The room is a blurr.
And upside down.
Lydia is going to kill whoever spiked her drink(s) last night.
She puts her hands over her face with a groan and kicks the blanket off of her legs, and she freezes.
Because, one, there is something solid and metal-like against her left eyelid, and two, the blanket feels very heavy and soft and is groaning too.
“What the Hell …,” she whispers, voice hoarse from whatever she did, and she blinks her eyes open to focus on her left hand.
Yep, that’s a ring.
A very nice ring, too, if she may say so herself.
A ring !!!!!
She sits up in the bed, and when she sees dark hair splayed over her lap, she realizes that the blanket is actually Allison.
Who is halfway undressed, and has her arms wrapped around Lydia’s legs.
“Alli?” she asks, poking her shoulder to wake her up.
“‘ive ‘i’utes, hun,” Allison mumbles, and Lydia can feel her cheeks heating up at the petname.
“Alli,” she insists, bouncing her legs on the mattress to jostle Allison away.
“Whaaa,” Allison replies, crawling away from Lydia’s legs to put her arms around her waist, nuzzling her cheek against Lydia’s breast with a satisfied smile. “Mmm, much better.”
“Allison Argent, this is not a drill,” Lydia says sternly, though her hand hovers over Allison’s head, as if to pet her hair and keep her where she is.
But there is no time to waste, because now that Allison’s hands are on her--on her bare skin, and boy do they feel good--Lydia can feel something metal-like against her hip.
Which only points out to one answer as to why she is so drunk, why they ended up in the same bed, why there are flowers thrown around the room with their clothes.
“Mmm-’ydia?” Allison sits up on her haunches, rubbing her eyes in a manner that Lydia does not find adorable.
Not at all.
“I think we got married last night.”
---
“What do you mean, we can’t get an annulment?”
Allison knows that tone of voice, and she is not afraid to say that it is pretty arousing, as far as she is concerned: it’s Lydia’s “don’t fuck with me or I’ll find ways to make you die a painful death” voice.
“Apparently,” Stiles explains as he fidgets with his tablet, “if more than ten witnesses can attest that you were of sound mind and that you behaved in a loving manner, there is no legal basis for a judge to annul your wedding.”
“How many witnesses?”
“...”
“Stiles,” Allison intervenes softly, reaching for Stiles’ shoulder. “Go on, tell us.”
“... Fifty.”
“Oh God.”
“And counting.”
Lydia closes her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest.
“Stiles,” Allison says, “could you leave us alone for a minute?”
Stiles gives her a soft smile before patting her back, squeezing her shoulder affectionately as he goes. “Sure. You know where to find me.”
“Lydia,” she calls, walking to the shorter woman. “We can divorce, put it all behind--”
“No.”
“--us. No?”
“I don’t want a divorce.”
“Okay.”
Lydia looks over her shoulder to glance at Allison, a faint blush on her cheeks. “Not from you.”
Allison feels her own cheeks burning up and she comes to stand behind Lydia, tentatively putting her arms around Lydia’s torso. “Me neither.”
Lydia puts her hands over Allison’s. “I just wish I’d remember the whole thing,” she says mournfully, and Allison presses a kiss to her cheek.
“We could start dating,” she says, “and when we feel like it, have a proper ceremony.”
Lydia makes a thoughtful noise. “Like a renewal of our vows,” she muses.
“Exactly.”
“I like it.”
“I knew you would.”
Lydia manages to turn in Allison’s embrace. “Now,” she says with a glint in her eyes, “can we talk about those rings?”
Allison laughs and gently presses a kiss to Lydia’s lip. “What about we first go on a date?”