A/N: This is a one-shot. Seriously. This only exists because I haven't written much in this genre before and I believe in pushing my writing comfort zone. As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome.
Tell Me, Show Me
When Scott needed her to stop, he grabbed her wrists and held on. Though she had tried at first to discourage this, she quickly realized that he wasn't trying to control her; he was fighting to control himself by clinging to her.
She felt a shudder run down his body this time, right before his hands closed on her, and heard a noise like he was trying to swallow a gasp of pain. She stilled, held her breath until his own breathing calmed and his grip eased. Then she slid off him, pulled the sheet up around her naked chest.
"What's it like?" she asked, impulsively. She'd seen him fighting against the change so many times, had seen him changed a very few. She had never seen the in-between. He'd never let her.
"Huh?" He rolled his head her direction, blinked rapidly like he was having trouble focusing. His eyes were glassy with arousal.
She grasped the top of the sheet, pulled it up a little higher, propped herself up on her elbow to see him better. "When you change," she clarified. "What does it feel like?"
He ran his tongue over his lips, pressed them into a thin line. "Not fun," he answered. Sighed. She waited for more, knowing that he sometimes needed longer to get his thoughts translated into words than most people were conditioned to give. The silence stretched; he didn't seem inclined to add more.
"Can you—" Now it was her turn to bite her lips. She absently twirled a lock of hair around her fingers. "Can you show me?"
He cringed, shook his head, his dark hair static-sticking to the light pink pillow case on her bed. "It's dangerous," he explained. "I could hurt you."
"You could," she repeated, contemplatively. "But you won't." She released the corkscrew of her hair and slid her hand under the sheet, up his torso. His skin was so warm, sprayed with fine hair. Goosebumps rose under her touch.
"I don't know that," he protested, squirmed.
"I do," she countered. She slid her hand lower, tracing the curve of his abdominal muscles with her fingernails. He shivered, didn't try to stop her.
"Allison…"
She slid her hand the rest of the way down, wrapped her fingers around his hardness. He jumped, his cock twitched in her hand. "Let me see," she ordered. They both knew she wasn't talking about his human parts. She stroked him, smiled as his chest began to rise and fall faster and his mouth dropped open. His teeth changed first, the slightly pointed canines of a human elongating and sharpening into wicked fangs. She leaned across his body, pressing her breasts to his chest, and covered his mouth with her own. He resisted, then gave in to the kiss. She ran her tongue across his bottom teeth, feeling the crooked front one, found a canine. A fang. She pressed her tongue against it, let go.
Scott whimpered. His arm curled up behind her and pulled her closer. She felt sharp pinpricks just below her shoulder blade. Felt his fist close, the pinpricks replaced with the hard pressure of knuckles against her backbone. She stopped stroking and reached for his other hand, had to uncurl his fingers for him. "Show me," she said. He worked his hand open, fingers tense like an invisible force was trying to pull them closed. A row of deep gouges in the meat of his palm healed while she watched, the wounds disappearing as if they'd never been. His claws weren't as long as she thought they'd be, but they were thick and sharp, definitely not just fingernails.
She grabbed his wrist and pushed it to the pillow next to his head, held on like he usually held on to hers. His eyes flicked up to where his wrist was, then to her face. His brow furrowed in a silent question. In answer, she leaned back down and started kissing his neck, up and down the arteries, under his chin, adding her tongue on some spots and her teeth on others. He was panting now, twisting beneath her in search of more contact. She decided to grant it. She had always been the sexual aggressor, but she'd let him set the pace. Now that she knew why he'd been holding back, she saw no reason to keep letting him.
In a single move, she maneuvered her body over his so they were pressed together from toes to collarbone. Under his half-lidded eyes she saw yellow. Of all the changes, this was the one he worked the least to hide, the one he seemed almost comfortable with. "What do you see?" she asked, giving voice to a question she'd never known to ask.
His mouth opened and closed a few times, as if he couldn't process the question. He pushed against her restraining hand, just enough to test if she was going to let go. She wasn't. "Heat," he finally replied. "Your heat. And mine." He pressed his hips into hers, his cock rubbing against her thigh. "Oh god," he moaned. His nails pricked into her back again, a little harder. This was all new territory. The friction of him rutting naked against her, the small pain of him scratching her back, the control of him letting her restrain him made her stomach twist in anticipation. She was ready.
She lifted up off him—he made a small groan of protest—then lowered herself back onto him, properly this time. His back arched, driving him deeper into her. He started to yell, a broken "ng," his eyes now squeezed shut. She didn't move, at first wanting to give herself a chance to adjust, then realizing that his sound wasn't just pleasure. She heard cracking, like bubble wrap or celery stalks. He was writhing, which was also making him move inside her. She bit her lip, wiggled, the pressure of him in her igniting nerve endings all over her body. Even if she'd wanted to, she couldn't have stopped; the arm across her back held her in place like a steel brace, the claws threatened to dig deeper if she tried to pull away. She ran her hands over his body, searching for the shifting tendons and muscles, to feel them slide and rearrange. His continued yells made her burn hot inside. Could he see that?
His face changed, brows deepening, nose bridge disappearing. His ears grew into points. Were his teeth longer, sharper? He was still bucking, jaw clenched as he struggled to keep himself in check. The hand she'd let go of landed on her hip. The claws bit over her hipbone. She hissed, pushed down. He was panting in sucking gasps, his head thrown back. "It's okay," she whispered. On some level, she knew she could be afraid, that he wanted her to be afraid because he was. But this felt too right. She wanted more. She threw her own head back, exposing the long stretch of her neck, rotated her hips. His hands are scrabbling at her sides now, whether to draw her in or push her away she can't tell. She suspected he didn't know either.
"Allison," he said again. His voice was different, low with echoing undertones. His teeth made her name a lisp. "I'm—" She felt him shudder again, claws dig in deeper.
He collapsed beneath her, muscles loose and useless. Silent.
"You didn't kill me," she said. Long locks of her hair swung down next to her face, sweaty and tangled from the exertion.
He shook his head, as if surprised to discover it was true. "Did you—" he asked, eyes crossing at the effort of putting those two words together. They still glowed amber, were starting to darken.
"Not yet." She smiled wide, lascivious, felt him tremble. "As soon as those teeth go away…" she promised. She pulled herself higher up his body, repositioning for what she hoped would be a short wait. Scott's body was still wolfish, though fading by slow degrees. He'd been so afraid for nothing. She lay her head on his shoulder, listened to his heart pounding. All she could think was showed you.