Resistance is futile → Stydia
There were words, a witty reply, on the tip of her tongue, but she found herself being unable to pronounce them. Stutter them out would be bad enough, but the possibility of words, she certainly did not plan on saying, to slip out was even worse. She would not expose herself to ridicule. Not while there were so many other things to worry about. But, holy hell, she had never expected Stiles to look like this sans shirt. He was, admittedly, not nearly as ripped as Aiden, Jackson or any other guy she had let under her skirts in the past, his muscles weren’t overly defined, but clearly existent. As Lydia felt like she had regained her composure she said, voice maybe a tad too breathy: “That’s what I thought too. Obviously we were both wrong.”
A flush crept its way down his chest and she would have sneered at it, if her own cheeks wouldn’t have felt so awfully hot. “Don’t…don’t apologize. It’s not like this is my house, you just - I…” If there was one thing she hated like poison it was verbal diarrhea and now she stood here, fingers itching to just reach out and run them down his flustered chest and feel him shudder under her touch, and didn’t bring out out a complete sentence. There’s temptation, go and yield it, a small voice in her head said. It was gaining strength, until it was a choir of voices, screaming those words at her.
She watched him move, heat coiling in her stomach at the way the muscles in his back rippled, when he picked up his backpack. Her teeth found her lower lip, her resistance slowly but surely breaking. This was both, the best and the worst thing to ever happen. Her voice of reason went from You mustn’t to You can’t to You shouldn’t to You could to You should to a pounding Goddamnityouneedto, as he shot her a last glance. “Stiles.”, she uttered, voice breathy and tinged with need. Her legs moved on their own accord, crossing the room, until she was stood right in front of him. Lydia slowly raised her hand, placing it over his heart, curling her fingers and closing her eyes, as she felt the fluttering heartbeat.
There was confusion at first, - confusion because why was Lydia getting closer to him, why was she walking over to his partially clothed body, when he himself was trying to exit the situation before things got too awkward. Her voice sounded strange to him, like it held too much raw emotion for that one word to hold. His name. Confusion ebbed away into shock, his mouth falling open a little, his heartbeat picking up speed as if his life depended on it, Lydia's hand was warm, and it made his still-shower-wet skin burn in one of the best possible ways. Stiles suddenly really didn't want to leave the room anymore, his previous get up and go attitude was long gone from his mind as goosebumps slowly settled across his skin. She was so close.
He wanted to speak, ask her what she was doing, why she was doing it, but she had her eyes shut, and she looked... peaceful. Beautiful, and peaceful, in a way that it would take an idiot to want to disturb her. Stomping down on his steadily building fear and hesitation, he reached his hand out, bringing it to the side of her face, as slowly and gently as someone who was reaching out to a startled fawn that would run away if he moved too quickly, he brushed a strand of her strawberry blonde hair back to sit behind her ear, his palm resting to cup her cheek
A nagging at the back of his thoughts was telling him to pinch himself, check if he was actually awake, and that he hadn't slipped over in the shower, hit his head on the wall, and started dreaming about Lydia Martin. It wouldn't be that weird of a thing for him to do.
With a deep breath, he broke the silence. "...Lydia?" It was only one word, but it was a ton of questions compressed into a single word. Such as 'are you okay?', 'oh my god why are you so close to me', and various others that he had no clue what the answers to were.
