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It’s late when they stumble into his bedroom, nearly morning, and they’re both exhausted. They’re dirty and tired and so, so desperate to be together that neither of those things even matter.
When he pushes the door closed behind him and just leans against it and looks at her, she feels naked and raw. He knows. After all this time she finally knows that he knows, and she’s terrified and exhilarated and so desperately in love with him, with this beautiful, flawed man standing in front of her.
“Stiles,” she whispers. Her voice breaks and she can feel tears burning her throat and her eyes. “Stiles, I, I just...” and she crumbles.
He pushes off the door and is in front of her in an instant, cradling her face in his hands, looking down at her with a reverence that nearly knocks her off her feet.
“Shh, Lydia, I know, I’m here,” he whispers, brushing away the tears that are running down her cheeks. “I’m here. I’m not gonna leave again, I swear.”
“You were gone and I could feel a piece of me missing, Stiles, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t get a god damn breath and I didn’t know why! How could I forget you?” she sobs once, brokenly, and looks up at him. “How could I forget you? How could I forget how you make me feel? Like nothing in the world is more important than getting me to laugh at your stupid jokes? Or how you always bring me coffee exactly the way I like it on days we have a test? How could I forget how you make every minute we spend together feel like the most important minute of my life? How could I forget how you made me fall in love with you?” She has her hands fisted in his flannel and is pulling him closer and closer. “I love you so much, Stiles, I love you so much and I just need you, okay? I need you, I need,”
Whatever she was about to say is suddenly swallowed down by his lips on hers, hungry and desperate. His hands are in her hair and his tongue is in her mouth, learning the taste of her and mapping out every ridge, a slick slide of wet flesh against wet flesh. She could kiss him forever, she thinks, as she slides the fingers of her left hand through his hair, pulling gently and earning a low moan from deep in his throat. She pulls again, harder this time, and he growls, and she swears the sound and feel of it goes right to her clit.
He pulls back and stares at her, the whiskey of his eyes almost completely drowned out by the black of his pupils blown wide with want. He’s breathing hard, his hands are shaking, and Lydia can’t believe how fast the mood changed, from aching sadness to this.
“Lydia,” he whispers, stroking one hand down her throat, stopping at the thundering pulse in her neck and gulping. “Lydia, I need to touch you, please let me, please.”
“Anything Stiles, anywhere, just touch me, God, I need you to.”
She expects a flurry of movement, for him to touch her with desperation. Instead, he lets out a shuddering breath and leans his forehead against hers, his hands skimming down her arms, then linking their fingers for a moment before he’s running his hands up her sides, ghosting along the sides of her breasts, then his fingertips are on her collarbone, sliding down to the row of buttons on her dress. He works the first one through the hole, his eyes closed, breathing heavy with their foreheads still pressed together. The second one goes, then the third, the fourth, the fifth, and finally, finally he pushes the garment off of her shoulders and down to pool around her feet. He opens his eyes and just stares at her for one charged moment, his hands tight on her hips, before dropping to his knees in front of her. She gasps, her hands grasping his shoulders as he helps pull first one boot, then the other from her feet and pushes her dress away. His hands stroke languidly up the outside of her legs, around to her ass, then back to the front where he slides his fingertips over the edge of her panties, then spreads his fingers wide and scratches lightly down the inside of her thighs, all the way to her ankles.
She’s stunned and breathless and so, so turned on and wet and his lips haven’t even touched her skin yet. She wonders if he can tell, if he knows how badly she wants his mouth on her. When he leans his head against her stomach, his nose brushing against the front of her underwear and just breathes in, fingers squeezing the backs of her thighs tight, she wonders no more.
“God Lydia,” he moans, and presses his lips to her, and even though her panties are in the way, she feels his hot breath through the cotton and her knees buckle.
He holds her up and presses another open-mouthed kiss to her clit through the fabric, then licks along her left hip, slipping his fingers under the band of her underwear and sliding them down, down, following his fingers with lips and tongue and teeth. He nips lightly at the inside of her thigh and she gasps, grasping a handful of his hair and tugging, tugging, trying to pull his mouth to her aching, dripping center. He moans low in his throat and presses his mouth to the same spot he had used his teeth, laving over the sensitive skin with his tongue.
“Hold on to me, Lydia,” he whispers, gently pushing her legs apart, “I need to taste you, fuck, been dreaming about this for years,” and he licks slowly from her opening up to circle lightly around her clit.
“Oh fuck, Stiles,” she cries, head thrown back. She’s close, so fucking close, and he has barely touched her.
His tongue snakes out around her clit again, again, then down to dip into her opening, and he’s moaning and whispering things into her flesh she can’t understand, but she doesn’t care. Her hands are in his hair and she can’t stop herself from pulling and tugging at him, she has to do something with her hands or she’s going to fly apart, just shatter into a million pieces because of this man and his lips and his tongue and the fire pooling low in her belly.
“Christ Lydia,” he moans, slipping a finger into her, then a second, curling them just right so she cries out and nearly tips right over the edge. Then his mouth is back on her, lips and tongue soft on her clit as his fingers work inside of her. She looks down and it shocks her to see his eyes already open and gazing up at her. His lip curls up into a devious grin and she can see his tongue working over her clit, can hear the wet sounds of his fingers inside of her and she can’t look away. She watches his eyes as he pleasures her and she’s close, she’s so close, but she doesn’t want this to end.
“Come on Lydia,” he whispers against her clit, “I wanna see you come, I wanna see you fall apart, come on, fuck, please, look at me and let go.”
His tongue swirls around her clit, his fingers curl, and she’s flying, she’s coming harder than she ever has, longer than she ever has, and when it’s finally over she sinks to her knees in front of him, gasping for air, head pressed to his shoulder. His lips are in her hair and he’s whispering.
“Fuck that was amazing, can’t believe it finally happened, you taste so good Lydia, your face when I made you come, God.”
She lifts her head from his shoulder and can’t stop herself from kissing him, tasting herself on his lips and tongue. She runs her hands under his flannel and pushes it from his shoulders, then grabs the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it quickly over his head.
“Stand up, Stiles,” she commands, pushing at him, because if he’s not naked right now, if she can’t feel his skin under hers, she’s going to scream.
He scrambles to his feet and she helps him take off his shoes and socks, then she’s unbuttoning his pants, dragging the zipper down inch by agonizing inch, and she can finally see his gray boxer briefs, tented by his erection, a wet spot of pre-cum on the front evidence of how much he wants her. She hums low in her throat as she strokes him through his underwear, his hips bucking forward into her.
“Fuck, sorry,” he groans, “I can’t help it, you’re so beautiful on your knees in front of me, you have no idea.”
But she does, she knows exactly what she can do to him from her knees and she’s desperate to have her lips around him.
She smiles coquettishly up at him as she pulls his pants and underwear down his legs, lets his cock brush against her cheek, runs her fingernails lightly up the backs of his legs then around to his hips and back down, just skimming his cock on her way.
“I’ve dreamed of this, too,” he says, looking down at her and licking his bottom lip. His hands are in her hair again, stroking through the strands and down to her jaw. “Of you on your knees looking at me like you are right now, of my cock in your mouth, fuck.”
“When did you dream about me sucking you off, Stiles,” she whispers, lightly kissing the head of his penis with an open mouth, “In bed at night, in the shower, at school like I did? Tell me.”
She slides her lips over him and pulls him into her mouth, the feel of him hot and heavy on her tongue, and the sound he makes, Jesus, the sound he makes goes straight to her core and she’s flooded with arousal again, just from his voice.
“Oh fuck, fuck,” he sobs it, his hands tight in her hair now, eyes wide and mouth panting above her. “I dreamt about it all he time, all the fucking time because I wanted you every second of every day, fuck Lydia, fuck, your mouth, fuck!”
She closes her eyes and works her mouth up and down his length, left hand sliding along with her, stroking and twisting up over the head, then back down as she takes him in her mouth again. He rocks into her, a steady stream of curses hissing out through clenched teeth, one hand in her hair, the other on her face, and he’s watching her the whole time, like he can’t bear to look away from her lips wrapped around his cock.
“Does it compare, Stiles?” she asks, sliding both hands up and down his length, looking up at him from her knees. “Does my mouth compare to your dreams? My hands? My tongue?”
“It’s so much better, Lydia, you’re so much better than anything I could ever dream up, fuck, you feel so good, so fucking good,”
She takes him in her mouth again and swirls her tongue around and around, reaches down and cups his balls and squeezes lightly, then hums deep in her throat. He chokes and pulls back, gasping for breath, fingers grappling over her shoulders and pulling her to her feet.
“I’m never gonna last if you keep that up, God.”
His mouth is on hers again, hot and hungry, and he’s gently pushing her back toward his bed. They tumble back onto soft sheets, and he’s pulling her down onto her back, spreading her legs and settling between her thighs, mouths still locked together. He pulls back and strokes a hand down her face, over her lips, and sighs.
“Lydia,” he whispers, and the moment is suddenly so heavy, so significant, her chest so filled with love, that her eyes fill and a quiet sob works its way out of her throat. He kisses her and slowly, slowly pushes into her waiting heat.
They both gasp, eyes wide and focused on each other, and everything is still for one shining moment, and Lydia is certain that nothing has ever felt as good as Stiles inside of her. Then he starts to move, rocking his hips down and into her, and she’s wrong, she’s so wrong, because this, this feels incredible and better than anything she has ever felt before.
“Christ Lydia, you feel so good, so wet and hot around my cock,” he moans into her neck, and she feels the first flutters of her impending orgasm deep in her core.
“Stiles,” she pants, scraping her nails down his back, “I’m so close, so fucking close, god, you’re so good Stiles.”
He pushes himself up onto his elbows, reaches down and nudges her knee out wide, then his thumb is brushing her clit, pressing down and circling, and her eyes are rolling back in her head and she’s toppling over the edge again, coming for the second time that night, and it feels like it’s never going to end. Suddenly he’s there with her, a string of obscenities and her name falling from his lips like rain, and he comes with a sob and a final, deep thrust. He’s heavy on top of her but she can’t bear the thought of him moving. She wraps her arms and legs tight around him and just breathes him in, so fucking happy and content with him in this moment.
He presses his lips to her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her smiling lips, then rolls to the side and gathers her close.
“You’re mouthy when you fuck,” Lydia whispers, and she feels his surprised laugh more than she hears it.
“Jesus Lydia.”
She can feel him smiling into her hair and she just beams, she can’t help it, she’s never been in love like this, never wanted to be like this with anyone.
“I liked it,” she says, reaching around to pinch his ass. “Dirty.”
He laughs and pulls her tight to his chest, a ragged sigh escaping his lips.
“I love you, you know,” she murmurs, and she can feel the rapid beating of his heart under her ear. “I have for a long time, longer than I realized, I think.”
“I knew,” he says, stroking a hand languidly down her spine, “I was just waiting for you to catch up.”