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

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

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.

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That defiant spark was something he liked about her, how strong she was, how resilient. He'd nearly shattered her, and look at her now. She wasn't cowering, wasn't screaming, was going toe to toe with him despite the fact that he could rip her to pieces.

His hand slid from her arm, up her shoulder to curl loosely at the side of her neck, thumb stroking up the front with just the slightest pressure until it settled on her jaw, holding her still that way.

He leaned in again, rubbing along the underside of her jaw until his lips met her ear. "Should I be?"

He had nearly broken her once, had nearly torn her apart from the inside out, but she wasn't going to be that weak ever again. Not unless she chose to be.

Her pulse jumped as his hand moved to her neck, the press of his thumb against her jaw seemingly holding the hint of a threat while seeming oddly tender as well. She was still defiant though, as haughty as a queen as she lifted her chin even while he leaned in to whisper against her ear.

"That's really up to you." She countered, clenching her jaw. "I can't help it if he wants me but I'm not interested."

Tender threats were how he knew to deal with her when this frustrated, this insecure. The jump of her pulse was like a tiny victory, and his fingers tightened a little on her skin.

She wasn't lying. Wary, a little scared, but not lying, and there was a profound flutter of relief at that.

"You need to tell him that. Very clearly." The faint growl was back.

She clenched her jaw a little more against the uncomfortable feel of his fingers pressing harder into her skin making her jaw ache.

"Why?" She asked, narrowing her eyes at him. "Why do I need to tell him that?"

He gave her a look, just as narrow and his fingers loosened just enough to let him stroke over her skin.

"You know why." The fury was abating, but he was still growly, raw and on edge.

"No, I don't." Her tone had softened but the defiance was still there. Her heart was racing again as she'd looked up at him, clearly wanting an answer said out loud and not assumed.

"Why should I tell him I'm not interested, Peter?"

He stared at her for a moment and kissed her in answer, his body pressing against hers, pushing her more into the wall, holding her there. It wasn't a gentle kiss, not sweet or apologetic, but hard and hungry and claiming. He'd probably get around to words in a minute, but there were things more powerful and getting rid of that boy's scent on her, replacing it with his was paramount.

She thought about pushing him away and not letting him distract her but those thoughts went flying out of her mind the second he pressed her against the wall. Stil, her hands were on his chest, as though she were prepared to shove him back, but she was leaning up a second later to kiss him back with equal fervour. Then she nipped at his bottom lip, hard, almost in retaliation.

He growled at the nip and snatched one of her hands away from his chest to pin it against the wall with his opposite hand--mostly to get it out of the way. His other hand stroked down her side, then back up, firm and demanding against her. Another growl and his fingers curled in the neckline of her shirt, claws extending just enough to give him cutting power to slice it off of her. His mouth didn't move from hers, though, kiss almost punishing in its force, nipping back.

Lydia's heart was pounding wildly as he kissed her hard enough to bruise, her lips already tingling. Then she heard the rip of material and the cool air brushing over her skin as he cut her shirt open.

Turning her head, she broke the kiss was a ragged gasp. "Stop...what are you doing?" Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright with desire but she looked at him steadily. "Why should I tell him I'm not interested?" She demanded slowly.

He didn't like her stopping the kiss, and that was evident in his gaze as he pulled back enough to look at her. His hand slid to cradle her jaw, though it wasn't gentle, either.

His gaze burned into her, like he was finding that piece in her that bound her to him, and there was no mistaking the warning or determination in his tone as he enunciated each word. "Because you're mine."

She didn't back down from the rough way he handled her as his darkness called to her own. She had been called cold blooded and heartless but he saw a different side to it. He saw the fire behind the facade of perfection.

Curling her fingers around the back of his neck, she met his gaze as she peered up at him with a sharp smile. "That's a two way street. You better know that."

Peter arched an eyebrow at her at the comment, the implication of acceptance within it. His gaze was as sharp as her smile.

"I would expect nothing else."

He'd never been one to play the field, and he'd no desire to start now.

"Good because I don't want you getting any ideas at some point." She didn't want him to play the field because there was no chance she'd put up with that. Not one little bit.

"Which means you're mine." She clarified, jumping up into his arms then, knowing he would catch her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

He did indeed catch her, the trapped her back between his body and the wall. His eyes glowed for just a moment, but he confirmed it with a nod. "I am."

He still wanted to kill Aiden, and there was no easy shifting back from that edge, so he went with it, kissing her hard again. His hand slid under her skirt, and there was nothing gentle in the way he ripped her panties out of his way as surely as he'd shredded her shirt.

Did they just agree to some sort of...relationship?

It was almost surreal but she couldn't focus on it for long as he pushed her back against the wall, trapping her in place once more as she kissed him back with equal fervor, giving back as good as she got. Then she winced a tiny bit as he ripped her panties off, the tearing of lace filling the room.

"You're going to have to replace those." She muttered against his lips.

He hummed something like agreement, deepening the kiss again, even as he held her there easily with one hand cradling her ass. The other one slid between them, over the skin he'd just bared, testing, working her more directly and less teasing than usual. There wasn't room for subtlety. He wanted inside her, wanted to feel her around him, needed to come inside of her with a primal, near-ritual need.

She cried out as his hand slid between them, the sound muffled by his mouth as she shuddered against his fingers, her clit throbbing in response to his touch. It was frenzied and quick, the need ripping through her like a firestorm as she broke from the kiss with a gasp. "Peter..." His name was a toss up between a moan and a demand, wanting to feel more of him right now and not a second later.

That was good enough for him, something to say he'd at least made sure she was ready. His hand slid away from her to undo his pants and pull himself out. A shift and a nudge and he was positioned against her entrance, hard and throbbing. With a jerk of his hips, he slammed himself up into her, holding her tight to take all of him on the thrust.

Lydia was glad in that moment that they were alone because there was no stopping or muffling that cry that escaped her as he slammed into her, giving her no time to brace herself as stretched and then clamped down around him. There was more an edge of pain than pleasure but then it faded into a red haze as she dug her nails into the back of his neck and shoulder where her hands were clutching to him.

Peter growled at the cry, his eyes still glowing a bit. The bite of her nails was a background pleasure, sparking through him. He didn't give her time to adjust this time, just moved, short, hard thrusts that stayed deep inside of her and demanded she adjust and catch up. It wasn't about hurting her...but it had never been about that. Her pain had been a regrettable necessity. Now, it wasn't even that--he'd prefer she enjoy it--but instinct that wasn't fully human, if at all, screamed to take her, make her his, as if somehow he'd only been playing at it before.

She did enjoy it though. She new there was a good chance she wouldn't be walking for a little while after, that the pleasant ache between her thighs would ache more but she didn't care. It would be another reminder of him just like the ache in her side where his scar existed.

Pressing her shoulders back against the wall, she angled her hips towards his own, letting gravity pull her down onto his thrusts as she matched his movements, catching up and matching him.

And that was why he'd chosen her. Because she was strong enough to take it, to take him in all his fucked up glory. He told her she'd pull through fine, and she was doing better than he'd expected even. There was a glow of pride at that which was probably a little sick, but it was there nonetheless.

He watched her as they moved, kept the hard pace and smiled when she met it. One hand tangled in her hair, capturing her again before he kissed her, tongue pressing in to her as surely as his cock did.

Slowly but surely Lydia was understanding now why he had chosen her and the consequences of that choice, the good and the bad ones.

Her lips parted beneath his, accepting his tongue as readily as she accepted the rest of him, her tongue sliding over his as she clenched around his cock every time he pushed deep. One hand slid beneath the neckline of his shirt, glad for his love of the ones with the v-neck, making it easier to scrape her nails over the back of his shoulder almost hard enough to draw blood.

He wished they could all be good, but...he was too broken, himself, for that.

He growled at the bite of her nails, the flash of pain almost grounding in many ways. It certainly wasn't a sound meant to be discouraging. Nothing with this much intensity could last long, much as he might wish otherwise. Holding on to her hard, his fingers bit into skin and he pushed them both harder and higher until his body couldn't hold on anymore and he exploded inside of her, crying out hoarsely as his cock jerked and he spilled inside of her.

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