"Oh that sounds delightful."

"Same place?"

"Absolutely. Is Stiles invited?"

Texting...

"I guess so. Shouldn't he actually attend class, given his track record?"

"I have no idea what his track record is like, but I'm not exactly a fan of standard public education, so I'm not inclined to care."

"Lydia doesn't mind, but you'll have to invite him yourself."

So she texts him the invitation, apparently oblivious to Jackson's discomfort with the idea.

What discomfort? He's not uncomfortable. He's enthusiastic. 

To the bleachers, then.

"Glad you could make it," says Lydia.

"The pleasure is all mine."

"Should we wait for Stiles, or do you want to get the ball rolling?"

"I think you two can get the ball rolling and I can watch," she suggests.

She eyes her boyfriend.

They get the ball rolling.

Lydia's kisses are deep, slow, and intense. She pays attention to detail.

Whenever she comes up for air, whenever she touches Jackson, her eyes are on Ade.

Well that's absurdly hot.

That somewhat confused moan sounds familiar. 

It looks like Stiles has finally joined them.

Has he now. She should perhaps step behind him and wrap her arms around him and start nibbling on his neck while they watch.

He finds this very intriguing.

As does Lydia, who interrupts her exploration under Jackson's shirt to pull them closer to Ade and Stiles.

They continue.

Explorations under Jackson's shirt look like a very interesting activity Ade would like to continue to see.

What a good thing they haven't stopped.

He dips her, as though they're in a ballroom and not among the bleacher, which seems to give them a second wind.

"I kinda want a turn," she sighs into Stiles' skin eventually.

"Hey, Whittemore, do you need to take remedial sharing?"

He reluctantly pulls away.

"Be my guest."