thenogitsuneandstiles-deactivat:
Stiles was slammed against the wall, the fiery red headed girl he didn’t even know the name of smashing her lips to his. How had he ended up here? He didn’t know. He remembered being angry that Lydia had dissed him (once again) and walking into a bar, talking to a cute girl, they had danced after a few drinks…
And now he was up against a wall, their bodies pressed together, lips molding into each others and somehow, he loved it. Because he wasn’t worrying, or even caring frankly, about the other red head who had consumed him. Right now, at least, he probably wouldn’t know who she was if she walked up to him.
He quickly averted his eyes away from the couple who seemed to only be using the booth for something to lean on; not privacy. He found an empty one, sliding into it and pulling her with him in it. Stiles didn’t exactly know what to do next.
Summer kept going, pinning Stiles up against the back of the booth in the same manner as she’d pinned him to the wall a moment again. She latched her mouth to his again, hands to either side of his face, and drowned in his confused desire.
He pressed his lips against hers, instantly losing his nervousness, along with his carefulness. Stiles reached his hands down to the hem of his shirt, hooking his fingers on it and pulling it up and over his head, surprisingly not feeling any self doubt about his body.
“Oh, god,” she rasped, hands sliding over his torso. “You’re just — you — ” She kissed him again, hard and fast with teeth and tongue, and stopped, gasping in breaths. Then she twined her own shirt up just beneath her breasts in a kind of makeshift bra and pressed herself against him again, kissing his throat and down his shoulder.
A throat clearing from behind them startled her into a yelp. A burly sort of fellow, so broad he looked squat, folded his arms at the end of the booth and lifted one eyebrow. “Don’t do that kind of thing here, kids,” he said gruffly. “Go on. Get out of here.”