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Lydia wakes up slowly, enjoying the feel of strong arms wrapped around her. She wiggles back against Jackson, smiling when he groans in his sleep, holding her tighter. She opens her eyes and looks at Stiles, who’s on his side facing her, mouth hanging open as he sleeps.
“Damn his eyelashes,” Lydia mutters to herself. She runs a hand over Stiles’ buzzcut before extricating herself from Jackson’s arms and crawling out of bed.
“Where’re you goin’?” Jackson asks sleepily.
“Some of us need a bit more time to get ready for the day,” Lydia replies. “I’m going to shower. Be good while I’m gone.” She saunters into the bathroom and takes a long leisurely shower, getting her money’s worth out of the removable showerhead.
When she finally goes back into the bedroom, she stops and stares at Jackson and Stiles, both of whom are wearing the same sex-addled grins.
“Have fun?” Lydia questions in amusement.
“He does this thing with his tongue,” Jackson says. “You gotta experience it.”
“Oh, I plan to,” Lydia agrees. “But not now. Get dressed, both of you.”
“Why?” Stiles asks but obediently gets up and tugs his clothes on.
“Errands to run,” Lydia replies dismissively. “If we can get them done quickly, we can go to Jackson’s and enjoy the hot tub.”
“Oooh hot tub, game on!” Stiles says as he zips up his hoodie.
“Folks are out of town until next Friday,” Jackson adds as he finishes getting dressed and pulls his shoes on. “Seeing their third who lives out state.”
“Then we’re definitely going to yours,” Lydia decides. “Everyone dressed? Good, let’s go. Stiles, you can get your tooth rotting coffee on the way.”
“Score,” Stiles says, not even arguing as they all head to Lydia’s car.
“You’ve got your cards with you, right?” Lydia asks Jackson softly.
“Yeah,” Jackson answers. “Why?”
Lydia just glances over at Stiles, who’s bouncing around by Lydia’s car, silly grin still plastered on his face. Realization dawns on Jackson to what Lydia’s plan are for the day.
“Gotcha,” Jackson says with a nod. “Shotgun!” he yells, laughing when Stiles groans.
A short time later, they’re standing at the entrance to the mall, and Lydia’s eyeing Stiles while Jackson stands behind her, hands resting on her shoulders.
“Okay, you two dragged me here for what reason again?” Stiles asks, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie.
“It’s going to come out sooner or later that we’re..together,” Lydia starts to explain. “I mean, Scott already knows, which means Allison knows, and soon enough everyone will know.”
“And we won’t be able to deny it,” Jackson throws in, “so if we’re going to be seen with you in public-”
“-you’re going to look the part,” Lydia finishes. “Also, I was cranky last night, and this is my way of apologizing.”
Stiles actually takes a step back. “That is very sweet, but... Uh... I can’t afford, like, anything,” he tells them, making a big sweeping gesture to all the rather expensive stores around them.
“We’re paying,” Lydia states with ease. “And if you’re a good boy…”
“Hey, I can be good,” Stiles interjects, frowning.
“Then we’ll reward you.” Lydia reaches out for Stiles’ hand. “We don’t bite.”
“He does,” Stiles accuses, pointing at Jackson. “My nipples still hurt.”
“Wimp,” Jackson retorts, but his tone lacks bite. “The faster we do this, the faster we get back to my place.”
Stiles rubs his face and then scratches his head. “Fine,” he says, knowing it’s a useless exercise to argue against both of them.
Lydia claps happily and motions for him to follow her and Jackson deeper into the mall. “We can’t do anything about your hair today, but in a month or so, after it’s grown out, we can take you to our stylist,” she thinks out loud.
“I’m getting distinct rentboy vibes here,” Stiles mutters.
“You do not look like a rentboy,” Jackson points out.
“Not yet, at least,” Lydia teases. “Come on, there’s shopping to do.”
Stiles lets himself be dragged from store to store, taking the clothes Jackson and Lydia shove at him and putting on little fashion shows for them. Everything they pick for him is so out of character that he knows it’s going to start the rumor mill at school. He has to almost beg to pick some stuff that is at least similar to his normal style.
By the time they head back to Lydia’s car—Jackson’s Porsche is too small and neither of them will be seen in Stiles’ Jeep—Stiles and Jackson are both loaded down with bags.
“I’m going to trust you to actually wear all this,” Lydia tells Stiles. “Otherwise I’m going to send Jackson to your house every morning to dress you.”
“I’m totally capable of dressing myself,” Stiles protests as he tosses the bags into the trunk of Lydia’s car.
“Mmmhmm,” Jackson hums then snorts. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“I expect to see you on Monday in some of these new things,” Lydia orders as they climb into her car. Stiles calls shotgun and hops into the front seat next to Lydia. Jackson rolls his eyes and climbs into the backseat right behind Stiles, idly rubbing Stiles’ buzzcut.
“Stop,” Stiles whines.
Jackson just grins evilly and continues. “If you keep whining, I’ll find a better use for that mouth,” he threatens.
“Promises, promises,” Stiles says breathlessly.
“Boys,” Lydia warns sternly. “Wait till we get back to Jackson’s. We’re not making a mess in my car.”