fifty frenchmen can't be wrong (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
some_stars) wrote2012-08-12 11:23 pm
some_stars) wrote2012-08-12 11:23 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: felt it in my fists (Teen Wolf)
More Teen Wolf fic! Somehow this keeps happening to me.
Title: felt it in my fists
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Allison Argent/Lydia Martin
Content notes: Explicit sex between teenagers, light BDSM. No standard warnings apply; further questions about content are always welcome.
Summary: The first thing Lydia learns about Allison--this new Allison--is that she’s a total drill sergeant. (This story goes AU after 2x10 because fuck you, Jeff Davis, that's why.)
Also available at AO3.
***
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.
-end-
Title: felt it in my fists
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Allison Argent/Lydia Martin
Content notes: Explicit sex between teenagers, light BDSM. No standard warnings apply; further questions about content are always welcome.
Summary: The first thing Lydia learns about Allison--this new Allison--is that she’s a total drill sergeant. (This story goes AU after 2x10 because fuck you, Jeff Davis, that's why.)
Also available at AO3.
***
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.
-end-
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(Anonymous) 2015-07-06 05:16 pm (UTC)(link)