Hey guys. I was attempting to study, cuz u know, end of terms coming up.

But I couldn't get this idea out of my head. It was running around my brain like the road runner. So I decided to stop it and ask it to explain itself. And here's what I came up with.

But wait. You need to know, for this story, Twilight never happened. EVENTUALLY, Suze moved on, and was with Paul and married him and stuff. Jesse moved on when he saw she was happy.

Disclaimed to the one and only: Meg Cabot. Writer of hot sex gods and 150-yr-old virgins.

A classic Fight Between Our two Favourite Shifters.

Paul's POV

"I'm just saying, I have no IDEA WHATSOEVER why you're mad!" I Yelled at her. This was even getting annoying now. We were married, Rico was gone, we were happy.

Now, for the past frigging week, Suze has been such a headcase! I mean, I didn't even know what we were fighting about!

"What d'you mean, you have no- No. You know what, Paul, that really says it all, that you don't even know why I'm mad. That you don't even CARE."

With that last statement, she turned around and slammed the door. Really hard.

I so wasn't taking that.

"Suze! Come back here! What the hell is your freaking problem?! What, are you PMS-ing or something?"

Uh-oh. Wrong choice of words.

Her face, though absolutely gorgeous in her passion, her anger ,looked like a storm.

Then, things started shaking. And lemme give you a hint.

It wasn't an earthquake. Or me.

Then the wastepaper basket burst into flames.

I was in the doghouse tonight.

"PMS-ING? You think that I'm PMS-ing?! Paul Slater, you- you-UGH! You suck!" She shouted at me, completely livid.

"Suze, maybe I'd know what it is I did wrong if you, oh, I dunno, frigging told me? Jesus!" I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. This woman would be the death of me!

I tried to go all pansy guy, "Suze, honey, I honestly don't know what you're mad about. Maybe, if you could tell me, then I-"

"I said already, if you don't know, I'm not going to overload your already pea-sized brain!" She screamed.

Okay. That was it. This was my limit. I didn't do anything, I was sure of it. I never left the seat up, I never stayed late at work if I didn't have to, I screwed her freaking senseless most nights, both for her benefit and mine, I was a model husband!

And I wasn't going to take this bullshit from my gorgeous wife, whom I loved, who was probably just picking a fight because she was PMS-ing.

I shivered. Women. So fucking hormonal.

If this was what she was like now, imagine her pregnant!

Say it with me guys, 'Yikes.'

So, without missing a beat, I stared her straight in the face, got closer, (because she didn't like to be very close in fights, because this was usually what happened.) and kissed her.

And don't get me wrong, this wasn't some, 'oh she's crying, so let's give her a soft kiss full of love'.

Snort. Who the hell was I, Barney the Gay Dinosaur?

Hell no.

NO, this kiss was pure lust, unbridled passion, all groping and sucking and biting.

This was rough and passionate.

I wasn't physically hurting her, but I was pretty damn close.

Then, after a little while, she broke away.

"What the hell d'you think you're doing? We are in the middle of a fight. You can't just-" She said, looking kinda annoyed. But also looking like she wanted to get back to our tonsil hockey.

"Yes I can. Now shut up." Was my witty response after her little outburst.

Then I proceeded to kiss her, with the same intensity as before.

I pushed her up against the wall, her head slamming back.

We kissed and kissed, my knee separating hers, pushing between them, Her and me, moaning into each others' mouths, aching with pure passion, want, need, to have each other, to be one.

Her delicate hands gripped my shirt, pulling it hurriedly out of my pants, and pulling it apart, as if unbuttoning it would take too long.

I knew how she felt.

My hands, which had been on her hips, took on a will of their own, feeling her through her top, then my hands dipping under, then searching desperately for her bra clasp.

My hands, feverish, groping, my lips, torturing her lips, her face, her neck. . .

God, where was the freaking clasp?!

I could feel the racerback straps, this was new, but where. . .

I pulled off her top, and her hands reached the top of my pants, which she unbuttoned and unzipped in seconds. . .

I felt her, her perfect shape, her smooth sides, we moved, she pushed me with force, away from the wall, onto the bed, then took off her bra, unclasping it with ease at the front. . .

We kissed, I kissed her everywhere. . . . .

Her face, her neck, her stomach, her breasts. . . .

My boxers were off, and so was her skirt and underwear. . .

She spread her legs with experience as I positioned myself on top of her, between her strong thighs . . .

And, as I thrust into her with force and heard a satisfying moan, I knew that I'd won and the fight was over, long forgotten in the heat of the moment. . .

It was gonna be a looooonnnng night.