Chapter Text
All we do is drive
All we do is think about the feelings that we hide
All we do is sit in silence waiting for a sign
Sick and full of pride
All we do is drive
- Drive, Halsey
There was a time when Lydia experienced dreamless, peaceful sleep. She woke each morning bright eyed and bushy tailed and didn't even think about the number of her friends that might actually have bushy tails.
These days sleep is rare. Sometimes she tries, turns off her lights and closes the blinds, lies on her bed with simulated rain playing on her phone. Occasionally this method works, and her eyes will flutter closed, darkness seeping into the edges of her vision. But the nightmares always come. Dirty, bloody water in a tub. Peter Hale, burned and scarred, telling her to scream. A monster wearing one of her best friends faces, rubbing his nose against her cheek. Kissing Jackson only to find herself paralyzed. Dragging Derek Hale through the woods, then suddenly finding their roles reversed, her head bumping against roots and leaves caught in her hair. Screaming Allison’s name, unable to stop the sword from piercing her chest. Creatures protected by armor made of bones, backing her into a corner. Watching as Brunski puts a power drill to Scott’s temple.
There's a never ending list of horrors for her brain to choose from, taking her real life nightmares and twisting them, taking away her control, turning her friends into cruel monsters and helpless victims alike. Most nights it's just easier to stay awake.
It's one in the morning, but Lydia doesn't bother pretending to be asleep. Her mother is off on a girls' trip to Hawaii, and she feels safer with the lights on. The summer reading assigned to all incoming freshman at Brown is cracked open against her knees, but she's not reading it. Her thoughts wander, thinking about leaving, about living three thousand miles away from her mom and her friends. Her pack.
Going to Brown is the right choice, obviously. She's not about to pass up a full ride scholarship to a prestigious Ivy League school, even if it is on the other side of the country. Kira had cried when she told her, and Stiles had looked like he wanted to argue. Scott had just smiled sadly and hugged her, promising to make this summer count. Lydia sighs and swallows hard, forcing back the lump in her throat and wishing away the burn behind her eyes. There's a month until she leaves, and the weekends ahead are chock full of plans, beach days and house parties and camping trips. Lydia isn’t usually sentimental but she finds herself cherishing each moment with her friends, trying to commit it to memory.
She's afraid.
But no one needs to know that. She hides it behind false confidence and sarcasm and flicks of her hair, ignoring the concerned looks from Scott and the calculating expression on Stiles’ face. Her eyes feel heavy and she rubs at them, forcing herself to focus on the pages in front of her, blinking hard until the words come into focus.
On the bed beside her, her phone buzzes.
Derek Hale: are you okay?
She frowns at her phone, unsure if he even meant to send her that text. Derek had mysteriously returned for their graduation, sitting between Chris Argent and Deputy Parrish in the back row, aviator sunglasses glinting in the sunlight, the epitome of cool. Lydia had spotted him immediately from her spot on stage, although her attempts to communicate with Stiles via eyebrow raising and glaring had been unsuccessful. Derek had stayed after, offering a very vague explanation of what he'd been up to for the past year, but promising he was home to stay.
Me: yes?
Derek Hale: you should be sleeping
Me: well someone is texting me
Derek Hale: your light is on
Me: ignoring how creepy that is. I just don't want to sleep okay
Derek Hale: I was just driving by. You're not the only one who avoids sleep
Clutching her phone on her hand, Lydia climbs off her bed and crosses to her window, peering through the curtains. Sure enough, there's a car idling at the end of her driveway, the brightness and obnoxious placement of the lights giving it away as a sports car. The sight sends little thrills of excitement down her spine, heart jumping at the possibility of breaking some unspoken rule.
Derek Hale: you can come drive with me if you want
She glances at her reflection in the mirror, taking in her cotton shorts and the Beacon Hills Lacrosse shirt she's pretty sure belongs to Liam, her make up free face and her hair knotted on top of her head. Usually she wouldn't let anyone see her like this, without her armor, but it's not like Derek has any room to judge. And it's not like she's worried he'll think less of her. If anyone knows better than to judge a woman by her appearance, it's Derek.
Me: be right there
Shoving her feet into a pair of flip flops, she flicks off her light and heads down the stairs, grabbing her keys before stepping outside. The air is thick with fog, moisture already beading on her lip. Maybe it will rain later. Hopefully it will rain and break this horrible humidity. Her hair is frizzing around her face by the time she slides into the passenger seat of the Camaro, but Derek barely spares her a glance before peeling away from the house.
The seats are buttery leather, surrounding her like a warm hug. There has to be a black ice air freshener hidden somewhere, an old one maybe, the scent faint enough to be pleasant but still good. Derek's face is glowing just slightly in the red and white dashboard lights, his eyes reflecting blue whenever they pass another car. He looks softer than she remembers, dark hair tousled and mouth less harsh. Could his beard be as soft as it looks? He's wearing a t-shirt that actually fits, even though the sleeves still stretch tight around his biceps. It's not that she never noticed that Derek handsome, she just never considered him. Still doesn't, not really.
Derek still isn't looking at her, one hand curled around the stick shift, the other draped over the wheel. His eyes look almost glazed, trained on yellow lines in front of them. It should be uncomfortable she thinks, staring at the knuckles on his hand, the long fingers rubbing patterns onto the shifter. But she did invade his private time, even if he invited her.
It's nice though. It's easy.
With the pack, there's never silence, never a moment to even hear herself think. Mason's jibber jabbering about his latest research and Kira's babbling awkwardly and Malia is making blunt comments and Stiles will fill any awkward silence with cringe worthy commentary.
So this is nice.
She turns her attention to the dark scenery flashing by, the trees turning into buildings, back roads turning into freeways. Rain starts to fall, and she watches the drops race down the window, her eyes starting to feel heavy. The windshield wipers seem to match the rhythm of the soft music playing on the radio, just loud enough to catch the beat. With every passing exit sign her brain settles, thoughts turning from missing her friends to planning their beach trip, to wondering if Derek's lips taste like the pink starburst she knows he hides in his center console.
She wakes up the next morning tucked into her bed, feeling rejuvenated. It takes her a moment to figure out why the feeling is so bizarre, until she realizes she didn't even dream. And that she doesn't remember how she got home. With a groan she reaches for her phone, unable to stop the smile at the sight of Derek's name on the screen.
Derek Hale: you fell asleep in the car. Hope you got some well deserved rest
Derek Hale: I go for drives almost every night. You are always welcome
Me: thanks. Might take you up on that
And she does.
Not every night, but most. If she doesn't want to sleep, or she can't sleep, she just texts Derek, and within minutes he's at the end of her driveway, the Camaro’s engine purring. Sometimes she has to tiptoe past her mom’s room, not that she wants to hide this or anything. But this, whatever this is with Derek, is private. She doesn't want to share him with anyone, doesn't want to explain what's so special about driving around in silence with a broody werewolf.
Except it's not silent anymore. On some nights she'll get in and nineties rock will be blasting, and she thinks she sees tears glimmering in Derek's eyes. Sometimes there's no music, but Derek will ask her about her day, his lips quirking into tiny smiles every now and again. Sometimes they talk about their nightmares, the real ones and the ones that haunt their dreams. Derek tells her about Laura, about his mom, how Peter was before the fire. On those nights Lydia tells him about Jackson, about how she loved him, why she loved him, how he was softer, vulnerable behind closed doors. And they talk about Allison, how she was a hero, how Derek admired her bravery and her capacity for love. How Lydia loved, still loves, her more than anyone she’s ever met.
Some nights they stick to the back roads, driving too fast around sharp turns, getting scared to death by the occasional deer or coyote running in front of them. Once they drove all the way to Sacramento and didn't get back to Beacon Hills until seven in the morning. Lydia had never seen a more beautiful sunrise than the one that cast a rosy glow over Derek's face and turned her hair into flames. Other nights they drive to the ocean and park, watching the black waves crest white before crashing onto the shore.
They talk about everything except themselves. So that's what Lydia thinks about when they lapse into silence, her thoughts drifting to Derek. She imagines the contrast of soft skin covering hard muscles beneath her palms, wonders how long her neck would stay red with beard burn. She thinks he would be a biter, sucking and nibbling, leaving his marks all over her skin. It's not that she wants to date him. She just wants to know him like that, wants his body under her and over her and inside her.
They're parked on a cliff overlooking the ocean, the moon almost full and reflecting on the dark water. It’s now or never, she realizes, and she’s ready to talk about them. Maybe.
"I leave tomorrow," Lydia murmurs after a few moments of quiet, twisting the hem of her tank top between her fingers. She can feel Derek watching her, can see him nod out of the corner of her eye.
"You can always call me you know," he says, his voice a soft hum. Lydia squeezes her eyes shut, forcing back the hot tears threatening to break free at the thought of going weeks, months, without being here with Derek. "If the dreams get to be too much."
She swallows hard, peeking hesitantly at him through her lashes. He's sprawled out behind the wheel, one arm tucked behind his head, the other propped up on the open window. Nothing can compare to the intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes look silver in the moonlight, how they seem to track across every inch of her face. His chest rises and falls with each breath, and Lydia wants to touch, wants to feel it move beneath her.
"I can't do that to you," she says instead, pulling her lip between her teeth. Derek rolls his eyes, lips quirking into a rare smile.
"You'll be three hours ahead of me, and it's not like I sleep anyways." Lydia lets herself smile back as she reaches for his hand, squeezing his fingers between hers.
"Thanks Der." Pulling her hand back she leans across the center console on her elbows, pressing her lips to his prickly cheek. She bites her lip and pulls back slightly, heart in her throat as she watches Derek. His eyes flick from hers down to her lips, then back up again. And then one of Derek's big hands curls around her ear, and his lips are soft and warm against her own. Lydia sighs into the kiss, pressing one palm over his heart and curling the fingers of her other hand in his hair. "We needed to be in the backseat, like yesterday," she hums as he kisses down her throat, teeth scraping across her collarbone. Surprisingly Derek listens, scrambling into the backseat and pulling her with him. He stretches out on his back, one knee bent, the other foot down on the floor.
He looks wrecked already, eyes wide and dark, lips red and shiny, a flush rising on his cheeks. She wants to get her hands on him, wants to rip his clothes off and feel his skin warm against hers.
"Come here," Derek orders, sitting up only to drag her on top of him, hands hot on the backs of her thighs, sliding up her shorts to knead her ass. A hot surge of desire rolls through her body, and she needs him, needs his tongue in her mouth, needs to be touching him in every way. With a soft moan she captures his lips with hers, opening her mouth when his tongue traces the curve of her bottom lip. She rolls her hips against his, and it seems to ignite a need within Derek. His big hands scrabble at her clothes, pulling her tank over her head and pushing her shorts down her thighs. "I need... I need..." He huffs and curls his hands around her hips, yanking her forward. Lydia yelps and throws out her hands, bracing herself against the window.
"Oh my god," she sighs, throwing her head back at the feel of his tongue between her thighs, one thick finger pushing inside of her. "Derek." His name sounds like a prayer on her lips, and she doesn't care, not when he's making her legs shake, his cheeks and chin scraping deliciously against the inside of her thighs, his fingers curling inside of her, searching for and finding the spot that makes her scream. He groans against her when she starts to push back in time with his fingers, murmuring words she cannot make out. But it doesn't matter, because there's sweat dripping down her spine and her vision is starting to go blurry and all she can think is don't stop. And Derek doesn't, not when she squeezes her thighs too tight around his head, not when she curls her fingers too hard in his hair, not when she comes with a shout, her entire body trembling as she collapses, face pressed against the fogged up window.
Derek squirms beneath her, but Lydia can't bring herself to pay attention, to busy trying to get her brain to just work again. Derek Hale just gave her the best orgasm of her life. With his mouth. Without her even asking. His hands are gentle this time when they wrap around her hips, tugging her back down his body. Lydia groans at the feel of a hard cock rubbing against her ass, brain already coming back online as Derek kisses her, slow and hot.
"Can I fuck you," he asks, breath puffing warm and damp against her ear.
"Only if you take off your shirt," Lydia insists, hating the way her voice breaks in the middle. But it doesn't matter, because Derek's already struggling out of his shirt, almost smiling when she laughs and helps him.
He's so big and solid beneath her, abs jumping when she pressing her fingers against them, dusty pink nipples peeking through the dark hair covering his chest. "God you're so hot." She breathes, pushing her hands over his pecs, pressing her fingers into the dips and curves of his broad shoulders.
"Have you seen yourself?" He huffs, but before she can snap back, he's slowly pushing inside her.
Lydia has a moment to regret not actually getting to see his dick before all she can think about is the slow stretch of her body as he fills her. Her still sensitive nerves sing at the contact, drawing a low moan out of her chest. "You okay?" Derek's voice brings her attention back to him, lips swollen and shiny with slick and spit, eyes almost black in the darkness.
"God yeah," she sighs, bracing one hand on his chest as she starts to rock her hips. She's not sure if it's Derek's werewolf senses or if he's just good at this, but he manages to do most of the work, even from the bottom. He guides her to lean back against his bent leg, the angle just right so his cock drags against her clit with each thrust. Lydia throws her head back, unable to keep her moans quiet as she anchors herself with one hand wrapped around his ankle. "Fuck Der." She looks down her body through slitted eyes to find Derek with his own head thrown back, tendons jumping in his neck, sweat glistening on his chest. His hands are curled around her waist, fingers spasming in time with his thrusts. He's beautiful. "Come on Der, fuck me."
"Yeah, yeah," Derek grunts back, increasing the speed and force of each thrust. Lydia lets her head fall, little whimpers slipping between her lips as tension slowly begins to curl around the base of her spine. "Come on, come for me again." Derek murmurs, and she knows that has to be werewolf powers, listening to her heart or smelling her chemo signals. But she can't focus on the science of it right now, not when his fingers are pinching at one of her nipples hard, sending her over the edge, moaning his name.
Derek pulls her down hard, his entire body arching off the seat as he buries himself deep inside her, lips parted in a silent cry. Lydia sighs and curls up on his chest, tucking her face into his neck and listening to the sound of his racing heart. She doesn't know what this means, doesn't know what's going to happen next, doesn't know what Derek wants. But she does know that she's leaving for Rhode Island tomorrow, and that she's not interested in a long term relationship.
And oh yeah, she just had the best sex of her life in the back seat of a car.
Derek definitely gave her something to remember.