitated for a moment.
Soon his hands were clenching into her shirt and pulling it from her skirt. He kissed her, looking at her beneath his hooded gaze, beneath the long lashes. Her body squirmed a bit as he unbuttoned the fabric, a rush of desire causing her body to tremor a bit. He pulled her skirt up and over her head, throwing it off the bed. "Do you like that shirt," he asked, cheeks flush. Lydia smiled matter-of-factly.
"Yes."
"Then you'd better lose it or I'm tearing it off." The serious look in his eyes startled her. She let out a small squeak when he crushed her to his chest and kissed her again. Her hips gyrated and moved farther down his body, and when her underwear was the only thing between her and his soft cock. She wasn't tucking him back in because she wasn't thinking they'd be done so soon. Lydia leaned into him, her lips on his earlobe.
"I dare you." A pause. His cock twitched against her abdomen and she nipped his lobe. Stiles raised his eyebrows and smirked. His hands slid from their place on her bare back to her front. He trailed his fingertips along her skin, his warm touch leaving her breathless. She felt her focus waiver, his eyes left hers to plan. The material was soft under his sensitive fingertips, and he counted the blue buttons against the blue top. He ventured, touching each button on the way up. That was a dare he didn't mind, testing the fabric and tension between each fixture. Lydia saw the calculations in his eyes when he finally stopped at one of the spaces and slipped his hand in and touched her skin.
His hand burned against her skin and she took a deep breath when he slipped his other hand in so his knuckles touched. Stiles paused, his fingers grazing her soft breasts beneath her silk bra. In a single pull each of the buttons snapped off in a different direction, several buttons gone in moments. Lydia's eyes went wide but her red lips smiled. She'd never let anyone do that to one of her shirts, and to have Stiles of all men ruin it made her giddy. It was something she'd not experienced often, and it was a rush. Lydia hurried to remove the ruined shirt, throwing it aside. Having to part from his hands made her impatient, and soon she let out a golden laugh and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him again. Their tongues mingled and she tasted the mint from his toothpaste, deciding she liked that flavor as well. Soft, pliant lips and a strong tongue. He fell back against the bed, his hands falling on her rear and brassiere strap.
Lydia ground up against his midsection, fanning the flame inside. Stiles' hand sought out the hooks on her bra and she parted from his lips. She scraped her nails down his neck and chest, pulling his shirt up and his arms with it. The shirt ended up somewhere not on his body, which made her happy. Her lips were on his collarbone then, nipping at his skin. Lydia felt his hand cupping her covered breast and the other cupping her back.
He released her hooks faster than she expected. She fell forward a bit and her straps fell. A small smile appeared on her face and she straightened. Stiles removed her bra and threw it somewhere else, taking her into his arms again. He held her tight and gained purchased on his feet, rolling her beneath him. He kissed her neck and cupped her breast. Lydia felt him begin to slowly harden against her, and she smiled, opening her legs to make room for him. He needed time. Stiles kissed down her neck, his hands going in different directions. One of his hands toyed with her nipple after a moment of hesitation, probably still reeling that Lydia was half naked under him. The other took her hand and put it on his neck. She wove her fingers through his hair.
Then they kissed. The sensation of endorphins rushed through them, soft skin touching and tongues caressing, and Stiles moaned. He could still taste himself on her mouth, not tiring of the thrill she gave him, and he ground his hips against the apex of her thighs. Lydia's hands moved down to his rear and pulled her closer, nails digging into his thighs. Legs wrapping around him, Lydia kept her lips on his, devouring his essence and letting him set the pace. She was primed and ready from bringing him to release, the control was an amazing aphrodisiac.
He wanted to make her cum before she undressed, and before he was ready to go again. She was breathing harder, and his chest swelled knowing it was because she was here with him. Not Jackson. Not Aiden. Just him. That was almost sobering enough thought to keep him from rising to the occasion, and he ground against her again, and again. Lydia threw her head back at the impact of his hardening cock rubbing against her covered clitoris. It was the most difficult endurance trial he'd ever had to undertake. His finger pinched her nipple and she let out a delighted moan, while his other sought out her covered clitoris. She pulled herself closer to him and below he felt for her aching mound through the thin material.
He found what he was looking for and pressed down. She parted from his lips and cried out: "There, yes!" They continued their dance and soon she was grinding upwards, fighting to the edge of the abyss. Her nails raked down his neck and back, drawing a ground out noise of frustration from the man above her. Stiles massaged the collection of nerves, a buzz racing through his awakening body, and with a final rub Lydia tensed and began to shudder. Her body spasmed against his and she ground her body to his to prolong her release, her breath coming in short golden gasps.
She panted, falling slack onto the bed. Every few seconds she would shudder again, and a sly smile erupted on her face. The look was easy to read, and Stiles knew they were far from done. Lydia took a deep breath and let it out shakily. "Unf," left her lips, a lazy tone to her voice as she finally came down from her euphoria. Her eyes stayed with his, and her hands crawled up his arms. Stiles leaned over and touched his forehead to hers. His eyes were so dark and mesmerizing, and part of her wanted to just lie there with him. Beds were for sleeping, after all. Something else left her lips instead.
"I want to be on top." She smiled wide, showing her teeth. No one saw her real smile, with her eyes crinkling so prettily to show her delight, and Stiles stared at her. He'd never seen this face, but he'd imagined it, she supposed. He memorized it. Then he smiled too and let out a huff of breath, spearmint and warmth invading her senses. "Condom." Lydia waited for him to finish registering her request, and she knew she could use a small breather as well as he nodded shakily and looked to the bed stand. He grabbed the closest one and and tore open the package.
Lydia squeezed her legs to Stiles' sides and pat his chest. "On your back, Stilinski." His eyes widened and he rolled until she was straddling his midsection, plucking the condom from his hand. Lydia wagged her petite eyebrows at him and he trembled, letting out a breath of air. The fire in her belly ignited again. She quickly rolled the rubber onto his cock and Stiles' hands moved up her legs and waist. She put her hand over one of his, resting it on her breast. He squeezed and she gasped, her hips rocking.
He groaned and was ready to start up again, his cock nestled flush against her channel. Lydia scraped her nails down his chest and squirmed beneath him, reaching down and moving her thong to the side. She raised herself on her knees. "Stiles," she said, her voice soft as she lowered herself onto his length.
"Lydia," he said. The strain in his voice was enough to make her shiver. Stiles was perfectly human and was so delightful that she leaned over and captured his lips. The hand kneaded her breast and pinched her nipple, and they began to move together.
~~~~
"Dude, you get attacked last night?" Stiles stopped and looked around. That was the second guy to ask that. He didn't think sex would change his attitude to the point where random classmates were concerned for his wellbeing. He instead looked at his best friend, making the 'what's going on why's everyone asking weird questions where's the fire' look. Scott rubbed his chin, hiding a smirk.
"Um, Stiles, you kind of have scratch marks on your neck." Stiles, eyes wide, reached up and felt the back of his neck where Lydia had her nails on him. Jaw slack in shock, he couldn't feel anything specific that might look weird. "I'd've said something if it weren't obvious. I kind of smelled it first. We have that rule though."
"Smelled. . . " He held up a hand but said nothing. Stiles rubbed his face and turned around in the hall, looking for his favorite strawberry blonde who made his morning awkward. What if he smelled funny, he didn't shower this morning, but that was more out of laziness and self-awareness.
"I think they just see the marks. Jackson did say she left marks on him several times." Stiles saw her then, dressed to the nines in a dress with a matching jacket and legs that went on forever. He left Scott's side and ran to intercept the woman who held his heart in her very capable hands. Shit, though, she even took his virginity. Be cool. Stiles ran a hand through his hair and slowed himself down, casually propping against her locker. She opened the door, blocking his view. He switched to her other side, smooth.
"Morning." Lydia smirked and licked her lips.
"Good morning." Her voice was small but sweet. He had the feeling she was feeling a little out of control this morning as well, and he gave her his sweetest smile.
"I've been getting weird looks, and Scott says I have scratch marks on my neck." A pause. Lydia's eyebrows raised and Stiles knew she'd planned that. He should've known.
"I put them there," she said. Lydia, his divine goddess, smirked and licked her lips again, leaning into his ear, "on purpose. It's a compliment. Not everyone makes me come before divesting me of my clothing. So I should be thanking you too. See you in chemistry." She kissed him quick on the lips and his eyes closed, tasting her lip gloss. The strawberry blonde goddess stepped away from him slowly and he watched her walk away. She headed down the hallway, squaring her shoulders and greeting Scott in passing, swinging her hips just a bit. Yep, that swing of her hips was for Stiles. Scott raised his eyebrows at his best friend, and all he could do was shrug.
[end]