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.
Stiles was flabbergasted at her hinting — forget that, she wasn’t hinting, instead she was very forward with her words and wants. His lips parted, coming to the conclusion, and nodded eagerly. “Priv-Private booth? I saw some…” He hoped she could hear him over the music. He nervously took her hand, taking her through the crowds until they went down a hall. The booths weren’t exactly… private.
She trusted Stiles to know where he was going. She didn’t frequent places like this enough, and even if she had, she was too high right now to pay attention to anything other than Stiles. She played with his fingers as they went down the hall, unruly imagination contemplating what he might be able to do with them. “Hurry,” she urged, barely audible over the music.
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.