The one bonus of not having a healing factor is that she can feel the alcohol she’s drinking.
Scott sits politely across from her, nursing a soda as she works her way a decent amount of whiskey while managing to deflect talking about anything at all. She doesn’t want to talk about this situation, she doesn’t want to linger on memories of dead bodies – she wants to remember good things and be a happy drunk, and for the most part, Scott indulges her, up until they’re ready to make their escape, and he reaches a hand over for her car keys.
“I’ll drive. You’re in no shape.”
She doesn’t disagree and places the keys in his hand, letting him lead the way out to the car. She only opens the door halfway when she reaches the passenger’s side and spins around. “Don’t –” Her breath catches when she realizes how close he is, far closer than he’s been in a long time, and all of her drunk girl instincts say take advantage of it. She remembers him kissing her once, a long time ago Coach’s office when she was looking to piss off Jackson and he was looking to do the same to Allison. Still, she pushes the memories back with another step into the V of the car door, trying to put some space between them. “Don’t take me home. My mom will worry.”
“Where do you want me to take you?”
“That’s a good question.” Those feel like words that probably should have stayed on the inside, but Scott smirks and waves a hand.
“You can crash at my place. Get in.”
Scott’s place used to be Derek’s loft. She recognizes the bare bones of the area but marvels at the fact that it has furniture and on occasion walls. Scott takes Lydia’s hand and leads her through, letting her look her fill as they pass the now fully furnished living room and up the spiral staircase towards the bedrooms.
“You got furniture.”
“Yeah. Unlike Derek, I’m not one for minimalist techniques.” He leads her past many doors, stopping in front of the main bedroom that is full of Scott’s sense of somewhat cluttered organization. “Unfortunately, I haven’t set up the guest rooms yet, but it’s okay. I can crash on the couch.”
She blinks, before looking over at the big bed sitting in the middle of the room. “I can’t take your bed.”
“It’s okay, Lydia.”
She shakes her head. “No. We can share.” She turns to push the door closed behind her, as though that will deter him. It makes sense in her drunk mind, where she momentarily believes that a werewolf’s greatest weakness is a closed door. Scott raises an amused eyebrow at her in return, and her face falters. “I don’t want to be alone somewhere. Please?”
Scott’s amusement softens, then nods. “Yeah, okay. We’ll share.”
“Good.”
He lends her some clothes, and she strips out of her various layers and by the time they’re both tucked into Scott’s bed, back to back like awkward siblings who don’t want to be touching, she’s ready to fall asleep. Before she can drift off, however, she feels Scott reach over and brush his thumb against her arm.
“It’s not your fault, you know. That shifters find their way here.”
Lydia thinks that maybe she should pretend to be asleep, but instead, she rolls over, turning so that she’s facing his back. “How do you know?”
He turns as well, tucking one arm under his pillow as he gets comfortable. “Just because you sense death doesn’t mean you cause it. The nematon is always going to call cryptids here whether we want it to or not.”
She closes her eyes because she knows she’s right. “I still wish I could do something more. I still … want to get there before they become a body. No matter how much I hone my skills, I still can’t get there before they’re dead.”
“You can’t save everyone.” He tucks one arm around her waist to pull her closer, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “You do the best you can. That’s all anyone can ever ask of you.”
It’s probably too close, too intimate to stay tucked into him like this, and this isn’t what she had in mind when she suggested they share the bed, but at the same time, this feels like the safest place in the world to be. So instead of pulling away, she tucks in closer, burying her face against his shoulder and lets him hold her as she drifts off to a troubled sleep.
- - - - - -
When she wakes the next morning, Scott’s still kept her tucked into his side, one arm draped over her waist in a protective gesture. Sometimes she isn’t sure where the alpha ends, and Scott begins, but for Scott, she presumes that’s almost the point. Scott became an alpha because he was a protector. It was innately in him all along. She also knows that she should not be resting this close. She likes being there – she’s always been one for affection and proximity, as long as it was with the right people, but this particular position with this specific person is not a good idea. She’d be lying if she said Lydia hadn’t felt the tug between them once or twice since returning, one Lydia hadn’t felt since that moment before the concert where Scott promised her that if she gave him the time, he would act. But there’s too much baggage between them to make this viable.
Still, she can’t stray far without waking him more, so instead, she waits, tries rolling over, so she’s not immediately facing him. His arm tenses, holding her in place before he opens his eyes to look down at her again.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” she whispers, before glancing over her shoulder. “I was just going to get dressed and go home.”
He makes a small, sleepy noise of protest before curling into her shoulder. “You can stay. We could breakfast.”
Breakfast does sound good, but at the same time, she knows she’s playing with fire as it is. “That’s a bad idea.”
“Why?” The question is so innocent, and he looks down at her like he honestly doesn’t know why one is better than the other.
She doesn’t have the right answer for that. Scott hasn’t suggested anything untoward, only that they share a meal which they had been doing with regularity since Lydia came back to Beacon Hills. It’s likely everything she’s feeling that’s causing the problem, and she doesn’t know how to put that into words.
She looks up at him, and he’s suddenly too close, noses brushing to indicate that he’s in kissing distance, and as his head starts to dip lower, she pulls back with a groan. “God, we’re terrible friends.”
She catches Scott’s smirk out of the corner of her eye, but he doesn’t pull away. “Again, why?”
Lydia turns to look at him. “Because every time I get close to you, I keep wanting to do bad things.”
“Bad things.” He lets the phrase hang in the air as his thumb brushes against her side. “Good, bad things or bad, bad things.”
“I don’t think the former is a thing.”
“Lydia.”
“I just broke up with your best friend.”
Scott takes a deep breath before leaning back against the pillow. “Okay.”
“And last time I saw you, you were dating my best friend. We can’t just keep sleeping with our friends' significant others.”
“First, we haven’t done anything yet.” The ‘yet’ is the dangerous part of that sentence, and it’s clear that he knows it. “Second, it’s not like it’s the first time for either of us.”
“Yes, but the first time should have been the only time.” Lydia shifts to prop herself up against his chest. “There are codes. Expectations, you know?”
Scott stares up at her, before surging up and kissing her soundly. One hand cups the back of her head, fingers winding up into her hair, while the other keeps her close. She melts into it almost instantly, her hand finding his bicep to keep herself steady, and she leans into it for as long as she can, until he finally breaks it. She stays close, eyes closed, before she looks up at him.
“How is that so much better than the last time we did this?”
Scott pauses, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone. “Last time wasn’t real.”
She doesn’t think he’s wrong about that, even if it wasn’t in the literal sense. “I still think this is a bad idea.”
“Or it could be a really, really good one.” Scott shifts again. “How about we take it slow? Just … one day at a time.”
Lydia nods again because that sounds logical. They could take it slow and not super commit to anything until they know where it’s going. That seems fair, especially considering the powder kegs they could be lighting on both sides of their relationships.
“Okay. Slow sounds good.”
“Good,” he murmurs as he kisses her again. The kisses are relatively chaste, but they still linger a little longer than they should, and eventually deepen a little more than they should, until Scott is shifting them so he can settle above her and pull her closer.
And as his lips wander to her neck, he leaves her wondering how “slow” has never really been one of her strong suits.
you are the bearer of unconditional things ~ teen wolf ~ 3,967 ~ part 2
The one bonus of not having a healing factor is that she can feel the alcohol she’s drinking.
Scott sits politely across from her, nursing a soda as she works her way a decent amount of whiskey while managing to deflect talking about anything at all. She doesn’t want to talk about this situation, she doesn’t want to linger on memories of dead bodies – she wants to remember good things and be a happy drunk, and for the most part, Scott indulges her, up until they’re ready to make their escape, and he reaches a hand over for her car keys.
“I’ll drive. You’re in no shape.”
She doesn’t disagree and places the keys in his hand, letting him lead the way out to the car. She only opens the door halfway when she reaches the passenger’s side and spins around. “Don’t –” Her breath catches when she realizes how close he is, far closer than he’s been in a long time, and all of her drunk girl instincts say take advantage of it. She remembers him kissing her once, a long time ago Coach’s office when she was looking to piss off Jackson and he was looking to do the same to Allison. Still, she pushes the memories back with another step into the V of the car door, trying to put some space between them. “Don’t take me home. My mom will worry.”
“Where do you want me to take you?”
“That’s a good question.” Those feel like words that probably should have stayed on the inside, but Scott smirks and waves a hand.
“You can crash at my place. Get in.”
Scott’s place used to be Derek’s loft. She recognizes the bare bones of the area but marvels at the fact that it has furniture and on occasion walls. Scott takes Lydia’s hand and leads her through, letting her look her fill as they pass the now fully furnished living room and up the spiral staircase towards the bedrooms.
“You got furniture.”
“Yeah. Unlike Derek, I’m not one for minimalist techniques.” He leads her past many doors, stopping in front of the main bedroom that is full of Scott’s sense of somewhat cluttered organization. “Unfortunately, I haven’t set up the guest rooms yet, but it’s okay. I can crash on the couch.”
She blinks, before looking over at the big bed sitting in the middle of the room. “I can’t take your bed.”
“It’s okay, Lydia.”
She shakes her head. “No. We can share.” She turns to push the door closed behind her, as though that will deter him. It makes sense in her drunk mind, where she momentarily believes that a werewolf’s greatest weakness is a closed door. Scott raises an amused eyebrow at her in return, and her face falters. “I don’t want to be alone somewhere. Please?”
Scott’s amusement softens, then nods. “Yeah, okay. We’ll share.”
“Good.”
He lends her some clothes, and she strips out of her various layers and by the time they’re both tucked into Scott’s bed, back to back like awkward siblings who don’t want to be touching, she’s ready to fall asleep. Before she can drift off, however, she feels Scott reach over and brush his thumb against her arm.
“It’s not your fault, you know. That shifters find their way here.”
Lydia thinks that maybe she should pretend to be asleep, but instead, she rolls over, turning so that she’s facing his back. “How do you know?”
He turns as well, tucking one arm under his pillow as he gets comfortable. “Just because you sense death doesn’t mean you cause it. The nematon is always going to call cryptids here whether we want it to or not.”
She closes her eyes because she knows she’s right. “I still wish I could do something more. I still … want to get there before they become a body. No matter how much I hone my skills, I still can’t get there before they’re dead.”
“You can’t save everyone.” He tucks one arm around her waist to pull her closer, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “You do the best you can. That’s all anyone can ever ask of you.”
It’s probably too close, too intimate to stay tucked into him like this, and this isn’t what she had in mind when she suggested they share the bed, but at the same time, this feels like the safest place in the world to be. So instead of pulling away, she tucks in closer, burying her face against his shoulder and lets him hold her as she drifts off to a troubled sleep.
When she wakes the next morning, Scott’s still kept her tucked into his side, one arm draped over her waist in a protective gesture. Sometimes she isn’t sure where the alpha ends, and Scott begins, but for Scott, she presumes that’s almost the point. Scott became an alpha because he was a protector. It was innately in him all along. She also knows that she should not be resting this close. She likes being there – she’s always been one for affection and proximity, as long as it was with the right people, but this particular position with this specific person is not a good idea. She’d be lying if she said Lydia hadn’t felt the tug between them once or twice since returning, one Lydia hadn’t felt since that moment before the concert where Scott promised her that if she gave him the time, he would act. But there’s too much baggage between them to make this viable.
Still, she can’t stray far without waking him more, so instead, she waits, tries rolling over, so she’s not immediately facing him. His arm tenses, holding her in place before he opens his eyes to look down at her again.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” she whispers, before glancing over her shoulder. “I was just going to get dressed and go home.”
He makes a small, sleepy noise of protest before curling into her shoulder. “You can stay. We could breakfast.”
Breakfast does sound good, but at the same time, she knows she’s playing with fire as it is. “That’s a bad idea.”
“Why?” The question is so innocent, and he looks down at her like he honestly doesn’t know why one is better than the other.
She doesn’t have the right answer for that. Scott hasn’t suggested anything untoward, only that they share a meal which they had been doing with regularity since Lydia came back to Beacon Hills. It’s likely everything she’s feeling that’s causing the problem, and she doesn’t know how to put that into words.
She looks up at him, and he’s suddenly too close, noses brushing to indicate that he’s in kissing distance, and as his head starts to dip lower, she pulls back with a groan. “God, we’re terrible friends.”
She catches Scott’s smirk out of the corner of her eye, but he doesn’t pull away. “Again, why?”
Lydia turns to look at him. “Because every time I get close to you, I keep wanting to do bad things.”
“Bad things.” He lets the phrase hang in the air as his thumb brushes against her side. “Good, bad things or bad, bad things.”
“I don’t think the former is a thing.”
“Lydia.”
“I just broke up with your best friend.”
Scott takes a deep breath before leaning back against the pillow. “Okay.”
“And last time I saw you, you were dating my best friend. We can’t just keep sleeping with our friends' significant others.”
“First, we haven’t done anything yet.” The ‘yet’ is the dangerous part of that sentence, and it’s clear that he knows it. “Second, it’s not like it’s the first time for either of us.”
“Yes, but the first time should have been the only time.” Lydia shifts to prop herself up against his chest. “There are codes. Expectations, you know?”
Scott stares up at her, before surging up and kissing her soundly. One hand cups the back of her head, fingers winding up into her hair, while the other keeps her close. She melts into it almost instantly, her hand finding his bicep to keep herself steady, and she leans into it for as long as she can, until he finally breaks it. She stays close, eyes closed, before she looks up at him.
“How is that so much better than the last time we did this?”
Scott pauses, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone. “Last time wasn’t real.”
She doesn’t think he’s wrong about that, even if it wasn’t in the literal sense. “I still think this is a bad idea.”
“Or it could be a really, really good one.” Scott shifts again. “How about we take it slow? Just … one day at a time.”
Lydia nods again because that sounds logical. They could take it slow and not super commit to anything until they know where it’s going. That seems fair, especially considering the powder kegs they could be lighting on both sides of their relationships.
“Okay. Slow sounds good.”
“Good,” he murmurs as he kisses her again. The kisses are relatively chaste, but they still linger a little longer than they should, and eventually deepen a little more than they should, until Scott is shifting them so he can settle above her and pull her closer.
And as his lips wander to her neck, he leaves her wondering how “slow” has never really been one of her strong suits.