bakerstreet | (no subject)

He blushed. His eyes cut down and he dropped his head, not able to look at her when he knew exactly what she was talking about. At least he wasn't being crude enough to be poking her with it. His hands moved to rest lightly over his lap, covering that little problem.

"Um, it's, it's fine. Sorry. I should go."

Her hand reaches down, tugs his away. "It's just chemical reactions." she tells him. Lydia hasn't felt this in control for a long time. She's more drunk with the feeling of it than she is with actual alcohol.

She braces her hands on the sides of the bathtub, using them to push herself forward, so suddenly she's sort of on top of Stiles, halfway pinning him in place.

"Why are you ashamed of it?"

"I'm not. I mean, I'm not ashamed, I just... I didn't mean to. With you. I don't want you to think..." Think what? That he was attracted to her? Had been for years? Couldn't think of anyone but her?

Yeah, he was pretty sure she already knew that and didn't care. But why was she trapping him in the tub? And why was that only turning him on more?

"You didn't?" Her head tilts to one side, and then the other, as if she's studying him in entire new light. Or has just discovered a new alien species she's trying to get the measure of. It may be hard to tell.

"Why not? Don't you like me?" Yeah, she already knows the answer to that, but God, Stiles being so helpless and hapless? It's actually turning her on.

"You didn't mean to. What do you think would happen when I climbed in with you and sat on your lap and made you drink Fireball off my mouth?" she asks, the aforementioned mouth starting to curve into a smile.

Just because she's not a werewolf doesn't mean Lydia Martin can't be predatory.

"Of course I like you." He was quick to try to reassure her of that, his hands drumming almost in a panic on the edges of the tub. God, she was so close and he could still taste that bit of her on his tongue and her hair smelled good and she was right on his lap and Jesus kill him now.

"I, uh, I hadn't thought of that. I mean, I didn't think about you sitting on me, and I don't... know?"

"You're in my bathtub." she points out again. With her hands braced against the tub and him trapped beneath her and the fact that she is ragingly turned on, she leans in so close that all Stiles would have to do is lift himself, just the littlest, tiniest bit to come into contact with her body.

"What do you think I should do about that?"

His brain has ceased to function. He's looking up at her with a stunned expression on his face, one that borders on far too hopeful as he can smell the whiskey on her breath along with the cinnamon and whatever the hell flavor lip gloss she had on. He did a full body shudder, wanting so bad to just reach out and touch her, but also totally cowed by the fact that it was Lydia Martin and he knew, in his mind, how badly it would go.

"Um, I... I... I..." He shrugged, blinking owlishly up at her.

Lydia's starting to get pissed.

She lets out a huff of exasperated breath. "God, I have to do everything myself."

She kisses him. Just pushes her mouth up against his, and when he's too busy freaking out about it, sticks her tongue in his mouth for good measure.

Lydia Martin does not like to be kept waiting.

"Huh?" That's all he gets out in relation to her redundant question before her mouth is on his and he's hearing bells and feeling like the world has actually shifted a little. Her tongue is in his mouth and all he can do is try to kiss back and not embarrass himself too much. There's a whimper that leaves him and he figures he pretty much failed that test.

She kisses him, but there's something very lacking about his side of the effort and that just makes Lyds mad.

For someone who is supposed to be sooooo in love with her, it just doesn't seem like he's trying very hard.

Pulling her mouth away, lips now pursing angrily (and she is well aware that Stiles thinks she's beautiful when she's angry, that she's beautiful just about anyplace, anytime, in any fashion), she actually shifts her weight on his body more succinctly, more or less keeping him stuck in the tub.

"Stiles, you are not leaving this tub until you show some goddamned initiative." she tells him, eyes narrowing.

The alcoholic fog is tangled up with the lust fog and his devotion for Lydia fog, making the room a very foggy place. But he can see that look and he knows it's directed at him. For what? For... not kissing back? He kissed back. He just didn't want her punching him somewhere sensitive.

But, his brain piped up, she'd pretty much just told him that he had to do something or he was going to be stuck there. It was kind of hard to see that as a problem, since being stuck under Lydia Martin was not a bad thing. But the last thing he wanted was her disappointed in him, so he mentally girded his loins and reached up with one hand to cup the side of her neck before he lifted up and planted a kiss of his own on her mouth.

Yes, upon review this really isn't much of a threat, but it seems to have done the job. When Stiles is trying he's actually a pretty impressive kisser, and while Lydia might regret this later, she will admit at least that much to herself.

Of course, she might have to be prepared for another freak out once Stiles realizes she's trying to tug his shirt off.

Less of a freak out and more him wondering if he wasn't in a coma somewhere having a really, really good dream. He's not sure where to put his other hand, but he finally lets it rest lightly on her side, waiting for either censure or approval. She tastes good and all he can think about is that the bathroom was now his favorite room in the house.

He's less of a rail than she expected, but definitely not on the sculpted side in quite the way that Jackson was.

Some part of her is going to regret this, or at least wondering if she's going to regret this, but mostly she's so excited at the prospect of not being numb that she pushes aside the analytical thoughts.

Between kisses she murmurs, "You could be putting your hands to much better use." That's the sentence anyway, though it keeps getting interrupted with lips mashing together and tongues in other people's mouths.

"Oh?" He's not sure what to do with them, other than what he wants to do with them, which he'd thought might wind up getting him mauled, but she's... god, she's on top of him and her mouth is on his and her tongue is painting the taste of Lydia and cinnamon inside his mouth and he's hard enough to bore a hole in something and he just...

They flutter anxiously for a moment before resting on her back, lightly, gently, unsure of their reception.

"Stiles."

Her tone is completely exasperated. "I'm at a party, locked in a bathroom, in a tub, with you and a bottle of booze. You've got your shirt off, I'm wearing a skirt, and the fact that you're turned on is kind of noticable beyond the fact that we've been kind of making out for the past ten minutes."

She puts a hand on his chest, brows raised. "You are incredibly, if erratically, pretty smart, so let me put it this way: if you don't do the math soon, I'm getting out of the tub and off of you."

(Protip: Lydia Martin is very good at the math.)

He was well aware of how good at math she was, but he was freaking himself out of doing anything. But hearing her call him smart (in a totally backhanded sort of way) had him smiling a little as he looked up at her.

"I'm sorry. Really. I just..." He gave her a sort of embarrassed look, hands held up in front of him. "I don't know what to do."

She had to know what he meant, right? Right. She was smart. Clue in that Stiles was woefully inexperienced and didn't have the first clue what a girl would like. "But I want to. I mean, I really, really want to. So bad."

"You live in the twenty-first century with access to books, films, and the internet and you're clueless?" she says incredulously, but then, with a sigh, she leans back. She doesn't get off his lap, though.

"It's okay." she says, sucking on her lips a moment. "I mean, it's not your fault." She puts her hands on the side of the tub, like she can't decide if she should get up or not.

"No," he says, hands reaching out for her arms. He realizes he's grabbing her and he lets go. "I mean, yeah, I've seen movies and all that, but..."

He sighed, looking up at her with an almost pitiful expression. "I don't know what to do to you."

Again she pauses, and then with a twitch of her mouth, leans to the side and picks up the bottle, taking a swig again. Setting it down, she lets out a soft cinnamon scented breath. Then she stays leaned back in the tub, almost as if inclined.

"Okay," she says, as if to her this suddenly took a turn toward even more interesting. "What have you wanted to do to me?"

He can smell that waft of cinnamon, realizing it was probably going to be associated with this moment from now on and he was really hoping he didn't spontaneously pop a boner when eating a cinnamon bun.

"What have I-- huh?" He looked at her for a moment like she was playing a cruel joke on him, but... she wasn't leaving. Not yet. Maybe he could salvage this. "Um, stuff." His face was definitely red by now. "Naked stuff."

She can't decide if this is endearing or if she wants to kick him.

"Be specific." she suggests, adding perhaps slightly cruelly, "Use your grown up words."

He blushes more, if that was even possible. "I want to, uh, to t-touch you." The one time he needs to be able to use that mouth of his properly and he was coming up short. He wanted to kick himself.

It was painful to drag his eyes up to hers, feeling that red flaming on his face. "I want to touch you. All over. I want to kiss you. I want to..." He couldn't say 'have sex' or any of the slang that could have fit in instead. He just couldn't right now, Lydia.

He's stammering, he's blushing, and just when Lydia thinks he's about to get bored with amateur hour, he intrigues her with something he says that perks her interest again.

She's torturing him, it's becoming pretty clear, but the sad fact is he's letting her, and Lydia can't help herself at this point.

"All over?" she queries slyly. "Any particular part preferred over any others?"

He let out a sound that was embarrassed frustration. "Oh, I'd be pretty happy with any of it. Of you, that is. I mean, I'd like any part that was yours." Maybe some more than others at this moment, but he wasn't going to spit out, 'I want to touch your boobs'.