7: firm kiss      One of the many perks that being a werewolf carried along,      and that for Stiles  meant  the  possibility  to  find out about      one  of   the   most   important  things  in  his  life,  was  the      ability of being just like the  macrosmatic  wolves  who can      practically record over 40  times  the  number of  smells  a      regular human can. Though for  this  impractical  case,  he      just needed to find out whether   there was  the  slight  hint       of attraction towards Stiles from Lydia.               Which would have been a much easier task  if  his  yonderly               state   hadn’t   precluded   him   from    thinking   rationally—               his recent break-up with Allison had been a  constant in  his               mind. It was getting harder to control  himself, to  control  his               most animal instincts  now  that  the  object  of  his  affection               was no longer there. But more than that,  there was  the  fact               he felt helpless, impotent, incompetent—  not  being  able to               tell her about it for fear of  being  rejected. The  penumbra  in                which  the plaintive soul of a teenager lived had to disappear               for a few minutes for the sake of his  best  friend. Though  he               did want to help—  his will was not strong enough.       The moment cinnamon hues  with a  deep  brown  rim  around them       met the dangerous and enticing nebulae that cumulated deep down       in  Lydia’s  eyes, he  knew  that  he  was  not here  to  look  for  Stiles’       answer but rather one of his own. After Lydia’s  words crept  beneath       his nerves, stirring them till the point he held no control over his own       body, his glance fell to the ground, he could feel how  fire  somehow       crystallized in his eyes, the way his whole body  burned with ire  and       despair— as if something in there was infuriated to come out.                   Glossy   and   smashed   redberries   in  a  perfect   combination                   of delicacy and impudence  were  sealed  against  his  own,  the                   harsh breath that was nothing but a sign  of  his  own  rage  was                   assuaged  with  the  taste  of  the   forbidden  fruit. It   was  like  a                    poison  mixing   itself  with  Scott’s  blood,  blandishing  him  into                    giving in. And as weak  as  Scott  was  in  that  moment,  his  own                   animal   desire  to   have  something   to  hold  on  was  the  main                   responsible   for   him   to   kiss   back   his   best   friend’s   crush.                   Not only was he delighting himself in the sweet  and  venomous                   taste of such Aphrodite but at the same time he was condemning                   himself by stabbing Stiles in the back  whilst a cheeky smile  was                   brought upon his own lips.           The    betrayal   was   signed   with   the    exchange  of            hungry  and   muffled   sounds   that  were   consumed           vividly   by   the   mere   prominence   of   what   kissing           Lydia    meant.    They    left    an    unmistakable   trace           of ashes along both of  their lips as  the  clean proof of           a     what-should-never-be.   For    Scott,   the    blinding            obscurity that emerged  from his deepest  and haughty           sense  of   self-deceit,   impeded   him   from   realising           he was sinning before the eyes of the people he cared           about—   after  all,  who’d   reject  the   saccharine  and            endless  sample  of  a  promising   ambrosia   that    is           nothing but a single Lotus flower…