For we all are caught in the middle / Of one long treacherous riddle (For Lydia)

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It was quite possible that Lydia was not flirting with the Alpha twin. Possible Aiden was hitting on her and being gently shut down. Possible Stiles was wrong. The rational side of Peter's brain told him that's what it was as he lurked outside the school, watching Lydia in a way that was not at all creepy or stalkery. Really.

He was just checking on her, given her repeated trances and her fear of what was going on. He was looking out for her, making sure she was okay. It was concern, not territorial marking. Really.

He'd already done that.

A faint growl escaped his throat and the Alpha boy's head snapped toward the woods, but Peter was already gone.

Peter followed her the rest of the afternoon, into the evening, watched her with her friends. Watched as Aiden followed her, too, though far more openly. Pity, when the boy came back out, his tires had been slashed, and Peter didn't much care if he thought Scott or Isaac had done it. He had no proof and reason enough to already go after them. What were a couple of tires?

He was at her home before her. After determining her mother wasn't home--a far too usual occurrence for his idea of decent parenting, but highly convenient--he leaped to the tree by her window, then let himself in through it. He didn't sprawl out on her bed to wait, this time. He paced in the darkness instead, moving to the far corner of the room when he heard her car, out of her line of sight when she'd come in. Leaning against the wall there, he waited.

Comments

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And it wasn't like it was hard to get anything from Stiles, especially since he had a tendency to run his mouth and to speak without thinking when he was worried about something. It almost made her feel bad then as being involved with the Alpha twin would be easier to explain than being with Peter but the twin wasn't who she wanted.

"Thank you for telling me." She studied his features. "But you still owe me a shirt...and a pair panties."

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He studied her for a minute, then smirked. "Do I get to pick them out?"

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Lydia narrowed her eyes in consideration. "Within reason. You do seem to have good taste though."

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"I have impeccable taste," he assured her.

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"That you do, I am proof of that." If anyone could pull off 'cocky' like him, it would be Lydia.

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Peter chuckled and ran fingers down her spine. "Yes, you are."

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The feel of his fingers trailing over her spine caused her to shiver again, her eyes fluttering closed. "Mmmm, that feels good."

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"Does it?" His voice was a low murmur as his fingers ran up and down her skin. "What else feels good?"

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"Let me show you." She murmured in response before leaning up to kiss him softly again.

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Peter gave a soft murmur of pleasure against her lips, nipping lightly.

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Breaking the kiss with a nip of her own, she smirked as she started to tip her head back. "And I like when you kiss my neck..."

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Peter smirked and ducked his head to nibble along the line of her neck. "Like this...?"

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Her breath grew a little shaky as she murmured her approval. "I love the feel of your facial hair..."

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"You do...?" That was pleasantly surprising. He followed the implied direction, scraping it more deliberately over her skin as he kissed and nipped over her throat.

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"I do." She confirmed, feeling a rush of tingles as he scraped his facial hair over her skin, the roughness of it making her nerve endings sing.

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"So I shouldn't go back to clean shaven?" He ducked his head lower, sliding down over more of her skin, tongue tasting her delicately.

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"Not a chance." She sounded breathless as she slid her hands into his hair, tipping her head back. "Mmm, I like that too." She meant the way he was sliding his tongue over her skin.

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There was far less gel in his hair, as well, though not so little as to send it haywire. But he sighed pleasantly at the drag of her fingers through it.

His tongue dipped along her collarbone gently, tracing it.

"Just enough to keep it from getting out of control, then..."

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"Huh?" She opened her eyes, trying to focus as her fingers clenched in his hair again.

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"Well, I am guessing you don't want me going all Grizzly Adams," he said, lifting his head to give her an amused look.

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"I'm sure you'd still look good." She replied, stroking his ego with a small smirk as she ran her fingers through his hair again.

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"Well, obviously," he responded with a smirk. Six years of living in a nightmare, he knew he looked good, now. His eyes fell half-closed at the continued strokes through his hair, and he wriggled a bit further down to brush a kiss over one of her nipples, trying not to wince at the faint scratch his claws had made when he'd shredded her shirt.

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Capturing her bottom lip between her teeth at the feel of his lips brushing over her nipple, she continued to watch him and saw the wince.

"It's fine." She murmured softly. "You didn't get me that bad. I'm sure I've done worse to your back." She was trying to make him feel better.

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He shot her a hooded look, knowing what she was doing, and not wanting her to pull that on herself.

"That's different."

He healed. And marks of passion were hardly the same as marks of anger. He truly hasn't meant to scratch her--it had been an accident--but the result was the same.

[wantadistraction]

She wasn't trying to make an excuse for him because what he had done was wrong and she wouldn't let it go so easily if he did it again in the future but for now she wanted to forget it.

"Fine, I'll find something to use just in case you show up in a mood again."