
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/484914.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Allison_Argent/Lydia_Martin
  Character:
      Allison_Argent, Lydia_Martin
  Additional Tags:
      BDSM, Sparring, Frottage
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-08-13 Words: 5642
****** felt it in my fists ******
by some_stars
Summary
     The first thing Lydia learns about Allison--this new Allison--is that
     she’s a total drill sergeant.
Notes
     This goes AU after 2x10 because fuck you, Jeff Davis, that's why.
The first thing Lydia learns about Allison--this new Allison, who wears black
and long sleeves and shoots crossbows and carries around a freaking knife in
her boots, oh, and wears boots too, and not the kind that go with skinny jeans-
-is that she's a total drill sergeant.
A bitch, is what Lydia calls her when she's sweating from the push-ups and
aching from the crunches and Allison hands her the archery gloves to strap on
her clammy hands because they're just getting warmed up. But that's not the
right word, really. 'Bitch' is what Lydia's always prided herself on being--the
girl who's better than you, and knows it, and is happy to let you know your
place whenever you need to be told. She's sharp enough to cut yourself on, and
she likes it that way. Allison is just...hard.
They're practicing fighting now, just hand-to-hand with no weapons. Grappling,
more like, all about getting loose and using a guy's momentum against him and
some vicious flips that leave Lydia flat on her back, all the breath knocked
clean out of her for a second. She'd thought--and said--that this was a stupid
thing to practice, because momentum or no momentum, neither of them were ever
going to make it out alive from a full-body confrontation with a werewolf or a
kanima or whatever the hell other monsters this town could cook up.
"Not everyone you have to fight has superpowers," Allison had said, as she
yanked Lydia's arm up behind her back. "And even if they do, if you can delay
them, that might be enough time for someone else to make the kill. You have no
idea what you might be up against."
"Oh right, I forgot," Lydia said, panting. "Little Allison knows all about
being a badass now." And little Lydia had no idea what she was up against. She
was just here getting yelled at and knocked around on a casual whim. She
definitely hadn't showed up on Allison's doorstep, yelling at a slammed door,
demanding answers and training and help finding Peter Hale so she could re-
murder him.
Except, oh, wait. She had done that.
The grip on her wrist tightened, but slipped a little lower. She was out of it
in an instant, and two seconds later she was standing over Allison, smirking.
And rubbing her wrist.
She'd thought Allison might be pissed, but she just nodded and sprung back up.
Lydia should have enjoyed it more. It's been almost an hour and she hasn't
gotten the better of Allison once since then.
The next time her back hits the mats, she splays out her limbs and closes her
eyes. "I'm done," she announces. "You can go knock around the punching bag if
you're still pissed off at life."
"Lydia!"
She doesn't bother opening her eyes to wave dismissively at Allison. There's a
tiny smirk playing at the corner of her mouth, not tiny because she's holding
it back, but because she knows by now that Allison hates it more that way.
"Damn it, Lydia, I thought you were serious about this!" Allison drops down,
crouching over her, all up in her face. She's just as sweaty as Lydia, and they
haven't had time yet for it to get too foul but it's still not exactly the kind
of fragrance Lydia usually goes for. She always used to refuse to touch Jackson
after games until he'd showered.
Right now, though, with the sweat slicking over her own body and her muscles
trembling from exertion and Allison's face squeezed up tight with frustration
and fury...she can't lie, this is kind of doing it for her. She's been
officially bicurious ever since that party freshman year, but there's never
been a girl she wanted enough to risk approaching her. Even Allison left her
cold when they first met. The closest she's found, actually, is that werewolf
girl, Erica. Before Lydia knew she was a werewolf, of course--those couple
weeks after she turned into a cocky little slut but before everything went
wrong. Lydia would've hit that.
She kind of has a type, is the thing, and Allison in workout clothes and no
makeup and sweaty, tied-back hair and a knife in her boot, straddling her and
yelling in her face? Especially tight, wet workout clothes. Yeah, it's totally
working for her.
"God, shut up," Lydia says, cutting her off in mid-lecture. "Of course I'm
fucking serious about this. You're not the one who got freaking possessed by
one of those monsters, and I wasn't asking for it either, which is more than I
can say for anyone in your family."
Allison's eyes flare--just the way Jackson's used to, when Lydia scored a
direct hit--and then she slaps Lydia right in the face, like Jackson never
would have dared. She wouldn't have liked it from him, anyway. This is a girl
thing. And 'bicurious' is rapidly approaching 'bisexual,' if the sudden heat
between her legs means anything.
"Don't you dare talk about my family," Allison says, low and cold. Lydia rolls
her eyes.
"You don't have to take everything so personally. I'm here, I want to kill all
the werewolves, I'm on board, okay? I still think the Argents are all super
batshit. Except you, obviously."
"Obviously?" She's still hovering there on all fours, arms rigid and trembling,
glaring down at Lydia. Her eyes are less cold, though. Lydia lives for these
moments now, when she can jab her way through and get Allison fired up, force
her shell to crack and let the hot squishy bits through. But like, emotionally,
because wow that sounded pretty gross in her head.
Though there are some hot squishy bits she wouldn't mind getting her hands on
right now. Maybe this moment should be more of a revelation, but Lydia's never
been one for melodramatic self-discoveries. So she's suddenly imagining a
hatesex sixty-nine with Allison Argent, big deal. She'll adapt.
"Yeah, obviously," she says. "Because I like you." Which seems like a nicely
dramatic moment to get one leg twisted around Allison's thigh and bring her
down flat, landing suddenly with a heavy oof from both of them. Allison's got
killer reflexes, though, and she's up on her hands and rolling away before
Lydia can grab her.
"Cut it out," she snaps. She's still breathing a little fast, Lydia notices
with satisfaction. "Can't you take anything seriously?"
"I take everything seriously," Lydia says. With one swift move--all this
training's starting to pay off--she pushes herself up and over, pinning Allison
to the floor. If she gives the other girl three seconds to react she'll get a
pair of knees to her stomach and end up five feet away, but it only takes her
two to grab a fistful of Allison's hair and kiss her as hard as she can.
She has to give Allison some credit--she only freezes for an instant. Lydia was
kind of looking forward to the shocked oh-my-god-I'm-not-a-lesbo reaction, just
for the entertainment value. But all things considered, this is a better sign.
Allison does shove her face away after that instant, but she doesn't try to get
out from under Lydia. It seems like she just wants enough distance to glare.
"Oh, come on," Lydia says. "What, do you not want to? We were having some
killer sexual tension, I just thought I'd help things along." She could bring
up the fact that she knows it's been ages since Allison got laid, but
mentioning Scott probably isn't the best tactic if she actually wants to get
her face between Allison's thighs tonight. Lydia's always been spectacular at
giving head; it'll be interesting to see if her dick expertise translates to
pussy.
The glare softens a little. She is so in.
"You're such a bitch," Allison says, and sighs, and smiles. Just for a second,
and it's more of a grin, really. With a lot of teeth. Lydia flashes hers right
back. "But if you think I'm letting you be on top--"
And suddenly she's on her back again, with a whoof of breath forced out of her
lungs as Allison's hands--scary-strong hands, her fingers are like iron--slam
her wrists to the ground and hold them there. Lydia can't help the little noise
she makes and Allison smirks to hear it.
"Wouldn't have thought you'd like anybody pushing you around," she says, and
undulates her body on top of Lydia, rocking their hips together. "Thought you
were the queen bitch."
Lydia would shrug if she weren't pinned down. "Maybe I want to see if you can
take me."
"You know I can," Allison says, and doesn't kiss her, just goes right for her
throat.
It's true, of course. Allison's always been stronger than her, and as hard as
she's been pushing Lydia these last three weeks, she's been pushing herself way
harder. She's practically buff these days. No way she couldn't win a wrestling
match, and Lydia wouldn't exactly mind losing to her.
There's other kinds of winning, though. The game's still up in the air.
She lets out a loud moan as Allison works at her throat, sucking and then
biting in quick little nips. Their bodies roll together, getting a rhythm
going. God, it feels good though. Her neck's always been so sensitive.
She twists her wrists in Allison's grip because it makes Allison hold on
tighter and make this low frustrated noise against her skin.
"I hope you're not expecting me to hold still," Lydia says. Then Allison gets
to that spot just under the corner of her jaw and it's like electricity
shooting through her body, from the back of her mouth down her spine and
straight to her cunt, with a detour to perk up her nipples along the way. The
noise it tears from her is almost embarrassing.
Allison lifts her head to stare at her. "God, are you really that sensitive?"
"Shut up and do it again," she growls, and swallows hard. "And then touch me,
god--" She rocks herself up against Allison again, then has a better idea and
shifts herself until Allison's thigh is solid between her legs, just right for
grinding against.
There's no further commentary for the moment, unless you count the way Allison
looks at her--wide-eyed and for just a second looking like her old self, like
she used to look when Lydia finally found the right outfit for her after half a
dozen wrong tries. No anger there. Just the other thing that Lydia never could
figure out. It's unsettling, is what it is.
But then her mouth is back on that good spot, and her hands are squeezing
Lydia's now, not pinning them, and Lydia rocks up and down Allison's muscled
thigh and works for it. She's almost there, too, when Allison stops and pulls
back.
"No," Lydia groans, narrowing her eyes. "Oh god, if you want to talk about your
feelings I'm going to kill you."
Allison shakes her head. "No, I don't--do you?"
"No!"
She actually laughs at that. Lydia's not sure whether that's more infuriating
or endearing, and the fact that the second option is even on the table means
it's definitely the first.
"I just wanted to touch you," she says. Her hands tug loose from Lydia's grip,
skim down her arms and over her torso and push her cami up, and the sweat-
soaked sports bra underneath it. "I want to do this right, okay?"
Lydia rolls her eyes, but sits up enough for Allison to wrestle the bra-cami
tangle over her head and arms. There's a deeply gross couple of seconds where
it gets stuck over her face and Allison is laughing again, the little bitch.
But then it's free. The air in here's not cold, but it's not warm, and her
breasts are damp with sweat and she can feel goosebumps rising under Allison's
gaze. She's used to boys looking at her like this, but come on, Allison's seen
tits before. There's no need to go into a fugue state.
Lydia is about to remind her of this when she cups them in her tiny, warm hands
and starts to play. There's no other word for it, really--squeezing, stroking
and pinching lightly at her nipples, nothing goal-directed at all. It's like
her hands are making out with Lydia's boobs. It feels good, but it's also sort
of....embarrassing, somehow. If Lydia blushed, she might blush now. She
doesn't, of course. Ever.
"Having fun down there?" she asks pointedly.
Allison glances up and nods. Then she goes back to what she was doing.
This cannot be borne. Lydia pushes herself up on her elbows. "Seriously,
Allison, I get that they're nicer than yours, but I think we've pretty much
taken care of the foreplay at this point."
"I said I want to do this right," Allison says, and pinches both her nipples at
once, hard enough to really hurt.
"Shit!" She tries to jerk back, but Allison's body is suddenly much heavier on
hers. And, all right, she's not exactly fighting for her life, here. So she
settles for glaring, but Allison's glaring too, the kind of glare that comes
with a smile full of teeth.
She's different now. It's been a while since Lydia forgot that.
She flops back onto the mat and spreads her arms out as sarcastically as
possible. "God, fine! Do all your freaky dominatrix shit, go ahead. My body is
your helpless plaything."
Allison pinches her again. She bites her lip but doesn't move.
"Good," Allison says, and smiles, and bends down to kiss her. This is enough of
a surprise that Lydia takes entire seconds to get with the program and start
kissing her back, hard enough (and with enough teeth) to make a good showing.
Allison likes the teeth, apparently.
It's getting good and messy, messier than she usually likes but it feels right
for this. Allison barely seems to notice Lydia's hands up her shirt, but she
pulls away when Lydia starts trying to take it off. There's a wet pop as she
goes, because Lydia was busy sucking on her lower lip and enjoying it quite a
lot, thanks very much.
"What, you're going to get me naked and I don't get to look at you?"
"You're not naked yet," Allison points out.
"Well I better be soon," Lydia says. "What, do you need the lights off? Should
we get under the covers?"
Not that there are any covers here. Just floor mats and weights and weapons and
fluorescent lights. It's creepy under Allison's house. Lydia doesn't like to be
down here alone; something about it reminds her of the old Hale house. Of
course, her memories of that place aren't particularly clear, but they sure are
vivid. It doesn't even look the same. It's just a feeling.
Allison doesn't say anything, doesn't even roll her eyes, but she stares at
Lydia while she gets her top off and tosses it aside in what's clearly meant to
be a 'there, satisfied?' gesture. Now they're both topless and wearing capri
leggings. They'd probably look stupid if they weren't both so hot.
"Nice," Lydia says, with an approving nod. "Not a lot to work with, but you
make the best of what you have."
"Shut up."
"Aw, did I hurt your feelings? Don't worry, you know what they say, more than a
handful's wasted."
Allison's face crinkles up. "Who says that?"
"Well, nobody I date," Lydia says, and smiles. She reaches up to feel them,
feel the weight in her hands, and Allison's little moue of disapproval melts
away as her eyes flutter closed and she pushes forward. Apparently they're
sensitive. Explains why Allison was so intent on pawing at her set, anyway.
Lydia may be new to this whole girl-on-girl thing, but she's always been a
quick learner. It helps when Allison's rocking back and forth on top of her,
letting out little gasps every time Lydia slides a thumb over her nipple or
runs her nails lightly over the skin. Part of her is eager to move on--the very
specific part of her that Allison's ass is grinding against--but she didn't
expect how much she'd want this part, how much she'd want to keep making
Allison moan and shudder in her hands.
"Hey," she says, because it's suddenly occurred to her, "how sensitive are you?
I mean, you couldn't come from this, could you?" Because it's kind of--
Allison's chest is flushed, her rocking is developing a steady rhythm and her
face is as blissed out as any guy Lydia's ever been on top of. Though a lot
less stupid-looking.
Allison's shaking her head, but she says, "I don't know." Her eyes are still
closed and the red stain across her chest is spreading up her throat.
"Hmm," Lydia says. "You want to try? But only if you don't roll over and go to
sleep afterwards. I still need to get off and then eat you out."
"Oh god--" Her back arches, her hips grind down hard, and Lydia feels her own
rush of twisting heat at the sight. "Yeah, keep going, don't stop--"
So they keep going. Like a science experiment, really, except now Allison is
throwing off the variables because she's not just rocking anymore, she's got
her cunt seated right on Lydia's hipbone, clearly in her happy place. Clit
stimulation is definitely cheating. Lydia considers pointing this out to
Allison, but decides against it in favor of continuing to play with her tits.
She lets herself get rougher as Allison clearly works herself closer, and the
gasps turn into squeaks and cries. Some pinching, some twisting, a tug at just
the right moment and Allison lets out this long low sound that can really only
be called a grunt. The sound goes on and on as she slams herself down against
Lydia's hip and stays there, grinding in tiny hard circles, while the rest of
her shakes and jerks.
If Lydia were being objective about it, she'd have to admit it's a lot like
getting a guy off--that was not a dignified noise, and apparently looking like
a mental deficient during orgasm isn't a guys-only thing. Plus it's not like
Lydia was getting anything out of it, so in fact it's exactly like getting a
guy off. (Mostly, anyway. There were a few times--but the last thing she needs
to start thinking about right now is Jackson's once-in-a-blue-moon good days.
So she won't.)
Except that's totally a lie, because Allison just came on her lap and in her
hands and Lydia literally can't remember ever feeling this wet and hot and
needy in her entire life.
Allison half-collapses on top of her, holding herself up a little on her
elbows. She kisses Lydia, much sloppier than before, and Lydia permits it for
about ten seconds. Then she puts her hands on Allison's shoulders and shoves
her firmly downward.
"You need to get me off now," Lydia informs her.
Allison frowns. Her hair is coming loose from her ponytail, little strands
drifting around her face. "Haven't you ever heard of afterglow?"
"Afterglow requires an after. Get to work."
Maybe she'll get the idea if Lydia takes her pants off. Turns out, though, it's
actually kind of hard to get out of leggings on your back with someone resting
most of their weight on top of you. Allison watches her squirming with interest
until she gives up.
"Okay, what?" Lydia snaps. "Do you have some kind of sexual frustration fetish?
Do you want me to call you Mistress Allison, Queen of the Night? Can we get a
move on here?"
Allison presses a kiss to her stomach. When she lifts her head again she's
smiling. It's the same smile she gets when she's handling her favorite weapons,
cleaning and polishing and sometimes just contentedly stroking.
"I want you to ask nicely," she says.
If she'd known Allison was going to be this much of a controlling bitch during
sex--all right, she'd probably still have gone for it. It's not like the clues
weren't all there.
Still, appearances must be kept up. Lydia lets her head fall back against the
mat and groans. "Jesus, fine, whatever. Will you please fuck me? Do I need to
say ma'am? How kinky are we getting here?"
The light slap on her left breast is so light it doesn't hurt at all. It still
makes her jump.
"I said nicely," Allison says.
"Oh my god." Lydia bites her lip for a second. Okay. Fine. She's not going to
be the first to back down. So she puts on her nicest voice, no sarcasm at all,
perfectly sincere. Just a good little girl who really wants a hand between her
legs sometime this century. "Please fuck me?"
Lydia doesn't blush but if she did--the sound of her voice shocks her. She
sounds so needy. So--well, if there's a nicer word than 'desperate' she's not
finding it. Even Allison's eyes widen, losing that steady lidded heat for a
second, and the whole begging-for-it thing was her stupid idea.
God, if Allison doesn't touch her soon--but she doesn't look away. She won't.
Allison glances down first. Those little wisps of hair are still dancing around
her face and for some stupid reason Lydia suddenly wants to reach up and--tuck
them behind her ear, or something. Allison would be so surprised.
She doesn't reach up. She lies on her back, and lifts her hips up for Allison
to peel her leggings and panties off, and wiggles her feet out of them one by
one, and lets Allison push her thighs wide apart. And she arches her ass right
off the floor when Allison slides a finger inside her, long and thin and easy.
"Oh, shit--" She bangs a fist against the mat.
"Good?"
"Ugh, don't ask stupid questions--yes," there's another, and they're moving,
not just thrusting in and out but crooking, rocking. Setting off fucking sparks
behind her eyes.
"Good," Allison says again, and it doesn't sound like a question now. It sounds
like she's talking to herself, a little distant, but happy. Then she remembers
that Lydia's clit exists, and it's pretty much impossible for Lydia to ever
stop thinking, but she claws at the mat and comes awfully close.
When she comes, it's with an idiotic, dying-bunny squawk that she's going to
hate herself for later, but she doesn't get a chance to worry about it because
Allison just keeps going. Those fucking archer hands; she could probably do
this for hours without getting tired. Lydia shudders and manages to push
herself up enough to watch, feeling the next orgasm start to coil up inside.
Allison's intent, biting her lower lip and watching her own hand like there's
going to be a test later. When their eyes meet she flushes, and for a moment
they're on equal ground. No more hunter and protege, teacher and student, top
and bottom. It's just Allison, focused and breathless, with her hand hard at
work between Lydia's thighs and her eyes open, really open.
This time Lydia does reach for her. Her mouth wants to be kissed but that's a
little out of reach, so she cups Allison's face--not thinking, not choosing
what to mean by it--and Allison turns her face and closes her eyes and kisses
her palm.
That's not what makes Lydia come a second time. That would be ridiculous. She
comes a minute later when Allison's eyes flash and a quirk of her mouth is all
the warning Lydia gets before she's lowering her head and licking a dainty but
firm stripe up from her own fingers to Lydia's clit, nose wrinkling as she
goes.
But the kiss on the hand, that's nice. That's something.
She flops back and thinks about nothing but panting for a little while. Allison
wipes her hand on Lydia's thigh--so rude--and crawls back up her body,
seemingly intent on a cuddle. This is not Lydia's style, to say the least. She
should deliver some scathing indication of her displeasure, but the post-orgasm
fuzz is settling in good and heavy. A vague "mmuh" sound and some squirming is
about all she can summon up.
So Allison curls around her side and flops an arm over her chest and smushes
her face into Lydia's shoulder. It's kind of uncomfortable, frankly. But she'll
tolerate it. She's feeling pretty good.
"Sorry," Allison mumbles into her shoulder. Lydia almost doesn't hear her.
"What?"
She lifts her head. "I said, I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"You know." She goes a little tense. "For getting all...freaky."
"Seriously, Allison? Trust you to apologize for suddenly becoming interesting."
God, is there going to be a feelings conversation after all? Just the thought
makes her tired. Well, more tired. "Come on, you think I don't know how to say
no? I know how to say no."
"Well, yeah." Fingers start combing through her hair, which by this point is
more out of the ponytail than in, and sweaty enough to stick to her skin. Also,
gross, that's totally the hand Allison was fingering her with. "Okay. So it was
okay?"
Lydia opens her eyes just so she can roll them. "Yes, it was okay. It was
fabulous. Five big lesbian stars. Now shut up so I can nap."
"Okay," Allison says again, and settles contentedly back down to making Lydia's
arm fall asleep.
There's a glow between her legs, and a warm body on top of her, and all that
soreness from getting knocked around is settling into a pleasant background
ache, and so it takes Lydia a minute to remember they're totally not done here.
"Wait, wait, get up," she says, and pokes Allison's cheek. "I want to try going
down on you. Well, on a girl, and you're here."
"Oh, that's nice." Allison bats her hand away.
"Whatever, like you'll have time to be offended when I'm making you scream my
name." She pokes Allison again and gets swatted again. "Come on, let's go."
The yawn that takes hold of her is one of those huge, shiver down the spine,
unhinge your jaw like a snake yawns. It also has the worst timing ever. When
Lydia opens her eyes again, Allison's watching her with raised eyebrows and a
smirk Lydia wouldn't mind slapping off her face, if she weren't too tired for
the ensuing catfight.
"Shut up," Lydia says, and yawns again. "I'm going to eat you out like a
fucking pro, okay? I am excellent at giving head."
"I'm sure you are."
"Seriously, I'm not getting up off this floor--" Another yawn splits the middle
of the sentence. "--until you sit on my face." Damn it, she had plans.
Allison gives her a friendly pat on the arm. "You'd probably fall asleep and
suffocate."
Lydia shoves her, but she's feeling pretty boneless right now and Allison
doesn't go anywhere.
"I mean," Allison says, more quietly, "you know we're going to do this again,
right?"
It's scary, how a wave of tight heat rolls through her chest just then.
Training with Allison, learning to fight--it was supposed to make her strong.
"Yeah," she says. "Yeah, of course we are. I don't do one-night stands."
Allison nods. "You're way too classy."
"Damn right." Lydia yawns again, gives up and closes her eyes. "Don't you
forget it."
*
Allison wakes her up twenty minutes later, fully dressed, and scolds her for
wasting training time. So she gets less naked--there's a drawer in Allison's
dresser full of her clothes as of a couple weeks ago, when it became obvious
she'd need them, though at the time she hadn't been picturing this exact
situation--and then it's archery practice for another hour, until Allison's
creepy family gets back home from whatever creepy thing they were doing. Lydia
really doesn't like the Argents. But they didn't kill her for knowing about
werewolves or having weird anti-werewolf blood, and they're letting Allison
teach her to kill things even though she's not part of the family. So she can't
say too much against them.
"Will you be staying over again, Lydia?" Allison's creepy dad asks, and despite
the miserable prospect of sitting around the dinner table with this bunch, the
idea of a sleepover is more tempting than usual. Allison's standing behind her
dad at the moment, so there's no way he can see the color rise in her cheeks as
she watches Lydia smile. That's good; Lydia's in no hurry to experience
firsthand his opinions on people who have sex with his daughter. Although she
does have the advantage of being more or less fully human.
"Thanks for the offer, Mr. Argent," she says, putting the last practice bolt
away neatly and closing the drawer. Allison will lock it after she leaves;
Lydia doesn't have the key. "But I can't tonight. My mom wants me home for
dinner."
This is only mostly a lie. Her vanishing act and hospital stay prompted even
her mother into a week or two of giving a shit at least minimally, but that
phase has long since passed. Still, it's best to put in an appearance every so
often. The last thing she wants is for her mother to catch a clue and try to
interfere. Or get herself killed, but that's secondary.
You'd think now that Lydia knows the big family secret, they might drop the
normal happy family act around her. Even here in their triple-locked basement
crammed with weapons, though, nobody ever says a word out of place.
"You'd better get home, then," says Allison's father, with a friendly smile
that sits askew on his face. "I wouldn't want to get in trouble with your
mother."
He nods at Allison on his way out. She nods back. Lydia doesn't understand
them, but then, she doesn't need to. Their drama's not her problem.
Allison lets out an audible breath when the door closes behind him. "Well, that
was weird."
Lydia shrugs. "Weird would be if he knew. That was just the usual level of
let's-pretend-Lydia-doesn't-know-we-kill-werewolves awkwardness. Are they ever
going to give that up, by the way?"
"I don't know," Allison says, and they're still standing at opposite ends of
the room like there's a trench down the middle, what's that about? "Maybe when
we finally kill Peter and Derek."
"I kill Peter," Lydia says. "You guys can have Derek."
"Whatever." Allison leans against the wall and looks at her hands. Her
shoulders are tight, her whole body looks tight. Compressed. "We'll see."
"Excuse me?" She strides across the room. Allison looks up and straightens as
she comes. "We will not see. I kill Peter. He's mine. You owe me that--you all
owe me that."
"Lydia, come on, don't." She sounds tired. She never sounds tired when they're
training, even when they've been at it for hours. But give her dad two minutes
with her and new Allison, the hard Allison--the real Allison, as far as Lydia's
concerned--is gone. The only thing left is a tired girl with a dead mom and a
big secret. Nobody Lydia would have cared about, before. She hates that she
cares now.
"Don't what?" She plants both hands on either side of Allison's face,
bracketing her in. "Don't remind you that what he did to me is your fault?
Don't remember what you promised me? Don't remember why I'm here?"
Allison's face twists up like maybe she's going to cry. Then suddenly Lydia's
wrists are being yanked down, squeezed hard enough to hurt. The pull on her
arms makes her stumble closer. Their faces are close enough to make her eyes
cross for a second.
"I know, okay?" Allison says in a low voice. "I know why you're here. Just shut
up and stop yelling at me."
"Stop making me want to," Lydia snaps. But she snaps it more quietly.
Allison lets go of her wrists. The corner of her mouth is twitching. "Wow, you
really sounded like an abusive boyfriend just then."
"Oh, please." Lydia feels the tension in her shoulders dissolve a little. "You
spend all afternoon beating me up and I'm the abusive one? I should call a
hotline."
"Shut up," Allison says again, and pulls her that one inch closer into a kiss.
It shouldn't be this easy, but it is.
They slide apart to breathe, and Lydia leans back when Allison moves in again.
"Your dad's upstairs," she reminds her, and it's such a stupidly normal thing
to say that it hurts for a second, literally hurts, a tight hot punch in the
chest. She used to say that kind of thing all the time.
"Yeah." Allison doesn't move, like maybe she'll say she doesn't care, maybe
she'll try to kiss her again anyway. If she does, Lydia decides, she'll let
her. But she only nods, eventually, and lets go. "Okay. See you tomorrow?"
"It's a school day," Lydia says. "So, obviously."
"But after school?" Allison pushes. She's never actually asked before. It's
like she thinks Lydia might suddenly decide not to show up.
Lydia grabs her bag and heads up the stairs. "What, you think I'm going to quit
now? Like you can get rid of me that easily."
"Right, I forgot," Allison says. "You don't do one-night stands."
There's no need to dignify that with a response, but she lets her hips swing a
little extra as she takes the last few steps, and ignores the sudden urge to
look over her shoulder. When the door swings shut behind her with a heavy thud,
there's a moment where she's convinced she's left something behind. But of
course she didn't. It's all right here.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
