A/N: This chapter dances the line between 'T' and 'M'. I don't consider it smut (more heavy fluff than anything else) but it doesn't cover anything important in terms of the plot, so please take this as a warning and skip entirely should you see fit — you won't miss anything *too* important. And if you think the rating should change instead of being provided warnings, let me know.

don't think twice before you listen to your heart / follow the trace for a new start
Enigma, "Gravity Of Love"

thirty-two.

(Leah)

"What are they talking about?"

"I don't know," Embry answers, adopting a pained look as he shakes his head and sighs with great exaggeration — more than is strictly necessary, considering how wound tight she is and how so very easy it would be to reach out and smack him. She wants to wipe off the small smile threatening at the corner of his mouth. "I didn't know when you asked me two minutes ago, just like I didn't know two minutes before that, and — guess what, sweetheart? I still don't know now."

"Well look, then," she hisses. "Lip read or something."

"Are you mad? They're almost at the end of the freakin' beach. I can only just about tell who's who."

"Superior senses my ass. Are you a wolf or not?"

"Only part-time," Embry replies blithely. He has long since dismissed the threat she feels in her very bones, and the smirk still on his face says that he knows he's being annoying — and that he's thoroughly enjoying it, too. "Oh, get a grip, woman. If they were going to kill each other then they would have done it by now."

"What do you know? You have no idea what's going on," she retorts snappishly. "You're useless to me."

Leah turns away from him, dismissive, and instead fixes her stare on the dark shadows. She squints as if she'll be able to better see whether or not Jacob is about to commit murder — except she can barely even make out his outline with her worthless human eyesight. Unless that's Sam's shadow she's looking at, though she can't tell for sure. They're so far away, and it's so dark.

Beside her, Embry flops backwards on the sand and flings an arm over his eyes with another elaborate sigh. "Remind me to never imprint."

"I knew I should have gone with him," she mutters, scowling.

"Then someone would definitely have been killed."

"'Sit with your brother,'" she scoffs over him, as if he's not spoken at all. "You mean to tell me that he really expects me — expects us to just sit here and wait for one of them to come back?"

"They'll both come back," Embry says from underneath his arm, his patience strained. At this point, he has to realise that she's hardly listening to a word he is saying. The tone of his voice is just background noise to the sound of her anxiety.

"I can't take it anymore," she declares. "I'm going over."

Embry's hand snatches out and grabs a fistful of her jumper. "Like hell you are." And then, when she tries to stand up anyway, he yanks her back — hard — and she drops back onto the sand. "Sit your ass down, Crazy. You're being paranoid."

"Paranoid!"

"Yes, you are! Look — they're done; Jake's walking back this way. See? Chill out. Geez."

Leah narrows her eyes into the darkness again. She can hardly see a damn thing still. "Is he bleeding?"

"Oh, for the love of — no, he's not bleeding, and yes, he's in one piece. All limbs intact." Embry's laugh is mangled between frustration and amusement. "You imprint people are so fucking weird."

Weird and paranoid she might be — and also high-strung and jumpy and defensive and just slightly overbearing . . . maybe — and she knows that Embry is right: she's only being this way because of whatever higher power has matched her with Jacob, but she can no more help it than she can breathing. No more than she'd been able to stop herself from kissing him back.

What exactly does Embry expect her to do? Relax?

Not a chance.

(Dramatic. She's become dramatic, too.)

She remains twitchy until Jacob comes back into view, until she can see every inch of his face and feel him again. Although the thunderous expression he wears as he approaches tells her as much as she needs to know without her supernatural sixth sense.

It went badly, then. Badly enough that Sam still hasn't followed, that he might as well have disappeared into the darkness entirely for all she knows. She doesn't dare tear her eyes away from Jacob's to check. They hold each other's stare until he comes to a standstill at her feet.

He holds out his hand. "Let's go."

She doesn't argue. She allows herself to be pulled up and drawn underneath his arm, relief pulsing through her body as she leans against his solid weight and the deepest parts of her are reassured.

Embry sits up and regards them both, and Leah just dares him to taunt her again. Dares him to tell Jacob what a nightmare she has been. But her friend just brushes the sand off his hands and asks, "Everything good, bro?"

Jacob nods once, the movement tight yet sharp. "He wants me back," he says quietly, but not weakly. The rumble of his deep voice has Leah winding an arm around his back, drawing herself close against his side as if she might be able to feel it through her own body. "We're on at six."

If Embry is as surprised as she is about it, he manages to hide it well underneath the small shrug he gives. "Sure. Guess Paul wins the bet, huh?"

"Half of it, anyway," Jacob replies stiffly, unimpressed, and Leah remembers what Quil had told her about being out ten dollars until the next fight. She closes her eyes for a moment, gathering herself, because she knows the last thing Jacob needs is for her to fly off the handle right now.

He's not going to be fighting anyone, not if she has her way.

Jacob looks down at her, fingers pressing into her arm to grab her attention. "You want to stay?"

She shakes her head. No. Definitely not.

His face gives nothing else away save for that brewing rage of his, though Leah knows it is not because of her and matches his look. She does not shy away, not from him.

"Alright," he says, still holding her gaze. Even as he adds, "See you in the morning then, Em."

"Yeah. See you later, man," Embry says, jumping to his feet. He bumps his shoulder against Jacob's and ruffles her hair fondly before she can dart out of his reach, and he skips off back to the soccer game with enviable grace. He is entirely at ease. Entirely at odds with how Jacob stands, rigid as he watches his friend go.

Leah can only stand with him in silent solidarity until he's able to let go of the jagged breath he seems to have been holding in, until he's ready to lift his head and move again.

And when he does, she quietly asks, "Do you want to stay?"

The question yanks whatever part of him is still lingering in those haunted depths back into the present. "Hell, no. Let's go home."

Home. Home. It sounds nicer than she's yet ready to admit out loud, but she knows he can hear the skipping of her heart (again) that tells him for her. Knows that he understands when he offers up a small smile in spite of all that he's feeling and finally starts walking.

Home.

They are both quiet as they wander back, his arm still over her shoulders and hers around his waist. She has a million and one questions to ask him but — not yet. Not yet. Not after he has spent so long staving off a phase so that he might have a chance at leaving the pack, only for Sam to now have dragged him right back into it.

For all her worry, she didn't need to be a part of that conversation to know what has happened. And she thinks it's a damn miracle that Jacob has not shed his skin already because of it — there's not even a slight tremor in his arms, his hands. To anyone else it would probably look as if he were completely in control of himself.

Maybe he is. Maybe he's simply accepted what is, what will be. And yet . . . no, because surrendering is not in either of their natures; they may be polar opposites in some things, but in this they are extremely similar, and Leah knows Jacob far better than to believe he's submitted to Sam. Not yet. Not ever. Not after what he's been through.

Despite his exterior appearance, Jacob is much calmer by the time they let themselves into her house and traipse up the stairs. She knows this because she feels calm, too — not the bundle of nerves she'd thought she'd be. Her mom is likely already asleep and Seth is still down on the beach, and in an ordinary world she might have been worried about being caught sneaking a boy into her house; she might have made him climb up the tree and pull himself through the window like Sam used to do on occasion.

Then again, in an ordinary world, she probably wouldn't be leading Jacob into her bedroom when they're barely dating (imprinted — barely imprinted) and she's still wrapping her head around both what he means to her, what this means, and how much he means to her. How much it means already. In an ordinary world she probably would have run away screaming by now.

As it is, they are standing in her bedroom and she is asking him if he wants a toothbrush before they bed down for the night. Together.

(It kind of puts a whole new spin on things, if she's honest — the normality of it all within the extremely un-ordinary world she is in.)

"There're new ones in the cupboard, if you want."

He waves a hand and says, "Sure, sure," like he really doesn't care if he forgoes brushing his teeth for one night, but he'll do it anyway if it means he can close his eyes that much sooner. And if she's about to get the best night's sleep she's had since waking up to the sight of his NASCAR posters, then Leah quietly shares his sentiment. She is so, so tired.

They take turns in the bathroom (because as much as she is prepared to share with Jake — even toothbrushes, if it came down to it, which is extremely gross and yet strangely not — peeing in front of him isn't one of those things yet) and when she returns he is shirtless, stretched out over the double mattress with his eyes closed and his feet hanging off the end of it, his arms behind his head and the bedcovers pooled around his waist.

Leah quietly closes the door behind her and glances at his folded clothes he has left on her nightstand. "You better not be naked under there."

She catches him smiling as she tosses her own clothes into her hamper. But he doesn't say anything. He simply keeps his eyes closed, looking wholly relaxed as he is, and she turns the light off before he decides to change his mind and look at her. The pair of small sleep shorts she's changed into — grabbed from her drawers in a hurry — have a hole in one of the legs and the even older tank top has printed stars all over it that are fading. But it's far too late to start feeling embarrassed now.

There's nothing else for it.

She gets into bed.

Jacob immediately shuffles as far away as possible, as far as he can get without falling off the bed, except he is so tall and broad that he takes up nearly all of the free space anyway — space that has taken her the best part of two years to become readjusted to. He fills every inch of it. It's a wonder how he manages to fit in his own tiny single bed in his own tiny room.

"One night," she says again, nestling down into her pillow on her side, her back to him. His impossible fire is blanketing her from even here, but she does her best to ignore it and curls her knees to her chest.

"One night," he repeats into the dark, but there is amusement in his voice — like he doesn't really believe her. "S'too bad, really. I like this bed. Nice and comfy. And big."

"Don't get too used to it," she warns, pretending that the caution isn't as half-hearted as it sounds. That this is merely an experiment they're conducting.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he replies, and she can imagine the lazy grin on his face as he does — as he turns over in the same breath, the mattress dipping enough underneath their weight as he moves that she almost rolls backwards and into him.

"Stop fidgeting."

"Just getting comfortable." She can hear the same grin in his voice still, can feel his keen eyes on her back. "Do you really sleep like that?"

No. "Yes."

"Liar," he snorts softly. "Looks like you're trying to keep your hands to yourself."

He's not wrong. The temptation to curl up next to his warmth is almost as tempting as sleeping in his arms again; it had been so easy to close her eyes at the bonfire, knowing that he was there with her. Just as easy as giving into him and allowing him into her bed for the night so she can find that same peace for that little bit longer.

Until six o'clock, anyway, when he will have to leave.

"Do you need an alarm set?" she asks instead of acknowledging his taunt.

The question touches a nerve. She can quite literally feel the words strike him, see exactly where they land and what mark they leave. "I won't be late," he mutters.

"If Embry turns up to drag you out of this bed—"

Jacob stills. And then, a grunt. "Set an alarm."

She tries not to feel too smug as she props herself up with one hand and fumbles for her cell phone with the other. She always remembers to keep the damn thing charged now, especially after he made a point of memorising its number two days ago. Just in case.

When Leah finally lets her phone clatter back onto the nightstand, she is about to settle back down onto her pillow when suddenly Jacob's hands slide under and over her, tugging her backwards, tucking her against him. But, embarrassingly, what actually makes her gasp is the feel of her naked shoulders against his naked chest — the feel of his bare arms wrapping over her bare arms, encasing her as he tangles their legs together and his nose brushes back and forth over the top of her head.

The shiver that runs over her is one of quiet delight. "What happened to 'you stay on your side and I'll stay on mine'?" she asks, mortified by how winded she sounds. When Jacob is near she forgets who she is, who she has pretended to be for all these years.

His hand spans over her stomach, holding her tightly. "I lied."

Oh, he's going to ruin her. Her body is already moulding to his, meshing, merging — melting into him, and she knows without doubt that she is about to sleep more peacefully than she has in weeks and weeks. She had known even when she'd made her pathetic protests on that bench that this was what she'd needed.

"If one night's all I'm getting," Jacob continues, shuffling until there is not even a pocket of air between them, until she can feel the fabric of his boxers against her thighs (she's a strange mix of thankful and disappointed that he didn't strip completely), "then we're doing this properly."

She doesn't tell him that she lied, too. One night is not enough. That kiss was not enough.

Instead, she reminds him with a mumbled, "It's just sleeping," because she is a stubborn idiot and a pathetic coward, and she is scared stiff by her too-intense feelings for this boy that have crept up on her and now consume her.

"Just sleeping," he repeats casually. "No big deal."

"Just an effect from the imprint."

"No big deal," he says again. And then, more carefully, so carefully that the thumb rubbing soothing strokes over her abdomen pauses for a second, "You are okay with this, aren't you?"

"Too late now."

"It's not." He lifts his hand, his head. "This isn't — I'm not — you know, expecting anything—"

Leah puts her hand over his and pushes it back down onto her stomach, leaning back into him to close the gaps he has made between them because of his panic. "Shut up, Jacob."

Anyone else would think her rude, the way she sort-of snaps at him and drags his name out, but it's him, and he understands what she means. Understands her so thoroughly and completely that he relaxes instantly and drops his head so that his lips hover over her neck, exposed to him now that she has stretched out and essentially given him the all-clear to do exactly as he pleases.

He is almost humming with pleasure as his mouth ghosts over her skin. "I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep."

"I am," she says with false confidence, even as she tilts her neck a slight more, eyes fluttering shut of their own accord — though not from drowsiness. "Better make use of my one night."

"Because you're perfectly able to sleep alone. Of course. I remember." Jacob smiles against her neck. "I also remember you telling me that if I behaved myself then you'd kiss me again."

Heat floods into her, and it's entirely her own. "I said I'd think about it. And I think you'll find that you kissed me."

"You kissed me back."

"Barely," she bluffs, and her desired snort turns into more of a stutter as he kisses the side of her throat. Testing, taunting.

"You bribed me for more," he murmurs, and she can both hear and feel his smile now. "It can't have been that bad."

"I don't know about that. I guess you'll just have to do it again," she says in her best thoughtful tone, using his own words against him, "then I'll be able to tell for sure."

It takes him less than a second to oblige her, pulling away enough so her back falls against the mattress from where it's been flush against his chest and then he's hovering over her and—

It's not like the first time at all. Neither of them are proving a point now, neither of them teasing one another here in the dark confines of her bedroom, and the kiss is sweet and passionate and wildly intense but also unhurried and languid and all the things she never knew something like this could be. She feels like she is an electric current and liquid all at once, a dangerous combination and yet it's the only thing that makes sense, the only way she can describe what is passing through her as Jacob opens his mouth and he begs for entrance a second time.

He sweeps in the second she permits him, and she wraps her arms around his wide, strong shoulders like he's the only thing stopping her from sinking into the mattress entirely — like she's going to pull him along with her when she does just from the sheer ecstasy she feels. She could disappear and wouldn't even notice.

After minutes, hours, Jacob pulls away with a strangled noise, but then he's back to paying attention to her jaw, her neck again, almost on top of her now with his hands braced either side of her head.

Leah reaches up and twists her hands in his hair to bring his lips back to hers, but he nips at her pulse point and the fight almost leaves her.

She likes this effect of the imprint a little too much. And Jacob knows, of course he does; his breathy chuckle washes over her as he alternates between biting and leaving hot open-mouthed kisses over the marks he leaves that she wants everywhere, all over—

His lips travel up, and up, and when he finds her lips again he presses them gently on hers just once, twice.

"We need to stop."

She lifts her head up, chasing him, the only answer she's prepared to give. Words are a waste.

Jacob groans. He indulges her for a moment, and then says, "Leah, honey. If I don't stop then—"

"So don't."

He rolls back on his side, laughing softly, and it's that sound over all others that has her toes curling. He doesn't want to stop. But — "I can hear Seth coming up the street," he murmurs, nosing at her cheek. "And when I — when we go any further, I don't want anyone within earshot. Especially not someone who has ears like your brother."

She grunts, annoyed, and falls back into the pillows.

"Plus," he adds, so quietly that she knows he's trying to keep his words between them and only them, "someone said that I had to take her out for dinner first."

"Whose stupid idea was that?" she grumbles, unable to shape her tone into something as innocent as she intends it.

"I don't know. But I like it," he replies. "So we're going to do that. I want to do that with you. And I want to do this—" He pulls her in close by her hips against his side. "But just not when your brother is in the next room."

She makes a face that she knows he'll be able to see in the dark, and when he snickers it turns into a smile.

"Sleep," he says. He rearranges them so that he is curled around her again, knees tucked into the backs of hers, an arm snaking underneath the pillows and the other holding her.

"And I thought I was the one who fought dirty," she mumbles, but it is more with grudging tiredness than annoyance, and she settles against him and closes her eyes when his fingers start tracing patterns over her again. Slow, soothing strokes.

"Never said I didn't," he whispers, taking his turn to use her words now, and she smiles.

They let their breathing calm together, listening to the creak of the stairs after Seth lets himself in and creeps up to his room. He's going to tease her mercilessly about this, isn't he.

Maybe she'll let him.

"'Night, honey," Jacob whispers, but with his calming strokes she's already too far gone to answer, and sleep finds her faster than she'd have thought possible.