Lydia leaves Beacon Hills with a high school diploma and returns some time later with a Bachelors, Masters, and half a PhD under her belt. The only reason she comes back at all is because her mom's getting remarried to a lawyer named Kevin. She doesn't like him all that much - he calls her Lyds like Jackson used to - but he's kind to her mom, and surprisingly age-appropriate, so Lydia keeps her mouth shut and lets them build their new little family on the other side of the country.
Stiles is waiting for her at the airport, lounging against a column and looking longer and leaner than ever. He's the only person from Beacon Hills Lydia really kept in touch with after leaving - Kira sends little notes sometimes, but Lydia only knows about what everyone else has been up to because of Stiles.
Life in town was never the same after Allison died. Lydia heard whispers everywhere she went, and not just from the living; soft, unintelligible words followed her from class to class, in the car as she drove home, during dinners with the pack, late at night as she lay in bed. By the end of senior year it was overwhelming, and no matter how hard she tried to reign in her powers, the voices never went away. No one was happy when she announced she was going to MIT instead of Stanford, but they all understood. Things seemed to have settled down in Beacon Hills by that point anyway; their senior year was so normal it almost felt wrong.
Truth be told, Lydia hasn't missed it all that much. The east coast was a good change of pace, the world quiet and brisk. She'd come home those first few Christmases, and then she hadn't bothered. She did miss the pack sometimes - you couldn't not miss the people you'd spent a couple years defending your lives with, shoulder-to-shoulder in an unbreakable bond. Scott had come to her house a couple days before she'd left for Boston to give her one last, powerful hug, and she'd cried into his shoulder, the years of shared loss and sorrow heavy in the air.
Now, Stiles straightens when he spots her, grinning widely. Lydia wraps her arms around him gladly, squeaking in surprise when he laughs and hugs her so hard he lifts her off her feet. "Missed you," he says, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
Lydia sniffs. "Still wearing plaid, I see."
Stiles grins, tugging her suitcase from her hand. "Old habits die hard, I guess. I keep getting them as presents."
Lydia rolls her eyes fondly, following him from the terminal. "Where's your boyfriend?"
"Waiting in the car," Stiles says cheerfully, and sure enough, Derek's waiting in the drop-off zone outside, leaning against the truck with his arms folded over his chest, pointedly ignoring the baleful stare of a transit cop. Lydia was in Boston when Stiles and Derek became StilesandDerek, and this is the first time she’s seen them together in real life - Derek passing through the background during her bimonthly Skype sessions with Stiles doesn't count- but she knows they’re good together. The fact that they have a house, a house, together says enough.
Derek gives her a quick hug - and that says a lot too - before he takes her suitcase from Stiles and carefully places it in the bed of the truck while Stiles complains that he’s not that weak, thanks. Lydia wonders whose idea it was to get a truck; she has a hard time picturing Stiles asserting his need for one, though she never really expected him to live out in the middle of the woods, either, and look at what had happened.
“We got chickens a couple weeks ago,” Stiles tells her, sandwiched between her and Derek, long legs straddling the gearstick. He grins sharply. “They follow Derek around like he’s their mom.”
“Mother hen,” Lydia says, and Derek punches Stiles in the thigh when he laughs.
It’s an hour-long drive to Beacon Hills and it passes so fast that Lydia’s a little sad when Derek pulls into the driveway of her mom’s house. “Don’t worry,” Stiles says, as Derek hops out of the truck to get her suitcase. “Dinner at our place tomorrow night?”
“Sure,” Lydia agrees with a smile. “Did you tell anyone I was coming home?"
Stiles shakes his head. “Didn’t seem like you wanted me to,” he says. “Scott might have figured it out, though.”
“He definitely did,” Derek says with a roll of his eyes. “Stiles is incredibly transparent.”
Stiles winces. “He’s got a point. Sorry.”
“I’m not trying to avoid anyone,” Lydia tells him with a smile. “I just didn’t want to make a big deal out of coming back.”
Stiles gives her a hopeful look. “Would you mind if we invited more people over for dinner, then?”
Lydia’s smile widens. “I’d like that.”
“Cool,” Stiles sings, clambering back into the truck. “We’ll see you tomorrow night, then.”
Lydia waves as Derek backs out of the driveway, then heads inside. Her mom’s ecstatic to see her, but she’s also in full wedding panic mode, which is why Lydia disappears up to her room as soon as she can, leaving Kevin to talk her mom down from her catering-induced-woes ledge.
The next day, her mom tries to drag her along to harangue the florists or something, but Lydia digs in her heels, saying she has plans. She does; she drives her car out to the cemetery and sits at Allison’s grave for a while, brushing her fingers over the cool stone. The grave is clean, the grass well-trimmed and free of weeds; it lightens Lydia’s heart a little to know that even though Chris Argent moved to France years ago, someone is still stopping by and taking care of Allison’s grave.
She can hear a faint murmur from where she sits, the first she’s heard since returning to town, but it’s gentle, almost calming. Lydia removed herself from the supernatural world as completely as possible upon her move to Boston, though in a town so steeped in history it was inevitable she heard the occasional whispering, a vague stab of dread in her heart. Now Lydia just closes her eyes, smiling sadly when she whispers, “I miss you.”
That evening, Lydia drives across town and into the woods to where Derek and Stiles have worked hard for the past couple of years, rebuilding the old Hale house. The windows are already open wide and full of light when she pulls up, noting with a smile the other cars that cram the driveway. She walks up to the house slowly, admiring it, jumping when a couple of loose chickens spook at her movement. Derek opens the front door before she can even knock, gesturing her inside with a faint smile.
“Nice place,” Lydia tells him, hanging her bag amongst the coats by the door.
“Stiles will want to give you the tour,” he replies, leading her through a cozy living room and into a brightly lit kitchen. “He says I’m not good at selling it.” Derek gestures around, the sweep of his arm including Stiles standing at the stove, Scott leaning against the counter next to him, Kira sitting nearby.
“Lydia!” Kira cries excitedly, hopping down from a stool to wrap her arms around her. Lydia laughs and hugs her back, pleased to see everyone. Kira's just the same as she's always been, petite and light on her feet, smiling bright enough to light a room. When she pulls away from Lydia, she immediately spins on her heel and starts teasing Derek about the chickens.
Scott steps forward after Kira steps away, a warm smile on his face. He looks just like he did the last time she saw him - at a Christmas party a couple years back - but there's something different about the way he stands, solid and confident, unshakeable like a tree, roots deep in the soil. "Welcome home," he murmurs when he hugs her. She doesn't bother telling him it's only temporary, distracted by the power in his movements. She can feel the strength in him, the care. She jumped a little, startled when he rubs their cheeks together, scenting her.
Lydia didn't realize how much she'd missed it, that deep, easy bond of pack, but as they settle down to eat around the dining room table, it all comes flooding back to her. She missed Scott's dedication and good humor, Stiles' snark, Kira's energy, Derek's thoughtfulness. She watches Scott and Derek argue over baseball, while Stiles and Kira start talking about a demon they've been researching, and it truly does feel like she's come home. Scott turns his head and smiles at her warmly; she can't help but smile back.
"Lydia," Kira says, "how long are you back for? Stiles wouldn't say."
"Just a week," Lydia says a little ruefully. The wedding is in three days, and she's flying out two days after that. There's no point in sticking around town when her mom and Kevin are going to be heading out on their honeymoon to Belize immediately after the ceremony. She's starting to get the feeling, though, that it would have been nice to prolong the trip, soak in a little more Beacon Hills and the feeling of pack before she headed back to another year of studies in Boston.
Like he's heard her thoughts, Scott leans in on his elbows and asks, "When are you done with school? What are your plans after?"
Lydia shrugs a little. She's already been offered fellowships and professorships at MIT and several other colleges across the United States, even a couple in Europe, but she's not sure she's going to accept any of the offers. Every time she tries to think about the future, it's like this great gaping black void fills her horizon, terrifying and empty. She thinks maybe she should take a break from mathematics for a while.
"A little more than a year," she tells Scott. "After that, I don't know."
He nods, eyes dark and understanding. Stiles says, "You should travel," and the conversation spirals into a discussion of dream vacations. Lydia notices Scott's eyes lingering on her, something thoughtful and unfamiliar in their depths. He smiles, though, when she catches him, and reaches over to squeeze her hand before turning to tell Stiles, "I've always wanted to see the Washington Monument!"
Stiles groans. "God, keep your patriotism in check please, Captain America,” and everyone dissolves into laughter.
Lydia receives another round of hugs when she leaves that night. She thinks Scott lingers, though it could be that he’s distracted; he’s watching Kira walk out to her car when he steps back and says, “Are we going to see you again before you leave?”
Lydia hesitates. She was able to get out of it today, but she’s pretty sure she’s going to get roped into wedding preparations. “I don’t know,” she admits, tilting her head thoughtfully. She knows Stiles and Derek got an invite to the wedding because her mom knew she kept in touch with Stiles, but she didn’t think Scott had received one. “Would you like to be my plus one to my mom’s wedding?”
Scott’s eyes snap to her, a warm grin spreading across his face. “This weekend? Sure!”
“Okay,” Lydia smiles, feeling pleased. “Beacon Hills Country Club, four o’clock.” She eyes Scott critically. “Get a nice suit, no vest.”
Scott’s smile widens. “I’ll be there.”
“Okay,” Lydia repeats, softer, still smiling. “I’ll see you then.”
Scott watches her walk to her car, lifting a hand in farewell as she backs down the driveway. Lydia drives home with a heady warmth in her chest.
The next couple of days blur together, a whirl of pastel colors and place settings and a number of her mom’s miniature meltdowns, which Lydia has to deal with because Kevin has - probably wisely - disappeared. By the morning of the wedding, though, her mom has descended into a worried calm so deep it’s almost zen-like. They share champagne while at the hairdressers getting their hair done up for the wedding and it’s nice; Lydia misses spending time with her mom. She comes to Boston a couple times a year, but the visits have grown infrequent in the past couple of years.
“So,” her mom says, taking a sip of champagne. “This plus one of yours, is he - ”
“Stop fishing,” Lydia interrupts smoothly. “You know Scott.”
“I do,” her mom agrees, “and I also know you haven’t mentioned him in a couple of years.”
Lydia rolls her eyes. “And?”
Her mom smiles faintly. “I’m just wondering what it means."
“It doesn’t mean anything,” Lydia says, a little irritably. “Scott’s a friend - he always has been.”
“Hm,” her mom says infuriatingly. Lydia narrows her eyes at her reflection.
Lydia has never ever considered Scott romantically. He’s always been something else - first an obstacle, then as Allison’s boyfriend, then as a friend and ally, then as alpha, then Kira’s boyfriend, though they’d peacefully broken up before high school even ended. She’d always thought he was cute - in a soft, boyish way at first, and then as time and tragedy passed, he’d matured, face hardening but always a little softened at the edges by his good humor and uneven jawline. And it wasn’t like Scott had ever expressed any interest in her. There’d been that one time he’d kissed her back in sophomore year but years later he’d solemnly apologized for letting the wolf take over and kiss her like that. He'd made it obvious he'd never meant to do it, and Lydia hasn't dwelled on it.
Although...as she thinks about it, Lydia realizes she knows the look she’d seen in his eyes at dinner - a curiosity she’s more used to seeing on the faces of unfamiliar men in bars and her daily commute to school on the train. She hadn’t been expecting it from Scott, which is why it’s taken her so long to realize it for what it was. She used to see it on Stiles' face in high school, though Scott's expression was more...curious, like he'd had some epiphany and was seeing her in an entirely new light.
Lydia looks at herself in the mirror, long red hair pulled up in curlers. She doesn't think she's changed all that much but then, she sees herself every day, and Scott hasn't seen her in over three years. Tastes change, she supposes.
She keeps her mind open.
The day goes without a hitch. Her mom is beautiful and Kevin is all smiles and the ceremony is short and sweet. Lydia is her mom's maid of honor so she doesn't see Scott before the ceremony, but during it she spots him sitting with Stiles and Derek. He catches her eye and smiles softly; Lydia flushes and smiles back before whipping her head back around and focusing on the vows.
After the ceremony, Scott meets her outside, where all the attendees are milling around before heading to the reception. "You look beautiful," he greets her, dark eyes warm.
Lydia looks at him, observing him in a new light now, and she's caught off guard by what she sees. Scott looks - he looks good in a suit with his hands shoved in his pockets, all quiet confidence. He's not the same person she knew, Lydia realizes. He's a grown man, a Doctor of Veterinary Medicine with half a stake in the animal clinic. He's an alpha with nearly a decade of experience under his belt - a leader.
Suddenly Lydia doesn't know what to think. Scott's eyes are still on her and she realizes she hasn't replied. "Thank you," she manages, and she can't stop the flush rising on her cheeks. She wonders if Scott can smell it, but he's too polite to ever bring something like that up. "You cleaned up well."
"Thanks," Scott says cheerfully. "It's hard to get rid of the smell of antiseptic, but I think I managed."
"Come on, you guys," Stiles says impatiently, popping up out of nowhere, Derek looming behind him. "Stop flirting and get a move on - I'm hungry."
"We're not - " Scott begins to protest, his cheeks going slightly pink before he shuts his mouth and seems to regroup. Interesting, Lydia thinks. So she was right. Scott takes a step after Stiles and then glances at her. "Are you coming?"
Lydia shakes her head. "We have to do the photos," she tells him. "I'll be there later."
“Okay,” Scott says, grinning as he’s pulled along in Stiles’ wake. “See you!”
Lydia watches them go with a smile before turning to rejoin the rest of the wedding party. It’s nearly an hour later by the time they finish up and head over to the reception hall. Lydia was supposed to sit at the family table with her mom, but she figured her mom’s got enough family and friends to keep her occupied and convinced her to change to seating chart so Lydia could sit with her friends. They’re sharing the table with some of Lydia’s cousins, all of whom are at least ten years older than her and mostly ignoring her friends. Stiles is staring over at the buffet with something akin to lust on his face, tapping his foot impatiently while Derek and Scott converse across him. They both pause to look at her when she sits down in the space next to Scott.
“Congratulations,” Derek says solemnly.
“Very nice ceremony,” Stiles adds, not taking his eyes off the buffet tables.
Lydia rolls her eyes. “You guys can stop pretending. I know you’re only here for the free food.”
Derek grins ruefully. Stiles jiggles his legs around anxiously, moaning a little. “Oh my god, they’re bringing out crab legs.”
“Well, I’m here for the good company,” Scott says, winking at Lydia.
“Suckup,” Derek and Stiles say, synchronized. Lydia laughs.
Stiles looks like he’s about to implode by the time they’re allowed to eat, each table cleared to join the line one by one. He sprints off, nearly knocking over Lydia’s grandmother, shouting over his shoulder, “I’m eating all the crab legs, suckers!”
“Can you please rein in your boyfriend?” Lydia asks Derek, who sighs, looking put-upon, and trots after Stiles.
The evening passes pleasantly - Lydia has to give her maid of honor speech and it makes her mom cry (and all right, maybe Lydia gets a little wet-eyed too), and there’s other speeches, and cake. By the time Lydia’s mom and Kevin have their first dance out in the middle of the floor, Lydia’s had two glasses of wine and Stiles has built a log cabin of crab leg shells on his plate. As soon as the song changes and people begin shuffling onto the dance floor, Stiles pops to his feet and drags Derek off to dance. Lydia’s surprised to see Derek doesn’t look at all annoyed to be out there.
Scott leans over and tells her, “I think they’ve been taking lessons.”
“Will wonders never cease,” Lydia breathes.
Scott smiles and gets to his feet, offering her his hand. “Do you want to?”
Lydia looks at his hand and flashes back to another dance, winter formal nearly a decade ago. She’d been attacked by Peter Hale that night, awakening the dormant powers inside her - it’s a memory blurred by pain, pierced by the sound of Stiles screaming her name as he’d run across the lacrosse field toward her. She does remember dancing in the gym before all that, looking for Jackson even as she danced with Stiles. She remembers Scott dancing with Allison and it hurts a little, bittersweet.
In front of her, Scott drops his hand, concern filtering across his face. “We don’t have to,” he says. “Are you okay?”
Lydia shakes her head as if to clear her head. “I’m fine,” she says firmly, getting to her feet. “Let’s.”
A relieved smile creeps onto Scott’s face and he offers his hand again. Lydia accepts it this time, letting him lead her onto the dance floor. It’s a slow song; Lydia steps into the warmth of Scott’s body, smiling a little when he curls his arms around her waist. She puts her arms around his shoulders, tucking their cheeks together as they spin in slow circles around the dancefloor. A couple yards away, she sees Stiles whisper something to Derek and Derek laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
They’re different people, she realizes, her friends, her pack. She’s been gone so long that she doesn’t know them anymore, not really. Even the last time she was home, Derek moved more stiffly, still didn’t smile all that much - certainly not in front of strangers - but yet here he is, laughing in a room full of people he’s never met. Stiles is graceful and happy, not the heartbroken mess he was after Malia broke up with him to return to the woods. And Scott - Scott makes a contented noise into her hair, his cheek warm against hers. She doesn’t know what to make of Scott.
They dance all night and Lydia feels happier than she has in months. Once in a while, Stiles cuts in, tugging her away for a couple wild dances and she tilts her head back to laugh, exhilarated. Once he cuts in for Scott instead and they throw themselves around like they’re teenagers again, looking absolutely ridiculous. Lydia can’t stop laughing. She’s a little drunk and a little tired but mostly very happy by the time the night starts winding down, all of her older relatives long since left.
“Want me to drive you home?” Scott asks and she nods, wobbling on aching feet, heels long gone. Lydia turns to say goodbye to Stiles and Derek but they’re completely caught up dancing, though it’s basically devolved into them grinding against each other, Derek’s face buried against Stiles’ neck. Scott laughs, tugging at her wrist. “I don’t think they’re making it out of the parking lot tonight.”
“I think you’re right,” Lydia agrees, following him out the front doors and into the cool night air. He doesn’t let go of her wrist until they reach his car. Lydia looks at his hand, thoughtful. “No motorcycle?” she asks as he unlocks the doors.
“She’s in semi-retirement,” Scott says solemnly, opening her door for her. “Mom keeps sending me all these statistics about motorcycle accidents. She texts me every time someone’s brought to the hospital. The only way to appease her is to drive my car sometimes.”
“I see,” Lydia says thoughtfully, and they fall into silence as Scott backs his car out of the parking space and drive out of the lot. It’s not far to the house. Lydia watches him the whole way, eyes tracing the firm line of his profile, flickering in and out of shadow as they pass through pools of lamplight. He glances over at her at one stoplight, eyes red in the light, and smiles. Lydia smiles back.
The house is quiet, dark except for a light left on in the living room. Her mom and Kevin won’t be back - they’re staying in Sacramento tonight and then driving down to Los Angeles tomorrow to catch their flight to Belize. Scott pulls up in front of the door and pauses there, his hand hovering over the keys in the ignition like he’s not sure he’s welcome.
Lydia looks up at the house, big and empty and silent, and then back at Scott. She’s never done this thing before, where she’s friends with someone before they get together. She knew Jackson her whole life, but you couldn’t really call what they were before they dated friends. Aiden had been an enemy. Scott is her friend, someone she cares about deeply.
“Come inside,” she decides in a rush, makes it a directive so he doesn’t think she’s nervous, even though her heart’s banging in her chest.
Scott looks at her for a moment and says, “Okay,” and that’s when she relaxes because he has always, always trusted her, and she trusts him more than anyone - has trusted him with her life before, and this is going to be fine. Scott’s face splits into a grin as he shuts the car off and clambers out. Lydia follows, feeling giddy, unlocks the front door and steps inside and turns - and Scott is right there behind her, his hands coming out to catch her by the waist.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks earnestly.
Lydia raises her eyebrows, lips curving up in a teasing smile. “You’re asking?”
“You can always say no,” Scott says, serious for a moment, his whole body going still and tense. Lydia recognizes that it’s not because he’s trying to give her an escape, but he wants her to know that she always has the freedom of choice - that just because he’s the leader of their ragtag little pack, he doesn’t get to make every decision.
Lydia smiles wider. “I know,” she says. “Do it.”
Scott grins again, stance loosening. He draws her in close with one hand and cups her cheek in the other and presses their mouths together.
Lydia has kissed and been kissed by a lot of people, but no one’s ever kissed her the way Scott kisses her. He touches her with care, like she’s precious, his mouth soft and insistent against her, and when he pulls away he drags the tip of his nose along her cheek, scenting her, his breath soft against his skin. “All good?” he murmurs.
“Do it again,” Lydia breathes, her hands fisting in the front of his shirt.
Scott snorts softly, amused, and tilts his head to capture her lips again, pressing in a little harder this time, nothing urgent in the way he moves. Lydia’s not used to it; she’s used to rushed hook-ups, a frenzy of touch, but this - there’s heat there for sure, building between her legs until she itches with it, but it’s a different heat than she’s used to, lazy and long-lasting.
Scott’s hands guide her backward as they kiss, back through the foyer and into the living room until they bump up against a couch and they pause for a moment so Lydia can lay back on it. Scott climbs on top of her, hands skipping over her body, smoothing down her sides and skimming over her breasts - a little shy, Lydia thinks fondly, like he doesn’t want to intrude. She grabs his wrist, presses his hand down firmly, and his mouth falls open, blunt fingers squeezing at the soft swell of her breast. She laughs at him, a little breathless, and he grins in response, bending down to kiss her again. There’s more heat in it this time, wet and open-mouthed, and she gasps a little when he bites down on her bottom lip.
Scott rears back suddenly, frantically shrugging off his suit jacket. Lydia reaches up to help him, tugging at his shirt until he takes that off too, so rough something rips. He grimaces and Lydia laughs again, patting him on the cheek. “I’ll pay you back for the lost deposit,” she tells him, eyes sparkling, and Scott laughs with his whole body, tilting his head back and exposing the line of his throat. Lydia’s still not quite sure what to think of him, but the fond look he gives her when he leans in for another kiss, and the corresponding pulse of heat between her thighs is enough to keep her on this path.
She traces her hands down the smooth planes of his back as Scott nuzzles into her throat, his breathing picking up when she squeezes his ass. He bites down in retaliation, not hard enough to hurt, but it startles a noise out of her that’s embarrassingly like a squeak and she slaps his back reproachfully, the noise loud in the quiet room. Scott huffs out a chuckle, kissing the hollow of her throat, sucking at her collarbone as he works a hand under her, seeking the zipper of her dress. Lydia takes pity on him - it’s on the side, anyway, and he’s never going to find it - and unzips it for him, relishing the way he groans at the stark white spill of her skin.
“You’re beautiful, Lydia,” Scott tells her reverentially, and she sinks her hand into his dark hair when he bends his head, laving his tongue over one of her nipples, her body arching under him. He stays there for what seems like hours, sucking on her soft skin, teeth occasionally grazing her. Lydia feels like she’s on fire, every touch of Scott’s mouth on her sending her body alight. She’s wet, aching for touch, pressing her feet against the couch as she arches, trying to find friction. Scott’s hard - she can feel him, hot and firm against her thigh, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Scott,” she gasps, pleads, and he makes a gentle, soothing noise, shifting up to kiss her again. She feels him run a hand up her thigh, pushing her dress up and smoothing over her skin and she shakes, breathing hard against his cheek when the tips of his fingers brush between her legs, where she’s so wet her underwear’s soaked through. “Scott, please - ”
“Fuck,” he says quietly, sounding almost awed. He shifts backward onto his knees, pushes her dress up around her waist - then pauses, looking up at her with wide eyes. “Can I - ”
“Yes,” Lydia says impatiently. “Get your mouth on me or I will kick you in the nuts, I swear to go - “ Lydia breaks off in a muffled shriek as Scott presses his fingers against her. She’s still wearing underwear, but she’s so keyed up that even the slightest touch sends fire licking up her spine. Scott grins lazily and sinks between her legs, pressing his hands into the backs of her knees to bend her back. Lydia wails when he puts his mouth on her, sucking through the thin cotton of her underwear. Scott groans and she jolts at the noise and the way it vibrates against her skin. He pursues her, fingers digging into her thighs to keep her spread open. She almost cries when he pulls her underwear aside and she gets the first touch of his mouth to her slick skin. He groans again, subvocal, so deep she feels it in her bones, her hips bucking up.
Scott doesn’t like that; he makes an irritated noise and pins her down with an arm like a steel bar before diving back in, mouth an odd, gentle counterpoint to the eager noises he makes. Scott kisses her clit, swiping his tongue over it in a way that makes Lydia’s toes curl. She finds herself with her hands fisted in his hair, simultaneously urging him on and pulling him away. He’s so into it it makes her ache; she’s wetter than ever and she can see his face shining with it when he moves, worrying at her relentlessly until she’s arching her back again, feet pressing into the couch.
“Scott - “ she begs. “Please, make me - please.”
He growls and slips two fingers into her, crooking them upward and pumping them in and out of her in time with the movement of his mouth on her clit. It feels so good it hurts, every nerve in her body singing out. She wants release, she wants to come, she - Scott looks up at her and there’s red ringed around his eyes, luminous and wild in the darkness. A sudden shock of danger pushes her over the edge; Lydia throws her head back with a scream, body going rigid as she comes. It seems to last forever, cresting over her in waves, her breath coming in shocky hitches as her body numbs in pleasure.
Scott eases his fingers out of her, eyes still glowing red in the dark of the room. He sits back again, smoothing his hands over her legs as she comes down from her orgasm, presses a kiss to the inside of her knee. Lydia waits until she’s got her breath back before motioning at him and he leans in for a slow kiss. Lydia’s head feels heavy, her movements dumb and slow, but she slides her hands down Scott’s body, managing to get his belt undone and his pants open.
“You don’t - “ Scott hisses when she gets a hand around him, hips unconsciously jerking into her grip. “You don’t have to.”
“I know,” Lydia murmurs, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “I want to.”
Scott’s smile then is blinding, and Lydia laughs at the way it goes crooked when he comes, his eyes squeezing shut. He collapses carefully on top of her and she pets his hands over his back while he recovers, scraping her nails through his hair. She shuts her eyes as he sighs, tucking his face under her chin and breathing in deeply.
They have a lot to talk about, she thinks sleepily. She’s leaving in two days and they should figure out what they’re doing. Whatever they decide, though, she’s got a feeling it’ll all work out. Lydia trusts Scott - she always has.