
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/468412.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Lydia_Martin/Stiles_Stilinski, Lydia_Martin/Peter_Hale
  Character:
      Lydia_Martin, Stiles_Stilinski, Peter_Hale
  Additional Tags:
      S2E09_-_Party_Guessed
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-07-25 Words: 1008
****** Six Times ******
by quigonejinn
Summary
     There is dirt under her fingernails; there are scratches on her
     knuckles that sting when she isn't looking at them.
Notes
     Seriously, I am not kidding about the non-con. It's Peter/Lydia set
     in the context of S2E09, Party Guessed. There is no part of this that
     is consensual or fun for Lydia.
See the end of the work for more notes
1.
The field.
2.
In her bed. The sheets feel like grave dirt under her feet, and when she gets
up afterwards, takes a shaky breath, and turns off the alarm clock, she turns
back to the bed and lifts up the covers: no dirt. She steps into the shower.
There is dirt under her fingernails; there are scratches on her knuckles that
sting when she isn't looking at them.
3.
At the department, after school, picking up a few things, checking the racks
and doing a little pre-pre-birthday shopping. Allison is busy doing something
else, whatever else, and Lydia goes alone. She brings an armful of things up to
the counter, and in between a gorgeous Rag-and-Bone dress and this gray flannel
crop blazer, there is a gold dress. Not too long. With --
You should wear it home, he says, leaning his elbows against the counter next
to the girl.
"I'll wear it home," Lydia says. It isn't a question of hearing herself say it:
she feels the muscles in her throat tense and relax to make the sounds. She
feels the corners of her mouth pull together for the w in wear and she feels
her tongue brush the top of her mouth for the t in it. She almost wants to say
it.
The cashier lifts her eyebrows because it isn't a dress for Wednesday
afternoon, walking to your car in the shopping mall, but crazy is as crazy does
as crazy has an Amex gold card, so she cuts the tags off, and Lydia takes a
deep breath and takes everything back to the dressing room. The dress doesn't
go with her heels. It doesn't go with her hair. It makes her feel nauseous even
stepping into it, and her hands are too shaky to bring the zipper all the way
up. She pulls it halfway up her back, puts her coat on over it, and hopes it'll
hold long enough to get her to the car -- she spends a few minutes in the
dressing room, holding still in the middle of the mirrors with her fists balled
at her sides, hoping this is all he wants.
He doesn't show.
Instead, he is back in the car. Lydia gets the backs in the trunk, opens the
driver's door and sits down. She's reaching for the seatbelt when she turns and
sees him in the passenger's seat. His hair is combed back in the way it is; he
smells like fresh dirt.
Slide your hand up your thigh, Lydia. He leans over and brings his mouth close
to her neck. He breathes deep; he reaches over to check how high up her hand is
and moves it higher.
I see you left your underwear back in the dressing room.
He kisses her neck.
You're beautiful.
They're in the parking lot of a Macy's in broad daylight.
4.
Where are her parents? Where are her parents? There are bills piling on the
floor, letters and voicemails she can't answer. She can't remember the last
time she saw Prada; she can't think of the last time she went into the master
bathroom. She has been reading the same paragraph in Additive Combinatorics all
night.
5.
They're in the empty chemistry classroom, and Lydia pulls Stiles to her. He
looks at her for a long, stunned second, and then, she kisses him. His mouth
tastes like milk and chicken tenders and barbeque sauce: lunch in the
cafeteria, and he makes a noise when she slides her hand under his shirt. He
makes another when she undoes the button on his jeans, then unzips the fly.
"Lydia, this isn't -- " His eyes are very, very wide and very, very dark. He
licks his lips. "This is really a terrible idea."
"Eye contact is key," Lydia says, feeling her tongue brush the top of her mouth
twice for each t in contact. She kisses him again, then leans back on the lab
bench and pulls him to her.
Lydia wakes in math class, which is two periods after lunch; her textbook is in
front of her, and her notebook is filled with doodled notes she took on the
chapter on Behrend's example from Additive Combinatorics. She tries to assess
whether she really fucked Stiles in the empty chemistry room.
Yes: he won't look her in the eye and is kind of staring down at his feet.
Stiles is weird around her, but not that kind of weird usually.
No: there's something running down the inside of her leg. Stiles wouldn't be
stupid enough to fuck her without a condom, would he?
6.
Back on the field, and they're on the grass. The ground is damp and cold on her
knees, but only when she thinks about it, which is how Lydia knows that this is
in her head, and she isn't actually on the lacrosse field at midnight with her
shirt unbuttoned and her skirt hitched up to her waist and her panties stuffed
in her mouth. The flood lights are on, but nobody is in the stands.
Her copy of Additive Combinatorics is on the grass next to them. He put it on
the ground; it disappears when she doesn't looking directly at it. In fact, she
can see it wink out of existence when her eyes focus on a blade of grass,
lacrosse goal, the headlights of a car passing on the road north of the field.
Peter touches the back of her neck.
"Do you want to turn over?" he says.
Lydia is shaking, but she feels him lift some of his weight off her, so she
knows what the answer should be. She turns over and lies down on her back,
facing Peter. He touches her neck, then her collarbones, then her breasts. He
takes her underwear out of her mouth and puts it on the grass next to her book.
"Remember," he says. "You're intelligent."
"Eye contact is key," Lydia replies, and she tries and tries and tries not to
close her eyes or look away.
End Notes
     Additive Combinatorics is a real textbook by Terence Tao and Van H.
     Vu. Tao won the Fields medal in 2006.
     All lines about eye contact are destronomics's_work. So is the line
     about the master bathroom. This is so totally her fault.
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