Stiles is used to Lydia giving him a look that says something like “Wow, you’re a total moron aren’t you?” It stings much less now that she’s his girlfriend, and he knows that even if she gives him that look every five minutes over the course of an entire day, she will still fall asleep curled up against him, fingers interlaced with his.
So as she gives him that look right now, he can’t find it in himself to be offended. “Seriously Stiles? Ice cream? No one wants to eat ice cream in December. It’s too cold.”
“I like ice cream in December,” Stiles replies, pulling out all the ingredients needed to make a sundae. “Ice cream is the best dessert at all times, even in the winter.”
A wicked smile crosses her face, and Stiles feels his stomach do a clumsy flip-flopping motion. “There’s only one thing that I will do with ice cream in December, Stiles.”
And so Stiles finds himself lying on his back, Lydia’s tongue tracing the outlines of his muscles, following the drizzle of chocolate sauce lying on his skin. He can feel the goose bumps rising on his flesh, and the shivers that are doing their very best to snake their way down his spine. Glancing downwards, he watches Lydia’s tongue make a path, with sporadic kisses and nips to get the last of the sticky sweetness into her mouth.
“Lydia…” he groans, and she looks up, licking her lips and putting a finger to his own.
“I said no talking.”
He clamps his jaw shut with a whine and stares at the ceiling, trying his utmost to keep his hands where he is lying on them, instead of grabbing Lydia and kissing her until he couldn’t breathe.
No talking, no moving and no touching, Lydia had said, or we’re done with this game. Those are the rules.
She knew exactly where to hit him too, because one of Stiles’ favorite things to do is keep his hands busy, on her skin, in her hair, making her moan and gasp, tugging on clothing and clasps. No talking, no touching, no moving… just passively receiving? It’s not something that he’s very good at.
He can’t help but flick his eyes back down when Lydia reaches the waistband of his boxers, nimble fingers pulling at it until they are down around his ankles, and she has one perfectly manicured hand around his erection.
He is so distracted that he doesn’t notice Lydia’s hand by his mouth until she slides a finger across his lips. Her pointer finger has a line of whipped cream on it, and she is offering it to him with a smirk.
“Now we both have something to suck on,” she tells him, and lowers her head to give him a firm lick from the bottom to the top of his cock. Stiles mimics the movement with his own tongue, trying his very best to focus on the treat on her finger so that he didn’t accidentally make noise or move his hips off the bed.
Eventually, however, Stiles lets his head fall back and closes his eyes tightly as Lydia works her magic. She bobs up and down on the head, hollowing her cheeks out for more suction, and moving her hand in time with her lips. She then gives the slit a hard lick, and takes as much of him into her throat as she can manage, which is almost all the way down to the base.
Stiles sucks in a breath and clenches his fists in the sheets, willing himself to keep his hips planted firmly against the mattress while Lydia begins to move up and down, flat of her tongue pressing against the backside of his dick as she pulls up and lips tightening and sucking as she leans back down.
The hand that used to have the whipped cream braces her body on one of his thighs while her other hand is in a ring, following her mouth’s movements through the trail slicked with spit.
It’s when his stomach muscles start to spasm and his hips involuntarily buck that Lydia stops, pressing a kiss to the tip before licking her lips clean and leaning back, smiling. Stiles can smell girl and sex, and is only more turned on when she reaches between her legs and offers him a taste, which he eagerly laps up.
“Good boy,” she whispers to him, smearing the last trace of herself across his mouth. “No talking or touching, remember, Stiles.”
With that she gracefully slips out of her panties that he can see are already quite wet, and tosses them to the floor.
It’s only another moment before Lydia is straddling his hips, kissing his shoulders, his collarbones, his chest and his abs. As she does, she slides her hips along the length of him, getting him slick. And if Stiles could just run his fingers through her beautiful strawberry blonde hair, things would be perfect.
He thinks that he literally won’t be able to take it anymore when she places a hot kiss on his lips and slides onto him slowly, pausing a moment when she finally has all of him inside of her.
It takes every ounce of his self-control not to begin bucking his hips into her, grabbing her waist and thrusting until they were both left in a quivering heap. Lydia waits for what seems like an eternity, watching his expression.
Stiles doesn’t move.
“Oh, good boy,” she tells him again, leaning forward and bracing herself on his shoulders, shifting her hips so that she begins to move on him. “You’re being so good today Stiles. Now you can have your reward.”
Christ she’s good at this, Stiles reflects before thinking become a little more difficult than he would like to admit. Somehow, Lydia’s mouth ends up by his left ear, and she’s whispering things to him while she moves, keeping up a steady rhythm of their bodies.
There’s some sort of twisting, some sort of swiveling, circular motion that feels so damn good, and between the heat and sweat and panting movement of their bodies Stiles can feel the beginning of a coiled spring in his stomach, abs starting to clench and tense.
“You’re going to finish soon aren’t you? You deserve it; show me how good you feel.”
The smooth chocolate of her voice is what does it for him, more than anything else. Stiles doesn’t care how many times he’s heard her talking to him, the reality is better than anything his mind could have come up with in the years he pined after her, and it sends him over the edge.
When he’s finished, Lydia is lying on the bed next to him, tracing gentle circles with her fingernails into his skin. She is flushed and sweaty as well, with a smile twitching at the corners of her lips, but Stiles is upset to realize that she didn’t finish herself.
“It still felt good, don’t be stupid,” She tells him when he inquires about it. “This was about you anyway.”
“I thought it was about ice cream,” Stiles quips before he can stop himself, and then groans.
She just laughs at him, and it’s one of the most beautiful things he has ever heard. “I’m sure you’ll make it up to me later,” Lydia assures him. “You hardly got to have any of the sundae anyway.”