Edward POV Chapter 5-6

Author: buildmeapyramid

Fandom: Twilight

Outtakes of "Magnetism" by buildmeapyramid

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. I just own a severely abused copy of the book and a cranky laptop.

A/N: Here it is, the first Edward POV. Enjoy!

~oOo~

I can feel the heat of his body from across the room, warming me as I read aloud from the little book of poetry. My skin prickles and I can't help but cast a brief, furtive glance at him. He's sprawled across the lounge, one arm lifted to rest above his head, the other lying across his stomach where his shirt has ridden up to reveal a strip of taut bronzed skin. I stutter over the next verse as I try to tear my gaze away, and his eyes flutter for a moment before sliding shut once more.

I keep reading, determined not to wake him and risk him deciding to leave. The thought of him going home makes me anxious.

I suppose hours pass. I read verse after verse, poem after poem, until I reach the end of the book, and then I stand and head for the bookcase, but I forget how to move when I hear him sigh in his sleep from a few feet away. And when I give in and let my eyes rest on him, I can't look away. His skin is glowing in the lamplight, an the way his hair gleams black makes me itch to run my fingers through it. I bite my lip, and even though I know I shouldn't, I kneel down next to the couch and study him. The way his skin shines makes me want to kiss every inch of him starting with those full, parted lips, and the thought makes me want to retreat to the opposite side of the room and try to ignore him. But I can't, because he sighs again and his lips curve up a little. I sigh back, and my hand trembles as I reach out to brush away a strand of silken black hair from his face.

I know I'm imagining things when I feel him tremble back.

I touch his cheek very lightly, relishing the feel of his soft, warm skin against my fingertips and the words tumble from my lips before I can stop them: "You're so beautiful." I bite down on my lip—hard—and snap my hand away from him. I wasn't lying—he is beautiful—but I never thought I'd have the courage to say it out loud.

His lashes flutter and I try not to panic as endless dark eyes meet mine. His expression is adorably confused for a moment as he studies me, completely unaware of the uneasy knots of desire forming in my stomach, before a light shimmers in his hooded eyes. I want to smile at him; I want to thread my fingers in his hair and kiss those dry, parted lips and keep him here forever.

Instead I ask, "You wanna just stay here tonight?" I can barely get the words out, my throat is so choked with longing. It's hard to breathe when he looks at me like this, dark eyes so soft and warm, melting me.

He hesitates for the smallest second, I can see it, and I can barely keep from sighing in relief when he nods and smiles at me before closing his eyes again.

I sit beside him for at least another hour before I dare to touch him again. His skin is so smooth, like russet silk under my fingers. He has scars, some of them barely visible, no more than tiny marks a shade lighter than the rest of his skin. But some of them are more obvious, and I wonder why I haven't noticed them before. There's one behind his right ear, a jagged slash that ends at the nape of his neck, curving like a scimitar. Another one begins on the sensitive inside flesh of his upper arm, but I can't tell how long it is because the mark disappears under his shirt-sleeve. My eyes scan lower, searching in horrified fascination for more scars, until I come to the strip of skin between his shirt and the waistline of his jeans. The thick white line on his hip is unmistakable. Unable to help myself, I brush my fingers across the scar, shivering at the feel of the raised, rough skin under my hand. I flinch but I can't look away. I push his shirt up, biting my lip when I see his muscled abdomen, before returning to the scar, tracing its length up his side. It's at least eight inches, but I can't tell how long it is because the other end dips into his jeans, and I've already crossed so many boundaries that the mere thought of slipping my hand underneath the denim has me trembling and flushing with uncomfortable heat. I trace the scar again, wondering how he got it but knowing I'll never pluck up the courage to ask. Then he'd ask how I knew, and how could I possibly explain to him what I'm doing right now? I should move away, I should climb into my bed and sleep away my desires.

But I can't.

Because when I brush my hand up his side again, he trembles. My eyes widen and flash up to his face to see sweat beading on his brow and a hand clutching at his hair. The lamplight makes his skin gleam so very temptingly that I can't help but reach up with my other hand and run my fingers across his jaw. He moans and I gasp, snatching my hands away.

"If I ever catch you touching a man that way, I'll beat you within an inch of your life."

Goodness, he's beautiful. His shirt is stretched taught and bunched up around his middle, and I can clearly see the way his muscles quiver and tense as he writhes on the lounge, mouth open as his gasps fill the room. I'm incredibly thankful that my parents' bedroom is on the other side of the house.

"It's a sin, Edward. A wicked sin."

Shaking, I ignore the strange tightness in my chest, the way my body is responding causing me to flush with uncomfortable heat, and stand. My hands are trembling when I grab a blanket from my bed and walk stiffly back to his sleeping, sweating body and throw the blanket over him. I can hardly bear the urge to touch him again, but I resist and cross over to my dresser, tossing on some pajama pants and a T-shirt before crawling onto the bed. I don't cover myself—I'm already far too hot. Instead I curl into a ball on top of the sheets and stubbornly refuse to look at the boy making the positively sinful sounds of pleasure. I can't even begin to imagine what he's dreaming about. Who he's dreaming about.

"Don't even think those filthy thoughts, Edward. I'll know if you think them, and so will God."

I swallow hard and stare up at the ceiling, too stiff to move to turn the light out. I press my legs together and curl my toes until they ache, but still my body pulses with his presence, with his sounds, and my skin is tingling as I fight against my desires. My heart is pounding like an Indian drum, and I don't know how to calm the beat. He groans, and my eyes fall to him without thought in time to see him lick his lips and arch his back, skin glistening like melting gold.

"It's unnatural, Edward. He's unnatural. Don't even say that boy's name ever again or I'll whip you until you're raw."

My lips part and I clench my hands into the pillow on either side of my head, biting my lip hard enough to draw blood. Memories of how his skin felt, satin smooth and rough at the same time, leave ghosts of past touches on my fingertips. He moans again, and I muffle my own cry of frustration into the pillow as I remember the way he trembled at my touch, the way his muscles bunched and arched and shuddered for me.

"Disgusting."

"Dirty."

"God will punish all those bad people."

"Only sinners do nasty things like that. You don't want to be a sinner, do you, Edward?"

He sighs and I sit up with a growl to see his head turned toward me. I can't touch him, I won't touch him. I refuse to. But I need to be closer. Just a bit closer—

I pull the sheets from my bed and lay them on the floor next to him, far enough away that he won't step on me when he gets up in the morning, but close enough that I can feel his warmth radiating from him, setting fire to my blood. I turn out the light and slip to the floor, listening to his quiet moans and ragged breaths as I forget the voices in my head and let my eyes slide shut.

A/N: And the plot thickens . . . I hope you enjoyed this little peek into Edward's psyche as well as Chapter 6. After this, I'm pretty sure you can guess what Edward's feelings for Jake are, but obviously Jake's too thick to figure it out at the moment, but don't worry. In time . . .

Reviewers get imaginary recordings of Jake's sex noises! ;)