bakerstreet | (no subject)

(no subject)

the smut picture prompt meme.

SIMILAR TO THE PICTURE PROMPT MEME ONLY FOR NSFW/SMUT PROMPTS INSTEAD

i. COMMENT WITH CHARACTER
ii. OTHERS LEAVE A PICTURE (OR TWO OR THREE....)
iii. REPLY TO THEM WITH A SETTING BASED ON THE IMAGES.

THIS POST WILL BE IMAGE HEAVY AND NSFW.

taken without permission or coding talent from

thissock

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[ He's in Lydia's bed. He's in Lydia's bed.

Stiles' nervous hands skim down her sides as they kiss. It had started off soft and sweet sure, because he'd been nervous and she'd been - well if anyone thought of Lydia as a bitch they had it all wrong. She hadn't laughed and hadn't teased and he'd been able to take his time, get into it.

Then it had gotten ... heated.

Now her shirt's off and he can feel the warmth of her through his own. His hands move to her hips, fingers rucking up the fabric of her skirt and she curves against him and he has to break away to breathe heavily, pant out her name. ] Fuck, Lydia.

[ Of course she hadn't laughed - she wasn't cruel.

...beyond reason, that was. But cruelty had a time and a place, and it wasn't at 5:30 in the evening on her lavender and pastel flower patterned bedspread. It had taken a little restraint not to tease, but it would have been lighthearted and sweet, and it's the thought and intent that counts. He was a virgin, though (if that post-sacrafice anxiety and all around virginal awkwardness were any indication) - all sweaty palms and mediocre kissing skills - and though it'd been a while since she'd dealt with virgins, it wasn't a hard recipe.

Two parts reassurance, one part tongue kissing, fifteen instances of carding fingers through his hair, crack ice by taking off her shirt first, and mix in slow, gyrating circles at the hips and tongue. If that doesn't work, they might as well call it off and go bake cookies, but he's swearing and breathing her name against her mouth. Her intuition is calling this a success, and the corners of her mouth are twitching up in a pleased smile. She arches her back to push her breasts into his chest, curious to see if that will wring another groan from him.

But if not, her hands mirror his on their downward exploration (brave boy, forward boy) and she's teasing along his belt line. ] We could, you know.

[ It does pull another sound from him, low and deep and more masculine than any other panicked sounds he usually makes. Because what Stiles lacks in experience he makes up for in enthusiasm and her statement has his eyes lifting to lock on hers and his lips are parted as he breathes. ]

Seriously?

[ It's like all of his dreams are coming true and yet. She is real and solid and warm against him and when his hands fit against her waist he realises how vulnerable she really is. Lydia could have the town on their knees and she is still soft underneath. It makes his throat hurt, makes him want to do good, be good for her. ]

I --. [ He pushes up on his elbows with some restraint, already half hard but willfully ignoring it. ] If you want to? [ The ball is in her court, basically. He's not going to be a jerk about it. ]

[ She'd resent him for saying so aloud, but admittedly behind her tough, untouchable pretense there's that dire need for reassurance - soft little really?'s when he tells her she's beautiful - and legitimate affection, which is probably why they're here right now. Distractions were all well and good, nice and fun, but when traumatic experience after traumatic experience is thrown at you, it's nice to have a little emotional depth behind a tryst. That's why the build up had taken so long; why they'd spent time going from talking to touching to kissing to touching, to lightly dryhumping, to making out.

To...whatever was about to happen, because she can't immediately tell if he's throwing up red flags, white flags, or trying to make her juggle up both. Her eyebrows arch, and eyes narrow infinitesimally, and Lydia shuffles up on her elbows to maintain their close proximity, but also adopts a business-like air. ] I wouldn't suggest something I don't want to do. Just —

[ And here, she strategically (suggestively) glances down to where he'd gathered the material of her skirt around her hips and her panties are probably pretty visible from his advantage. ]

— don't try to skip over the foreplay.

Lydia, I know.

[ He leans in and kisses just under her jaw, soft and sweet and almost caring. He's changed a lot in the past few months, lost some of the nervous energy that usually rests under his skin. He's breathing a little too heavy though, half hard in his trousers. ]

I want to. [ Brown eyes lock in on her face, his hands stroking small circles into her hips. ] I really want to.

[ Biting his lip and then: ] I just don't want you to do anything you don't want to. Out of pity or ... I don't know. You just don't have to do this with me if you don't ...

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