shapeshift, in wildness is the preservation of the world Who: Lance & Mina. What: Lance is working out to dispel some aggression before the full moon. Mina volunteers as tribute. Where: Wells High gymnasium, particularly the weights room. When: After school on Monday, April 10. Warnings: NSFW. Status: Complete.
Lance gritted his teeth through the benchpress; he was a big guy, but anyone who'd been in the weights room at the same time would've raised their brows at him lifting 400 pounds with barely a sweat. He had no spotter; most other kids were either gone for the day, or in some extracurricular activity. Even those were set to end soon. He let the metal bar fall to nearly his throat, then lifted it again; and again; and again, with barely any effort. It rose again, this time hooking carefully into the metal slot intended for such a purpose. He sat up, shallow breaths coming repetitively. One hand moved over his face, over his bare-shaven head; he could still feel the red welling in the back of his skull, the thing he'd come to recognize as 'the wolf.'
It made sense. April 11 was the full moon.
He had a calendar set up in his phone to give him careful warnings. As soon as the dates got closer, he cordoned himself off from his fellow students, either spending more time in the woods surrounding their small town or here, in the gym, trying to burn off some of the excess energy that always came around this time of the month. A few of his fellow football players were joking that he was starting to develop the same cycle as one of the girls, asking if Aunt Flo had started gracing him with visits. He shrugged it off, laughing, but always made excuses to slip away in the end.
He was just as alone now, or at least...he was. Hackles rose as he could smell her enter the gym. Ever since the Formal, her scent had become particularly familiar. He could remember rust-red fur, the way the blood tasted in his mouth. Lance rubbed his face again, trying to dispel the memory. Eyes clenched shut, he didn't even glance behind him.
"Lil busy, Mina. Pretty sure Mike's free, if you head over to the practice field."
"That's okay," she said. "I'm not here for Mike."
She moved around the weight bench, dark eyes on him as she circled him like prey. The nightmare returned to her, as vivid as the night she had suffered it. Her bones shattering in his teeth. Her flesh tearing open beneath his claws. It had not been him, and yet it had; enough lupine stink remained that she had known him the moment she'd opened the gym door.
"You look like you could use some… attention." A sly smile curved her lips. She moved closer to the weight bench, until her legs brushed his bent knees. "I'll spot you."
Lance started to shake his head, trying to find the words that would make her go away. Fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling and smelling her more easily and more vividly than he would have had he just opened his eyes. Her offer made a judgemental grin slit open across his face, which he quickly tamped down.
"I...seriously doubt you could help me out with that." He let his arm fall to his side, straightening to give himself some space between himself and the young woman who'd invited herself into his personal bubble. Her close proximity forced his eyes to slid upward over her chest to reach her face. He couldn't help (or so he told himself) the fact that they lingered for two seconds longer than they should have over the way she'd plumped those same breasts up to be as visually attractive as possible. He knew for a fact that she did that on purpose, and it was a small, hollow victory that he wasn't just staring at them outright.
"There's gotta be somewhere else you'd rather be right now." One brow arched; as he spoke, his mouth could remember sharp teeth that cut into her flesh, scissoring apart skin and fur and muscle and bone; his tongue well recalled the taste of blood. He should have been disgusted by all of these things, but instead he found his hands grasping slightly; he pressed them to his thighs.
"I can think of a few places," she said. Her heavy-lidded gaze flicked down to his strong hands, the way they grasped well-muscled thighs. Her tongue flicked out, wetting her pouting lower lip. "You shouldn't be so rude. Here I'm offering free cardio -- weights, too, depending on how you wanna do this -- and you're just tossing me out."
She leaned down over him, her hands resting on his knees. A long fall of black hair flowed over one shoulder, brushing almost to his legs. "Come on, Lancelot. After that formal, don't you think you sort of owe me?"
"What?" He sat up, back ramrod straight. "I...I have no idea what you're talking about." He stood up, forcing her back and yet still brushing against her too much for his own comfort. She was impossibly warm, which didn't help the thoughts in his head, or other parts of his body. Lance moved a few feet away, grabbing at a towel hanging from another weight machine. He started to dry off his face, hoping she'd take a hint.
Instead she followed him, still too close, still too warm. She stepped in front of him, her unblinking eyes the first thing he saw the moment he lowered the towel. "First you're rude, then you lie? Oh, Lancelot." She clicked her tongue. "Not really living up to your reputation, are you." She plucked the towel from his hands, leaning up on tiptoe to dab a bead of sweat from his temple; the gesture was obviously intended to optimize the bounce of her breasts, the little flip of her hair against her shoulders; he took a step back, which faltered halfway through, a lame attempt to keep space between them. She dropped back down to her feet, but her eyes did not release him.
"I don't know what the fuck happened or how but I know you remember it, too. I saw that little flare of your nose when I came in here. That little twitch at the corner of your eye. It really seems like you've got some… tension you need to get out."
True to her words, his nostrils flared again, this time unbidden as his hands grasped at air. This time, he didn't back away any further, though his gaze did settle on her face -- along her mouth, watching the small, pink animal of her tongue dart about its enclosed space.
"So what," he finally asked, taking a step forward instead this time, hands hanging free at his sides. "You been following me around since the formal, waiting until you had a chance to corner me? Surprised you're not more upset about the dance, and what happened." The dream had scared the piss out of him. He'd woken at the same table as Geena, and immediately excused himself, which he knew had done little to win her forgiveness when he'd run off to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. Mina had been passed out just outside the bathroom, and, very unlike his usual chivalrous nature, he'd done nothing to help.
Instead, he'd left. He'd gotten in his car, stranded Geena, left everyone else there at the gym. He'd excused his behavior as protecting everyone else. What if the wolf had gotten out? What if he'd changed, and actually, really hurt someone, not just in that fabricated memory that his mind had suddenly come up with? The only comfort he'd found amid the insanity of that night was that he wasn't alone, though now it was proving to be a double edged blade. If she couldn't take no for an answer, maybe something else would scare her off and he could return to his self-imposed solitude. His bulky form loomed over her, dwarfing her, his eyes moving lasciviously over every curve of not only her face but the breasts she seemed so insistent on him noticing.
What frightened him a little more was the fact that this didn't worry him; everything in his head should've been screaming at him to move back, to put distance between them, not only because he wasn't safe but because of the basic morality his mother had all but beaten into him and his siblings since birth. This wasn't how you treated girls, but the thing in the back of his head didn't see a person -- it saw warm, willing flesh.
Nothing she did seemed meant to dissuade him from this. She moved deeper into the shadow of his far larger form. She laid a hand on his broad chest, her palm flat, fingers splayed, then curving against him. Sharp nails dug into the skin beneath his sweat-soaked shirt.
"I was upset," she said. Her nails pressed deeper, little points that bit into flesh, stopping just shy of breaking the skin. "Now I'm something else. I think you are, too." She stared up at him, her parted lips a breath from his. Her free hand came to rest on the hard jut of his hipbone. "So yeah, I've been following you. I knew it wouldn't be long before you slunk off and hid from your teammates. Rumor mill says it's your time of the month." She flashed a mocking smile full of too many teeth. "That's okay. You know a good orgasm really clears up cramps."
He should've dug deeper into the fact that she knew what he'd dreamt about; he should've asked more questions, tried to understand why she'd been a fox to his wolf, and not something more prey-like, like a deer. He should have done a lot of things, but she was already too well schooled on how to push buttons, and he might as well have been handing out user guides. His right hand came up and grabbed her wrist (his palm already one and a half times bigger than hers, fingers wrapped around her wrist nearly lapped themselves in the process), pulling it off of his chest. In the same movement, his mouth came down on hers, more teeth than lips as he shoved her back against the heavy but solid frame of the weight machine she was standing in front of.
Her small form was crushed beneath his; part of his mind was panicking at this development, trying to wrest control back from the id, but it was now fully in control with the pedal pushed flat to the floor. She goaded him on with sharp nails in his hip and lips parted beneath his teeth. Her hand twisted in his grip, though far too weakly to be a real attempt to break free. She grinned against his mouth; her tongue flicked out, tracing over the line of his teeth.
"That's it, Lancelot," she teased. She pressed up against him, raising on her toes again; her track shorts rode higher up her ass. Her teeth sank into his lower lip, tugging at it as her nails broke skin over his hipbone. Her mouth moved to his throat, where she bit him sharply again. Lips and teeth and tongue moved over taut tendon when she spoke again. "Let it all out."
A grunt was his only reply, shoving her up against the cold steel. He seemed to try and stop himself as hands went to her waist, but one rose unbidden to roughly cup a breast, his thumb toying with one pebbled nipple. Then both hands were moving to her collar, ripping the fragile fabric of her gym shirt away from her form, the remnants hanging from her shoulders as his hands fitted themselves to her chest once more, pushing up her bra as if to remark on its unnecessity.
He squeezed her breasts hard, throat growling, filling his hands easily; then one moved around to her backside, diving beneath those high-riding gym shorts to grab a handful of her ass while his other hand busied itself wrapping tendrils of her long, curly hair around fingers. With a hard jerk, he pulled her head back, heavy-lidded eyes (just barely hiding the yellow ring that formed around his pupil) running a lap around the red color of her lips before he set his own mouth against them once more.
Mina groaned into his mouth. Freed, her hand moved at once to his waistband, shoving shorts and boxers downward with a ferocity to more than match his own. Her back arched as he drew her body into a tight bow. Still she clutched at him, nails carving shallow rivulets from his hips to the broad planes of his thighs. She sank her claws into him and pulled him closer. Her left hand wrapped around his length, moving over him in rough, demanding strokes as her tongue moved over his.
Lance shuddered at her touch, more over the surprise of it than the caress itself; his hips were already pumping forward via unconscious thought, and he resituated his hand on her lower backside to hoist her up. His groin pressed to hers, the palpable heat from her slit making him harder as he rocked back and forth in a mimic of a real thrust. Her spine was nearly aligned with the metal bar of the weight machine; he pinned her as neatly as a butterfly on a mounting board. Both hands hooked under her thighs, pulling her wide as he ground harder against her, his mouth and teeth making a mess of her lips and jaw.
She wrapped her legs around him, her hips bucking harder against his as he pressed himself to her. "Stop playing," she gasped. The heels of her running shoes dug hard into his ass. Her hands shifted, raking deep lines up his ribs, pulling his shirt up in their wake. Her eyes flicked down, seeking out the hard lines of his body. Her nails pressed deeper, drawing blood once more. She bit his lower lip, sucking at the marks she made. Her eyes met his, and widened at their strange, yellow-tinged light.
"Fuck me."
Sparks of pain from where her mouth touched him seemed to make more sense than her words. Pulling her back just enough to give him space to work, he angled himself to shove deep into her wet warmth, sheathing himself entirely until their bodies were utterly joined. He didn't stop there: he pulled back, then rammed home into her again, and again, and again, his mind lost to the simple sound of flesh slapping on flesh, the heat and tight grip of her slit around his cock spurring him on. Hands sank into the mounds of her ass, pulling it wide and bruising her as the weight machine behind them shook.
She yelped, a harsh curse fallen from parted lips. Mina focused intently on every bruise he made on her, every mark he left on her flesh; she was enjoying herself far too much, basking in this hard-earned victory, and if she let herself go it would all be for naught. She reeled herself in by any means necessary: she thought of the homework she still had to do, the tests that were coming up soon, the group projects she dreaded but knew were coming. Still her hands moved to his broad shoulders, gripping him tight. She broke skin there, too, digging into muscle, goading him on; he groaned under her touch, thrusts pulsing faster. She rolled her hips against him with his next deep stroke, hoping to push him ever closer while staying far away from that peak herself.
Perhaps to her delight, it wasn't going to take him much longer. Their foreplay mixed with the way she was tearing at him was more than enough to deliver him over the edge of his orgasm; internally, Lance was utterly mortified at this turn of events. He shuddered, driving into her again, and then a second time, finally coming in a hot spurt deep within her. For a teenage boy with as little sexual experience as he, he'd lasted a decent amount of time, though he could not calm the other voice in his head that was consistently admonishing him for his behavior. Besides, he'd broken skin; he'd ripped at her. What if he'd passed on the curse? What if it was like an STD, and sexually transmitted? What if, what if...
But his limbs were growing tired; he pulled himself from her, her slight form already dropping to the padded gym floor as he stepped back, feeling pleasantly numb. At least the aggression he'd felt only moments before seemed to have passed… and with it, her interest. She bent and pulled up her track shorts, setting them low on her bruised hips. There was nothing for her shirt; she tugged it closed around her breasts, making a tattered vest of it.
She smiled up at him, and quickly flicked her tongue over her swollen lips. "Well that was fun," she said. Her eyes met his as she dragged her index finger down his softening length. "We should really do that again. Same time next month?"
"What?" His confusion over what happened sapped his cognitive reflexes. Then he shook his head, a hand rising to his forehead. "No, I mean..." He fumbled for his pants, pulling them up and covering himself. Thank god no one else had walked into the locker room. Continuing in his current vein of out of character, Lance grabbed the towel still hanging from the nearby weight machine and walked toward the locker rooms, wanting to be rid of the incident via a hot shower. Maybe that would help make some of this make sense...