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 still felt slightly drunk from the three martinis or whatever the hell he had gulped down, but he felt wide awake enough to do something like getting coffee. “Sure, yeah. You can’t get in trouble for walking into a coffee shop drunk, right? Just- Just checking.”
Summer’s smile was a little crooked. “Only for driving drunk. I’m not drunk, so it’s fine, if there’s driving I’ll do it. But there’s a coffeeshop around the next block, right?” Putting a hand lightly to his shoulder, she steered Stiles out of the bar and into the night.
He nodded, slightly remembering the word ‘coffee’ on a sign about a block away. Coffee sounded good. And so did Summer. Stiles came to the sudden conclusion that he didn’t know much about her; just that her name was Summer, and she was attending… school? He lightly shook his head, a bit disappointed with himself for not remembering.
She cocked an eyebrow at the headshake. “What? You don’t want coffee?” The air was noticeably cooler outside the crowded atmosphere of the bar. Feeling a little awkward, she dropped her hand from Stiles’ shoulder and tucked them together behind her back. “I mean, we don’t have to do coffee … I don’t really … “
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 chuckled, although he felt suddenly very awkward. They had literally just made out, pretty hardcore if you asked him, and were literally kicked out of their booth and forced to fight the inevitable tension. Or maybe it was just Stiles.
“I-I liked it, actually.” He wanted to slap himself across the face. Could he not stutter for once? His hand was still holding onto his shirt, and he slipped it over his head, hoping his blush wasn’t seen through the flashing lights of the club and slight darkness to the area.
She drew back, gaze sliding down, then back up to his face. “I, uh. Me too. A lot.” It looked like maybe he was blushing as he pulled his shirt back on. “Look, you want to — you want to get some coffee or something, get out of here?”
He still felt slightly drunk from the three martinis or whatever the hell he had gulped down, but he felt wide awake enough to do something like getting coffee. “Sure, yeah. You can’t get in trouble for walking into a coffee shop drunk, right? Just- Just checking.”
Summer’s smile was a little crooked. “Only for driving drunk. I’m not drunk, so it’s fine, if there’s driving I’ll do it. But there’s a coffeeshop around the next block, right?” Putting a hand lightly to his shoulder, she steered Stiles out of the bar and into the night.
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.
A blush the color of strawberries brightened Stiles’ cheeks. He nodded obediently, grabbing his shirt off of the ground, keeping his eyes locked to the floor as he awkwardly stepped past the bouncer. He silently asked himself how long the guy had been standing there.
He looked over his shoulder once he was past the buffed up man, looking for the red haired girl behind him. He saw her, the sides of his lips turning up into a half-hearted smile.
Summer scrambled out of the booth hastily, face burning. Trying to reorient herself in the crush of the club, her gaze crossed Stiles’, and embarrassment cramped in her middle. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, then dragged up her courage and stepped closer to say it in his ear. “I’m /so/ sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He chuckled, although he felt suddenly very awkward. They had literally just made out, pretty hardcore if you asked him, and were literally kicked out of their booth and forced to fight the inevitable tension. Or maybe it was just Stiles.
“I-I liked it, actually.” He wanted to slap himself across the face. Could he not stutter for once? His hand was still holding onto his shirt, and he slipped it over his head, hoping his blush wasn’t seen through the flashing lights of the club and slight darkness to the area.
She drew back, gaze sliding down, then back up to his face. “I, uh. Me too. A lot.” It looked like maybe he was blushing as he pulled his shirt back on. “Look, you want to — you want to get some coffee or something, get out of here?”
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 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.”
A blush the color of strawberries brightened Stiles’ cheeks. He nodded obediently, grabbing his shirt off of the ground, keeping his eyes locked to the floor as he awkwardly stepped past the bouncer. He silently asked himself how long the guy had been standing there.
He looked over his shoulder once he was past the buffed up man, looking for the red haired girl behind him. He saw her, the sides of his lips turning up into a half-hearted smile.
Summer scrambled out of the booth hastily, face burning. Trying to reorient herself in the crush of the club, her gaze crossed Stiles’, and embarrassment cramped in her middle. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, then dragged up her courage and stepped closer to say it in his ear. “I’m /so/ sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
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.”
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.
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.
“Does this place have any private booths?” she asked, ignoring his confusion. She let go the front of his shirt and smoothed the fabric, cocking her head up at him. Shoving herself up on her tiptoes, she hissed in his ear, “Want to see what’s under your shirt.”
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.
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.
She wouldn’t’ve pushed him up against a wall ordinarily. But then this was not an ordinary night. He probably thought she was drunk — which she was, kind of. Just not on alcohol.
On lust and anger and a hundred other shades of human emotions. His freckles seemed appealing, and his shyness. Kindred spirit, right? So she maneuvred him until he couldn’t get away and took what she wanted. Until they were both breathless. She was too high on him to think about the consequences of sliding her hand down the front of his body.
Stiles’ wrists ached from her hold, but he didn’t focus on that at the moment. Instead, he slid his lips against hers, his nose brushing against her cheek, his entire thoughts laced with only the way she was kissing him. They were two people with so many problems that now felt like such a perfect time to just forget about everything and anything else.
She bit at his mouth and let go his wrists to curve one hand around the back of his neck. The other closed on the front of his shirt and pulled him in closer to her. Finally she had to break away and gasp for breath. “I didn’t quite catch that,” she managed, with a chuckle. “Would you repeat it?”
“What- repeat…” He was momentarily dazed, his lips parted and eyes half open, staring to her lips, then to her hand that clutched the front on his shirt. He couldn’t remember what he was saying. Something about being the one always rejected.
“Does this place have any private booths?” she asked, ignoring his confusion. She let go the front of his shirt and smoothed the fabric, cocking her head up at him. Shoving herself up on her tiptoes, she hissed in his ear, “Want to see what’s under your shirt.”
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.
She wouldn’t’ve pushed him up against a wall ordinarily. But then this was not an ordinary night. He probably thought she was drunk — which she was, kind of. Just not on alcohol.
On lust and anger and a hundred other shades of human emotions. His freckles seemed appealing, and his shyness. Kindred spirit, right? So she maneuvred him until he couldn’t get away and took what she wanted. Until they were both breathless. She was too high on him to think about the consequences of sliding her hand down the front of his body.
Stiles’ wrists ached from her hold, but he didn’t focus on that at the moment. Instead, he slid his lips against hers, his nose brushing against her cheek, his entire thoughts laced with only the way she was kissing him. They were two people with so many problems that now felt like such a perfect time to just forget about everything and anything else.
She bit at his mouth and let go his wrists to curve one hand around the back of his neck. The other closed on the front of his shirt and pulled him in closer to her. Finally she had to break away and gasp for breath. “I didn’t quite catch that,” she managed, with a chuckle. “Would you repeat it?”
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.
She wouldn’t’ve pushed him up against a wall ordinarily. But then this was not an ordinary night. He probably thought she was drunk — which she was, kind of. Just not on alcohol.
On lust and anger and a hundred other shades of human emotions. His freckles seemed appealing, and his shyness. Kindred spirit, right? So she maneuvred him until he couldn’t get away and took what she wanted. Until they were both breathless. She was too high on him to think about the consequences of sliding her hand down the front of his body.