They fought. ALL THE TIME. They bickered. They argued. They snapped. They growled. They even glared. Everyone noticed, it wasn't only their friends and family. They'd be at a public park and people would stop and stare at the young woman and man, sparks shooting between them, looking about ready to rip each other to shreds.
She'd call him dog, make jokes and hint at the fact that he was a mutt. She'd complain about his smell, tell him to go for a walk and laugh about his tail being between his legs when he just walked away. It made him furious.
He'd shiver around her, insinuating at her cold touch; he'd poke fun at the fact that she preferred blood over other food. He'd bitch about her standoffishness and chuckle at how she'd be at a loss of control every time someone got a paper cut. It infuriated her.
What made them more mad however, was themselves. He had to look away when she genuinely smiled, when her hair moved in the wind and he caught the scent. It wasn't as bad as the others'. She avoided eye contact when he walked around topless, making sure she averted her eyes from his chiseled chest and muscular arms. He was somewhat more beautiful than the others.
Being alone together caught them off guard. There were only so many insults they could hurl at one another without an audience present before it started getting boring. Averted gazes. Shuffling feet. Heavy sighs. Biting of the lip. Rubbing the back of the neck. It was awkward, forced.
He wanted to touch her, the impulse was so strong it shook him deeply. He wanted to reach out and stroke her hair, kiss her neck. He wanted to hold her and be the strong one for a change. He wanted to control, to see her vulnerable, to see her dependent.
She wanted to feel his radiating warmth wash over her, feel it chip away the icy wall that she hid behind. She needed someone else to be the strong one for a change, and she was sure he'd be the one to do it. She wanted to rest her head against his chest, feel the steady rhythm of his heart beat.
It was one slight touch, one tiny movement that broke them. A brush of their hands on the counter top had their knees weak, and all of their previous worries set aside. It was if walls shattered and inhibitions were lost. She was in his arms, his arms wrapped around her, supporting them both against the counter that had started it all. Lips crashed onto lips, breathing was forgotten (for him), tongues darted out to meet each other, twisted and fighting a fury that long ago had subsided into passion.
Her fingers laced themselves in his short hair, making him growl and deepen their already inappropriately too deep kisses. His fingers tightened against her hips, creating a deep throaty moan, escaping from lips already possessed by him. She bit down on his bottom lip, trying to maintain some level of control, feeling it slowly slipping away.
She let it. He took it. It's what they'd wanted. It wasn't love. There were no loving gazes, girlie sighs and giggles. He did nothing to try to win her affection. No secret smiles or knowing looks. It was just pure need. Not love, but need.