Mature Content Warning. (The restraint I had to show with not putting that in all caps lol) In all seriousness I really wasn't expecting this to become so poetic. If anyone could cry writing a spicy scene, though, it'd be me.

I want to be with you, to put my arms underneath you and to lift you, to search your skin for each forgotten place to kiss you. "All That I Want" by Son of Cloud

Quil

A few weeks later, Brady Fuller has me by the upper arm, dragging me after him at the tail end of a shift at the fire station. "Do we really have to do this right now, Brady?" I say. "There's weather coming in, and I'm supposed to take Claire to dinner." She isn't calling it a date, but a man can dream.

Honestly, I'm just glad Claire is bossing me around again. I'd jump off a cliff if she told me to, one much higher than the one on the coasts of La Push.

"Absolutely," Brady insists. "Mia's already gone for the day." He guides me into a closet. I'm surprised to find it full.

Of people.

Omar, Aaron, and Colton are already situated on supply boxes and leaning against walls. I throw Aaron a questioning look, but he only shrugs. Colton is mumbling about having to be back in the closet after spending his first twenty years in one. Based on Omar's exasperation, it's not the first time he's said it.

Brady shuts the door behind us before facing us all, clapping his hands together. "So. How do we feel about the Backstreet Boys?"

Colton tilts his head, instantly more interested in this conversation. "As a lifestyle choice, or as fashion inspiration?"

"As a flash-mob proposal karaoke song," Brady says, like it's obvious.

"You're proposing?" Aaron says.

"With karaoke?" I add, grimacing. I'm no expert, but it sounds like that would have a less than stellar success rate.

Brady groans, runs a hand through his hair. "If I wait any longer, Mia will strangle me in my sleep. God forbid I do it too close to Valentine's Day."

Omar coughs. "But why the karaoke, again?" We all look to Brady for an answer, who just stares back at Omar. Omar's face lights. "My birthday. I fucking told you karaoke brings people together." He smacks Aaron's chest, grinning.

"Wait," I say. "That's all great, but why are we here?" My smart watch vibrates, and I tilt it up, Claire's name flashing on the screen. Hurry! I miss you :)

Brady sighs, then stuns us all into silence. "Because you guys are my backup dancers."

It's outlandish and unexpected. So it makes perfect sense for Brady.

"In that case," I say, sending Claire a quick automated text to say I'm going to be late, "will you hear arguments for *NSYNC?"

"Sorry I'm late," I say as Claire climbs into my truck. Forks' main street is deserted, the sky cloudy gray, air wet.

She's been working at the post office for the last few weeks, sorting mail, preparing trucks for deliveries, things like that. I think the structure is good for her, and her ink-stained fingers are fucking adorable. Plus her uniform fits nicely now that she's gained a little weight back. Her curves are returning.

So is her smile.

She leans over to kiss me on the cheek before she buckles herself in, and I think—hope—she lingers.

"Feed me, and you'll be forgiven."

She picks pizza for dinner and requests to eat it at my house while watching movies. That sounds pretty perfect after the day I've had.

We nibble on slices of pizza as we take the familiar route to my place, and I tell her the details of Brady's proposal plan. I've already gotten a group text with him and the guys, plus a YouTube tutorial with strict instructions. I am Second Guy from Stage Right.

After dinner of greasy pepperonis and Cokes , Claire casts the video to my TV and helps me practice. Or tries. I think.

I pause the video again when she starts gasping for air, tears sliding onto her cheeks. "It's not very helpful with you laughing at me like that."

She giggles, trying to get her breathing under control as she rolls around on my couch. But she glances at the TV and it sets her off again. She clutches her ribs.

My heart burns, threatens to rip at the seams. I love her, so much and for always. I can picture her, us, like this for the next sixty years. Her eyes will get wrinkly when she smiles, and when she laughs at me her tone will get a little deeper with each birthday.

And when she has bad days, I will hold her through those, too.

"I'm sorry, I just—" She snorts again. "You're doing a great job." She sits up and wipes her eyes, then frowns at something over my shoulder. "I didn't know it was supposed to snow like this."

We stand at the window together for a few minutes, her back tucked into my chest as we watch snowflakes fall and settle outside. My arms wind and bind around her ribs, holding her to me. She shivers.

Needing a break from her body, a moment to clear the heat in my body, I head back to the couch, flipping to find a weather forecast.

"—it's recommended that all unnecessary travel be postponed until at least the morning," the weatherman says. "Stay home and stay warm."

The words echo, despite my thick rug and throw blankets and heavy curtains.

Claire breaks the silence. "It's been a while since we've had a sleepover, hasn't it?" Her lip catches on her teeth, worried.

Doubt grabs me around the throat. If she's not comfortable with sleeping here with me, us being alone, I'll handle that. I can phase and stay outside. "What's the matter?"

"I don't have my medicine," she says, nervousness pinching her brows together. "Missing one dose is probably okay, but do you think we should call Paula, just to be safe?"

"Oh," I say, relieved that's all that's worrying her. "I have a few of your pills here. No worries."

She was reaching for another piece of pizza, but freezes. "You—you do?"

"Yeah. For emergency situations, such as these." I give her a grin, an eyebrow wiggle, and she finally relaxes and reaches for another piece of pizza.

Claire is underneath me, dark nipples peaked. Bare skin grazes bare skin and I know we are naked together.

Things move fast-forward and stop-motion, like there are strobe lights timed to my heartbeat. Her black hair fans on my pillow. Her eyelashes flutter as I work a hand between her legs.

"Claire," I groan, burying my nose in her neck. Her pulse point is a siren song, and I suck it between my lips until there's a bruise. She's reaching for me.

I'm inside her, suddenly, and we could be floating for how good it feels. I have missed her this way. In so many ways, but yes—in this way.

She is on top of me, and in front of me, and around me. Tight and hot and I'm close— fuck, I'm so close—

I bolt awake, gasping. I'm uncomfortably hard, to the point where I have to adjust myself in my sweats. I glance at Claire to make sure I didn't wake her. She fell asleep on the couch around midnight, after we called her dad to let her know she'd be crashing here. I'd fully intended to let her sleep in my bed alone, but she'd whispered my name as I went to leave. Asked me to stay.

She's still sleeping, thankfully. My fire station sweatshirt swallows her up, as do the sweats she's wearing underneath the quilt. Moonlight is filtering in through a crack in the curtains, and I can still see flurries falling. I should go turn up the thermostat another few notches, open the taps so they don't burst.

Should, but don't. Because Claire whimpers, and beneath the blanket, her thighs shift. Rub together in those pants of mine she's wearing.

The scent of her arousal is sharp and sweet, as is her moan of "Quil."

She's dreaming about me, too.

I'm going to need a cold shower. Or better yet, I'll just go stand outside in the snow.

I throw the covers back, keeping my eyes trained on her face. Which is why I see when she awakens with a gasp of her own as she orients herself to her location, her clothing, the time of night.

She sees me, then. The tight stretch of my pants across my lap. Her eyes turn from chocolate brown to black with want. I fist the quilt, the air going hot and taut between us.

"Kiss me," she whispers.

"Are you—are you sure that's a good idea?" I'm so hoarse, I have to clear my throat.

"No. Do it anyway."

My blood boils; my heart bruises my ribs with how hard it pounds. I lean over her. It's been almost two years since I've kissed her.

I touch down with featherlight tenderness, despite my body roaring back to life. I force my wolf to stay in check, keep my hands at my sides, and try to pour all the love I have for her into this moment, this small space where our bodies connect.

Tension rolls off her in waves, and I can tell by the way she kisses me that her jaw is tense. She's holding back, too.

I pull back to check in with her, read her face. She's never been good at lying to me.

Claire smiles, and there is firelight in my veins. Hot coals are in my stomach and my skin is all sparks when she leans up again. "Again."

I grab her face and kiss her again, kiss her deeper. It's been too long since I've had her this way. I never want to go this long again without her mouth and body on mine. One of my hands strokes her silken soft hair. The other traces this new shape of her. She is stronger than before.

Braver.

My hands push at the sweatshirt, finding smooth skin hot to the touch.

"Wait," she breathes, stilling me with a hand on her arm. It's unnecessary; the look on her face has me frozen. She swallows, look up at me with chocolate eyes under onyx lashes. "I—I don't want to rush this time."

There is something more in her gaze, and I'm glad to be able to read it in such dim lighting.

She wants this, wholeheartedly. Me. And she is asking for the same in return. We have never had the opportunity to simply be together. Our past is muddled with darkness and death and distance and destruction, but not anymore. We get to choose where we go from here, choose better, choose each other.

Something snaps into place, like trying the wrong key all your life and suddenly having the right one catch. It's the imprint, magnified.

We don't rush. My sweetheart doesn't want to.

I kiss her until my lips sting with sensation, until her chin is red from my facial hair. Every movement is amplified, pointed. She breathes life back into me with every kiss, wakes me up with each touch of tongue and graze of teeth on my skin. I didn't even know I'd been sleeping.

Love is like that, though, isn't it?

Sweat mists her skin when I finally peel my sweatshirt from her torso. And my dream comes true—she is bare underneath.

My shirt disappears soon after, then my pants. Then hers.

When, after wandering hands are just not enough, I drag my mouth across her thigh, she twitches away from me with a soft giggle. "That tickles, Quil."

"I could shave my beard off." I bite the crease of her thigh lightly, just enough to leave an imprint behind. "If it bothers you."

"Don't you dare," she moans, pulling my head between her legs.

It takes mere minutes before she is falling apart for me. I ease her through it, kissing her clit again and again as she comes down. "I thought you said you didn't want to rush," I whisper.

In retaliation, she reaches for me, cupping my dick hard through thin fabric. "Well, I want this now."

I slide off my boxers and lean against the headboard. Somehow, she manages to look innocent and wicked as she shifts to her knees, bends down over me.

"You've never done this," I say, like maybe she forgot. Outside, leaves and snow whip against the sides of the house and create a sensual rhythm we work hard to replicate.

Claire licks her lower lip and whispers, "I like to learn," just before she takes me in her mouth.

Her mouth is slick and warm and fuck, so good. Her hair creates a curtain, so I brush it back, over her shoulder. I have to be able to see her. She sits between my spread thighs. This image alone is enough to get me there. God knows it has in the past.

She pulls back. "You're supposed to be teaching me."

Right. Well, this is about to be a dumpster fire. "Uh. First things first, I guess, is to protect—protect your teeth. Like you're biting an ice cream cone."

She nods, going back in for me. When I jerk, she grins, and takes me deeper. Down her throat.

"God damn, Claire," I say, forcing my body still even though my hips beg to buck forward. "You don't have to take so much at one time."

"I want to," she says. One of her hands walks its way up my thigh. "I like the taste of you."

I throw my head back and it bangs on the wall. She's going to kill me, yes, but what a way to go. She welcomes me back into her mouth eagerly, providing gentle suction that drives me crazy. I fist the sheets until my knuckles are aching and white.

"Suck the tip," I groan. "Hold me tight at the base and run your tongue up the whole thing, along the slit. That's it, sweetheart. Just like that."

She purrs around me so loud it vibrates in my balls. I jerk.

I lurch again when her free hand disappears between her legs. "Are you touching yourself, Claire? Was my tongue not enough for you?" I tangle my fingers in her hair, cup the back of her neck. When she nods, I tighten my hold, guiding her gently. "Let me see how ready you are for me."

Confusion flits across her face for just a second before she moans, lifting her hand to my face. She glistens against her fingertips, and I suck them into my mouth to get a taste.

She whimpers and takes me deeper in turn.

That's a good way to end before we've even begun.

"Come up here," I choke. "I don't want to come unless I'm inside you."

Her cheeks are red, and a string of saliva hangs from her lip as she pulls free, pumping me a few times. It shouldn't be sexy. It's fucking hot.

"I've never been on top before," she says into my neck. "Will you teach me this, too?"

"Anything. Everything."

I situate her knees on either side of my hips, letting her adjust to the position and the stretch of her thighs. Naturally, my hand finds her center again, dripping and ready and warm.

"We're good?" I say. Claire got back on birth control around Christmastime, that little nifty arm implant all the girls are raving about.

She nods, taking the opportunity to grind against me. "We're—oh, Quil. Yes, we're good."

"Lift up for me, sweetheart," I whisper. The beach was so long ago, and the act itself wasn't long enough. Claire was right; taking our time will be worth it.

You'd think I'd have learned by now that she's always right.

"Go slow." I align myself to her. When I glance up, her gaze is locked where I enter her, slowly, an inch at a time. "Little bounces until you can take more of me."

Claire's cheeks are splotched bright red, almost glowing now that our eyes are more adjusted to the dark. I squeeze big handfuls of her ass, using the leverage to guide her with the movements. "Like this?" she breathes.

"Whatever feels best," I grunt, digging my heels into the mattress. The quilt is hanging off the bed, and the pillows are skewed, and it's ten thousand degrees where she touches me. I lean up to kiss her and suddenly slide in to the hilt.

"Fuck," she whimpers, but it's drowned out by my groan. It's almost painful, how good she feels. She grinds her hips back and forth, her forehead pressed to my collarbone.

I guide her the best I can, but it's taking everything in me not to sprint for the finish. Taking our time—that's what we're doing. My hands map the expanse of her spine, knot in her hair, and she kisses me long enough for our tastes to mingle there, too.

Against my chest, her heart beats wildly. Then again, she has always been a little wild, the way a fire will jump out of a grate for no apparent reason. My job is to fight fires, and I hope I will be fighting with this one in my arms until I take my last breath.

"Need—need more," she says.

Spanning my fingers across her back, I roll us, laying her head on the pillow as I move back into her, insistent and steady.

Take our time. It's taken us long enough to get here, hasn't it?

I double my efforts, and our skin grows glossy from our body heat. The window is fogged up. The headboard slams the wall. She's the love of my life.

Like she hears the thought, her back arches. "Quil. Quil."

I catch her under the ribs, holding her. "I know," I tell her, changing the angle so I grind against her clit. "Let me help you, sweetheart."

Her moans ramp up in volume, and I lock tight on the urge to go with her. Her first, always.

When she comes, I can't help my wolfish smile as I drop my open mouth to her neck, her temple, her nipples. She grips me tight enough to see stars.

I just want to kiss her—everywhere and all the time. Need it like oxygen. Her thighs are up around my sides, her nails in my back and my backside.

We are sliding hands and panted kisses, whispers of more and there and please. We are fire and water, and we fit so well together.

This is home.

This is forever.

Claire

After, we lay side by side, attempting to catch our breaths with these ragged, gasping breaths. I didn't—I didn't know.

That making love would be like that.

We stare at each other for a long time, no words enough to describe what just happened. Quil's chest still glistens with sweat and the wetness from my kisses, and the space between my legs throbs and aches. My toe slides up his calf.

The first time we slept together, we'd been desperate to feel something other than grief. In doing that, though, in trying to diminish it all we did was amplify it. It came back stronger, harder, louder, until it was all I could hear. I remember thinking afterward I still had my socks on. I wore them when I left. Wore them on the plane that took me away from him.

On the beach, too, we weren't doing it for the right reasons. He'd been hurting so much he wanted to end this connection, and maybe hurt me a little in the process. And for my part, I'd been so shocked to see him. Shocked that I could feel more with him in one afternoon, one fucking second, than I did in six months with a boy who didn't know the ugliest parts of me. I hadn't even taken my underwear off that time.

Tonight, though, I'm not wearing socks or underwear. I'm not wearing makeup or earrings or so much as a hairband around my wrist.

I'm absolutely naked with him for the first time in my life.

Stripped to my skin and bones.

He's seen the parts of my soul that were thought too dark to come back from. The meanness and the apathy and insincerity. Crude jokes meant to sting and decisions with no good consequences.

He has seen me, and still he stays.

I never knew nakedness could feel so warm.

"I love you," I say.

Quil kisses my knuckles and places my hand over his heart.

Outside, the snow continues to fall. Inside, here, we begin again.