A/N: Seth POV at ReluctantWriter12's request. Serious M warning for this chapter - hell, the whole thing is basically a detailed sex scene. You can skip the chapter if that's not your vibe - I will recap the (very limited) plot points at the start of next chapter. Anyway, enjoy the shameless smut!
Seth
I glance up at the locker room clock, watching as the hands flitter closer to six-thirty-five: game time. I'm the last one in here; I should have been out on the bench ages ago, but I can't seem to get my gear on quickly enough, and my laces are tangled in thick knots that my calloused fingers can barely separate.
I give up on my skates, opting instead to tape my stick. It's kind of satisfying, wrapping the black tape around the blade in neat, parallel lines until the pattern beneath is entirely obscured. I wrap the tape all the way to the shaft, ripping a clean cut with my teeth. I'm only just smoothing my fingers across the blade, checking for any bumps, when I feel the hand settle lightly upon my shoulder.
"How are you going?" she murmurs, dipping her head to rest her chin on my shoulder.
The proximity is electrifying; I can feel the millimetres separating our bodies, and I'm acutely aware of how minutely I'd need to move to have her skin pressed against mine. Hell, a single deep breath would have her chest brushing against the bare planes of my back, closer than she has ever been.
I clear my throat, trying to keep my voice even when I find the nerve to speak. "Almost done. Just need to sort my gear out."
She murmurs in agreement, dragging her index finger torturously slowly across the exposed flesh. Her touch is icy in comparison to my blazing heat, my perfect polar opposite. I can barely breathe with her this close, and all I can think of is how fucking fantastic it will feel to have her mouth wrapped around me, to give myself in a way that could only ever be for her.
"What are you trying to do to me?" I choke out. My dick strains against my pants and, if I focused, I could probably count my pulse from the throbbing alone.
Jess presses her soft lips against the crook of my neck, nibbling lightly. The groan that escapes my mouth should be embarrassing, but I can hardly find it in myself to care.
"I'm trying to make you lose your mind. Is it working?"
Her tiny hand snakes lower, skirting teasingly at my waistband, and I'm so riled up I could probably come with one squeeze. When she kicks her leg over the side of the bench to sit beside me, all I can smell is her arousal, sweet and cloying and consuming every last cell in my body. I want to touch her, to circle her waist in my hands and show her all the ways I can please her, make her lose control -
The buzzer sounds shrilly and Jess pulls away from my grasp, stepping back against the lockers.
I try to call her name, but I can't seem to get the words out, and the buzzer rings and rings and rings -
"Jesus Christ, Seth, turn that fucking alarm off!"
I hit the floor before I'm fully conscious, smacking my head against the nightstand. Blindly, I feel for the alarm clock, silencing it with a decisive swat. The finer details of my dream melt away like cotton candy, leaving me with damp boxers - a phenomenon I thought I'd left behind in middle school - and a rapidly hardening cock.
A quick check of the alarm clock tells me I have seventeen minutes until patrol, and nine hours until I could conceivably appear at the rink.
I resolve to tackle my growing discomfort in the comfort of the shower, cranking the heat to scalding before jumping in. The moment the spray hits my skin, I squeeze my eyelids shut, trying to recall every last sensation from last night at the cliffs, from the dream that ended far too prematurely. And, with the way that my dick jumps at every little thing she does, I already know I will, too, the moment I get my hands on her for real. Leaning against the cool shower tile, I wrap my hand around my cock, unable to stop myself from rutting desperately against my own touch. The friction is satisfying, but the visual of Jessica's small fingers curled around my length, the idea of her focused entirely on my pleasure, is irresistible.
I want her.
No, I need her, and that's what terrifies me the most: that, with a single look, she has me on my knees, desperate to be hers. And, when she decides she wants my hands splayed against her milky-white skin, my fingers coaxing pleasure out of every last cell in her body -
For the second time in ten minutes, I come at the simple thought of Jessica Stanley.
I can't decide whether that is thrilling or terrifying.
By the time I phase for patrols, three minutes early, I am in the best mood I've felt for months. Optimism comes easily to me, but this is a different sort of bliss, the kind that soothes my nerves from my head to my toes. I enjoy the first hour of my shift in comfortable silence, taking the scenic route around the Reservation. It's a perfect fall morning - temperate, with the sun peeking out from behind the clouds - the kind of weather that I know Jess would love.
I wonder what Jess is doing right now.
Ugh, Collin thinks, and I'm treated to a front-row view of his backyard. It's way too early for this.
He can't help himself. It must be annoying to be surrounded by imprinted pairs, though it never really bugged me.
Yeah, yeah, I'm the asshole, Collin grumbles, falling into a steady rhythm as he starts his circuit.
Never said that, I think, continuing on my route. I can't blame him. It's a lot to think about at six in the freakin' morning.
Quil phases in before Collin can reply. Hey, sprout. How did the date go?
The memories are bubbling to the surface quicker than I can suppress them; the taste of her tongue, the way my fingers dug into the soft flesh of her thigh, how it felt to come until my vision whited-out in the shower this morning, all unfurled for my packmates to see.
For the first time in his life, Quil Ateara is silent. Collin, too.
Sorry. Didn't mean to bring that up, I think hastily, focusing all my energy on sharing only what is in front of my two eyes.
Fir tree.
Bush.
Fir tree, again.
Damn, Clearwater, Collin thinks, surprise colouring his words. Didn't think you had it in you. Maybe I'll give that a go after I finish patrol.
The sudden flash of Jessica - or at least, Jessica's face superimposed onto some pornographic memory - in Collin's mind is enough to send white-hot fury coursing through my veins. I know exactly where he is on the Reservation, and my feet have already changed their course by the time my rational brain catches up.
Think about her like that and I'll make sure you never think again, I snarl, seeing my surroundings through a fuzzy red blur.
Okay, meatheads, quit it, Quil commands, flexing his newly acquired beta strength. Collin, don't be an asshole. Seth, knock off early. You're giving me a headache.
I'm still grizzly by the time I melt back into my human form, naked and dirt-streaked and thoroughly irritable. It's not like me to lose control of my anger - I can't even remember the last time I was truly livid - and, worse, I can't tell if it's me, or if my wolf is going rogue.
The last thing I need right now is to lose control.
My afternoon drags by in a sluggish haze; I try everything to distract myself from thinking about her, but I end up obsessively replaying last night's events in my head. I can't believe that she kissed me back - that she is even interested in me - and the thought of navigating what comes next has my stomach twisting in knots. Sure, I get the theoretical gist, having all sorts of experiences transfused into my brain via mental osmosis, but that doesn't mean much when it all comes down to it.
I wonder if Jess will care about my inexperience.
Despite that can of worms, everything else is pretty well sorted - aside from apologising to Collin, which can definitely be put off until later. Sam's already congratulated and chastised me in one breath - still hung up on the fact that Brady and I have insisted on playing hockey with humans, coming disastrously close to ordering us to quit the league - and mom's already cried twice, so the worst is over.
Aside from the fact that I almost come every time Jess touches me, in real life and in my dreams.
That may be an issue.
Still, I try not to let it dull my rapidly improving mood - as if anything could, now that I'm only a short while away from seeing her. As far as I'm concerned, I have it made - smoke show imprint, kick-ass hockey team, and infinitely cool shapeshifter abilities. I can already picture how stoked Jess will be when I show her - and soon.
I wonder if she'll be cool with riding on my back. Nessie and Jake make it look awesome.
Brady is surprisingly punctual, honking his ridiculous trucker horn a full forty minutes earlier than usual. Luckily, since I've spent the better part of my post-patrol afternoon pacing around, unable to sit and decompress for even a second, I'm more than ready to go.
I jog out to the truck, sliding into the passenger seat that Jess had occupied so comfortably less than twenty-four hours ago. Trying to ignore the rush of memories from last night is like fighting a losing battle, but I try not to let it show. Brady is going to freak when he sees it in Collin's head - I may as well enjoy the moments in between.
"'Sup," Brady says, knocking the shifter into first gear. "How was last night?"
I think the dumb grin on my face says more than words ever could.
"That good?" he asks incredulously, edging the battered old truck towards the speed limit.
"Well, we kissed, and I'm pretty positive more would've happened if I didn't back off."
Brady lets out a resounding wolf-whistle that basically perforates my eardrum. "Atta boy!" he cheers, thumping me on the chest.
"I haven't texted her yet," I admit, wincing at his instantly sour expression.
"Fuckin' miracle she's into you, man. You'd be doomed if you weren't so cute."
"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," I comment, digging my phone out from my jeans pocket.
"Don't get used to it. Anyway, you have to text her. Keep it simple - something like ready for round two?"
My face heats. "That's so...crude."
"Hardly," Brady says, smirking. "You're only checking if she's on goals tonight."
Reluctantly, I take the napkin from my wallet, keying the digits into my phone.
Brady sniffs noisily. "D'ya reckon she'll shout us popcorn? I'm starved."
He is a hopeless cause.
Despite feeling the very distinct tug of the bond, I can't quite put my finger on where she is, nor can I see her in the small milling crowd in the lobby. Things between us are still so new, and trying to adjust to the fact that I can feel little splashes of her mood when she is nearby is spinning me for a loop. Being able to tap into the bond is both soothing and unsettling - it gives me the what, but not the why, and I hate unknowns.
That, and my inability to distinguish her nervousness from my own.
Any hope I have of seeing Jessica arguing over overpriced snacks is dashed when we head by concessions, seeing some other girl smiling at customers (meaning no free popcorn, which distresses Brady), and there's a vaguely familiar face on locker room duty - Payton, I think. I'm more than a little unnerved when I don't see her during the huddle, nor our warm-ups, but I try and ignore the growing pit in my stomach. The bond between us thrums on, seemingly immune to my neediness, and I know that she's here, somewhere. I know that she's safe.
Brady shoulder checks me as we chip easy practise shots. "Relax. She's here. Show off, or something. You're bumming me out."
It's a decent idea, and I'm fresh out of alternatives, so I pull my helmet on and hunker down.
If you subscribe to Kim's school of thought, playing sports against humans is inarguably unfair, given the massive physical advantage. Still, I'd wager that the effort required to constantly check your performance against typical athletic norms is actually way more work and levels out the playing field. I mean, does the average human have to constantly weigh up whether a slap shot would cause irreversible brain damage?
Probably not.
From the moment the puck drops, my head is uncharacteristically in the game. I channel every ounce of my nervous energy into the match, skating until my hamstrings ache and my lungs burn. It never lasts for long, but it's enough of a reminder that my humanity is still in there, that I am not simply a vessel for the wolf. I skate until rivulets of sweat drip down the column of my spine, until my hands ache from grabbing my stick with iron fists.
It's funny how, even now, I can't say my heart is genuinely into the sport - it's all about Jess, about making her proud, or turned on, or (in a dream world) both. Between my hyper-focus and rapid shift changes, I hardly have time to think, and it's actually a pleasant reprieve from my restless thoughts. We're well into third period before I zone back in, snapping out of autopilot just in time to clock Brady taking a hit to the jaw. It's a cheap shot from the opposition - two minutes in the sin bin, easy - but Brady is stupid enough to hit back, knocking the fool to the ice.
He only gets the one shot in before I haul him off, dragging him free of the melee.
"What are you doing?" I hiss, shoving him towards the boards. "You'll kill somebody."
Brady huffs. "It was just a punch."
Sometimes, I seriously question his intelligence.
Forty seconds into his penalty, I spot him mouthing sorry through the plexiglass, and I can't find it in my heart to hold a grudge - not when the other guy is up and skating, (mostly) unharmed. Sure, he does attempt a couple of sloppy crosschecks, but I can (and do) skate circles around him, if only to rub it in. It's not until the final minute of the game that I feel it, the lightning-strike zing of the bond, throwing me just enough off-kilter to lose possession of the puck.
Fuck.
Knowing that she's this close, feeling the surging energy of the crowd as the clock rapidly races to zero, awakens me in a way that nothing ever has. It's like I've downed a couple of five-hour energies, like I've thrown myself headfirst into ice-cold water, so entirely galvanised by her mere proximity that I can't help but give in to the call. There are seconds left on the clock, hardly enough for us to score again, but that doesn't stop me from pumping my legs to shoot across the ice, swiping the puck from the languishing opposition. I chip it neatly to Brady, who shoots with enough force to rock the goal.
The buzzer sounds.
He circles behind me to wrap me in a headlock-slash-embrace, which is as much affection as I'm sure he's capable of.
"Nice set-up," he crows, yanking my helmet off to ruffle my sweaty hair. "If that doesn't impress her, I don't know what will."
I coast through the obligatory handshakes, almost vibrating with excitement at finding Jess in the crowd. Sure, she makes me nervous as hell, and I overthink every little thing when it comes to her, but there's no place I'd rather be than beside her.
As soon as I can slip away, I skate a beeline to the gate, feeling my wolf rattling in my chest with every inch of ice I cover. I don't need my vision to know she's nearby - every step closer brings the rumbling towards a fever pitch, and I can't deny I enjoy the chase. I'm expecting her to be hanging out by the locker rooms, and I head that way on my skates, itching to take them off, when a hand snakes out to grab my wrist.
I let out a decisively unmasculine shriek, whirling around in a flash.
Jessica bursts into laughter, tugging me into a maintenance closet before anyone can spot us. It's a little dark and kinda small, but when she hops up onto a dusty workbench and gestures towards the door, it doesn't take a genius to understand her intentions.
I kick the door shut.
"You were amazing out there," she says, gazing up at me through her thick lashes.
I'm focusing all of my energy on holding this eye contact - not to be unchivalrous, or anything, but she's wearing an incredibly low cut v-neck that leaves little to the imagination, and it's like my eyes are magnetised elsewhere.
"You were watching, huh," I say dumbly, feeling my heartbeat pounding in my eardrums.
Jess smiles, her eyes twinkling in the dim light. "Of course I was," she says, reaching out for me.
Before I realise what I'm doing, I step forward, slotting in between her parted thighs. I don't quite know where to put my hands and it's a relief when Jess takes them in her own, guiding them to rest on her waist.
Even on the bench, she's still a good deal shorter than me, and she tilts her head almost completely upwards just to look at me. There's a mischievous glint to her eyes that makes my heart skip a beat.
"If this was a movie, this is when you'd kiss me," she whispers, her perfect lips tilted up into a teasing smirk.
I duck my head, pressing my lips to the pulse point in her neck. I can feel her blood beating through her skin, quickening erratically in response to my touch. Her skin smells like summer and sweat and something floral; I taste my way up the column of her throat, ghosting my lips lightly over her jaw. She shudders under my touch as I kiss the corner of her mouth, surging forwards to capture my lips in her own.
She's so breakable, so vulnerable compared to my indestructible form, and I'm scared shitless at the thought of hurting her. I want to be gentle, to do things right, treat her the way she deserves, but her touch is making it impossible to think straight.
Jess hooks an arm around my neck, pulling me flush against her body. I'm already rock hard just from smelling her neck, and I know she feels me as soon as my hips grind against hers, judging by the little whimper she makes in the back of her throat.
My hands skirt their way under her shirt, pressing against the soft curve of her waist, exploring the goosefleshed skin hiding beneath. She leans forward into me, twisting her fingers through my damp hair, and all I want in this moment is to press her against the wall and make her forget her own name.
She tilts her head, sucking my bottom lip in between her teeth until I let out a deep growl.
"Fuck," she whimpers, hooking her legs around my waist.
My cock presses against her stomach and the friction gives me zero relief, but the little groans she makes are pleasure incarnate. The scent of her arousal fills the tiny room, clouding my senses until I can hardly think straight, but what little conscious awareness I have is on red alert, reminding me how terrible of an idea this is.
"Jess," I groan, cupping the back of her neck as she dips to suck against my throat. "We can't do this."
She hums into my skin as she sucks. "Why not?"
"You deserve more than this," I mutter, growling softly as she nibbles the junction of my neck. "I can't control myself around you."
"So don't," she says, pulling back to stare up at me with her big, beautiful blue eyes. "Get it out of your system and we'll do this properly later."
She rubs herself against me, and I can smell how badly she wants this, and I can hardly argue with what she needs - I know all too well what I need, and trying to hold back is fucking impossible.
I let my hand travel south, toying with the waistband of her leggings until I can hear her heartbeat fluttering faster than a hummingbird's wings. She leans back so I can pull her legs free, settling myself back between her bare thighs. Her head is already tipped back, eyes closed, and when I run my finger experimentally over her folds, her mouth falls open with a sigh.
It's a wonder I don't come in my pants on the spot.
Using what little knowledge I've gleaned from my brothers, I trace gentle touches over her skin, pressing the tips of my fingers into her. I want to memorise everything about this moment: the breathy whimper she makes when I curl my fingers, the heady smell of her arousal that grows stronger with every touch. Her hips press against my hand and I can't look away, so enraptured by how beautiful her pale skin looks against my dark. I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing, but I've learned enough by now to know that I should keep going through her choked breaths, her fluttering eyelids, rubbing little circles against her clit with my thumb until she dissolves into a litany of curses punctuated with my name.
"Seth," she murmurs, gripping my wrist with her tiny fingers. "I want you to fuck me."
I swallow, feeling the lump in my throat bob. I want her, more than words could ever describe, but the little voice in my head won't stop telling me that she deserves more than this - more than impersonal sex surrounded by cleaning products and old equipment.
"Do you want this?" Jess asks, stilling beneath me. "We don't have to -"
"No," I say quickly, shaking my head. "I want you. I- I don't know if I can control myself."
She dips her hand into my pants, curling her hand around my cock and stroking torturously slowly as she gazes into my eyes. "I want you. Trust me."
I stand no chance of saying no to her - my wolf's down for the count, and my rational brain has long since left the building.
Slowly, I slip my fingers from her, using my free hand to push my pants further down my thighs. I know if I hesitate I'll lose my nerve, and I think she knows it, too; Jess stretches up to kiss me gently, guiding my cock into her. I'm not expecting it, the way I slide into her as if I was born for this, moving against her as easy as breathing.
Jess shakes beneath me as I push all the way in, digging her nails into my ass, and I have to take a moment to shake my head and remember where the fuck I am. She's so tight around me, and I have to recite all fifty states to make sure I'm not going to come immediately.
I curl my hand around the back of her neck, using my other arm to brace myself against the bench. As if pulling from muscle memory, my hips draw back, snapping into her again and again. Her eyelashes flutter and her eyes roll back, and I know without a doubt that I want to spend every second of the rest of my life making her do that. I drop my mouth to hers, flicking my tongue against the seam of her lips. My touch carries the words that I can't yet say; my body clamours to make every inch of her mine, to make her know that she belongs to me, just as I exist for her.
The heat building in my belly tells me I'm close, so fucking close, and I need her to come with me; I need to hear her call my name as she falls apart. I lean forward, making sure to grind my hips against her pelvis with every thrust, letting that friction build to a fever pitch. I litter her face with feather-soft kisses, pressing lower and lower until my lips are at her earlobe. My breath comes out in short pants, blowing across the shell of her ear, and the words tumble out of their own accord.
"Who do you belong to?" I murmur, nipping at her earlobe.
She squirms beneath me, her walls clenching and releasing around my cock, and I'm almost there -
"Seth, Jesus," she whines, tilting her neck back, "please."
"Answer my question," I growl, thrusting harder into her.
I'm so fucking soaked with her wetness; she's all I can see, all I can think about, and I suck hard on her neck until purple blooms dark and sweet against her milky skin.
"You, Seth, I'm yours," she moans, arching her back, and it's all I need to fall apart, spilling into her with a loud grunt.
Her legs curl around my waist as she shakes, clamping down on me hard enough that I see actual stars.
Finally, when the aftershocks are over, I rest my head against her collarbone, breathing hard against her skin. I can feel everything - my emotions, hers, her warmth - and it's invigorating and petrifying at the same time.
And then I realise.
I came inside her.
Double fuck.
A/N: Reviews are much appreciated & actually do make me write faster. Shoutout to ReluctantWriter12, CWood, Werewolfs-team & cHoCoLaTe-RuM for being amazing lovely internet people.