SLASH BACKSLASH ONE-SHOT CONTEST
Story Name: Chance Encounters
Pen name: ehee
Pairing: Jasper/Edward
Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. No infringement is intended.
To see other entries in the "SLASH BACKSLASH" contest, please visit
the C2: http ://www. fanfiction. net/c2/74941/3/0/1/
A/N: I never thought I would cut my Twi teeth on slash! *face palm* I know nothing of gay life, cruising, or the world of GLBT. This story is purely a product of my overcaffeinated imagination, so please don't beat me up for any technical errors. (Feel free to point them out, however; I'm always eager to learn something new!)
Mammoth-sized thanks go out to smeadows, who graciously agreed to beta this shiz, and didn't bat an eye at my 11th hour request. *un millones de besos, querida!* Shout out also goes to my alpha reader, cheerleader, and idea gurl, ebonyeyez1 – you know I couldn't do this without you. I heart you both!
I can't believe I'm actually going to a gay bar.
The thought hangs over my head like a double-edged sword. I have a girlfriend...a warm, loving, sexy girlfriend...who is always eager to fuck me seven ways from Sunday. Alice and I have only been dating for a couple of months, but I would swear she spends all of her extra time watching internet porn; the things she comes up with to do in bed (and every other flat – and sometimes even vertical – surface in my apartment) blow my fucking mind sometimes. No normal, red-blooded American guy would feel the need to look any further than Alice where getting off is concerned. There's just...something...missing, and it chaps my ass to no end that I can't come to grips with what it could be.
So why am I doing this?
That question has plagued me a thousand times since I left my apartment. It's not like I've never been unable to attract the ladies. I once even dubbed myself The Triminator for all the pussy I was shagging, self-appreciating bastard that I am. No, women are most definitely not my problem.
So what the fuck is?
The thirty-minute drive to the club turns into a twisted cacophony of self-doubt and self-flagellation playing over and over in my brain like a bizarre videotape on continuous loop:
'I don't know if I can do this.'
'Then why are you going?'
'No fucking way I belong there.'
'Then why aren't you satisfied by your girlfriend?'
The war in my head rages on and I feel like I'm back on my high school debate team. 'Just go,' my inner "Pro" team tells me. 'Get it out of your system, Jasper. Be done with it, then you can move on.' Good advice? Guess I'll have to wait for the jury's decision on that one.
I arrive at the club before the "Con" team has the opportunity to voice its opinion. The closest parking space I can find is two blocks away. I exit my pickup and quickly look around for familiar faces. Dammit, Jasper, you're in the middle of downtown fucking Seattle. Who the hell do you think is going to know you here? At least I don't live in Port Angeles, or Wenatchee, or one of those other smaller towns where everyone makes it their business to know everyone else's.
The walk to the club feels like a death march. The early summer night is cool after this afternoon's rain, and I struggle to place one foot in front of the other, all the while thinking I still have time to turn and run. Simultaneously, an unseen force pulls me toward the door, beckoning me with the promise of answers to my questions, an island harbor in my sea of inner turmoil. Drawing a giant breath to bolster my courage, I grab the handle with a shaking hand and pull the door open.
The interior of the club is dark, and it takes several seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. I look around, expecting to see – who the hell knows what? The sight that greets me is completely ordinary, and I'm surprised to find myself a little disappointed. There are no obvious "queens," or "fairies," or gargantuan dudes in black leather. With the exception of the couples on the dance floor being all male, this could be any bar, on any street, in any city.
I head for an empty stool I spy at the far end of the bar. Its location gives me an unrestricted view of the club, plus direct access to the back door (in case I suddenly need to get the hell out of Dodge). After a couple of minutes, the bartender, smartly dressed in a black vest, white collared shirt, and a black bow tie, saunters over to my direction to take my drink order. I'm over two thousand miles away from a Lone Star (Texas born and bred, you understand) so I order a Budweiser instead.
I barely get two draws off of my beer before a body plops itself down on the barstool next to me. I turn and find myself face to face with a forty-something spaz who looks like he just jumped off of a Pillsbury label. "Are your legs tired?" his nasally voice asks without preamble.
Oh, fuck. I'm now sure I made the biggest mistake of my life by coming here. I quirk an eyebrow and give Mr. Poppin' Fresh my best "What the hell did you just say?" look.
"Are. Your. Legs. Tired?" he repeats, talking to me like I just stepped off the short bus. "Because you have been running through my mind all night." Then the douche actually fucking snorts.
The pick-up line is so cheesy, I groan right in his face before I can catch myself. Even though he is a dick, I can't bring myself to be rude to the guy. I give him a disinterested glance and tell him I'm waiting for someone. My lie seems to work because Mr. P.F. gives me a disdainful huff before he sulks away.
I continue to sip my beer, blissfully undisturbed until I have the nagging sensation that I'm being watched. My eyes scan the room for a possible culprit, but most everyone is either dancing or engaged in conversation with a partner. This observation makes me painfully aware that I am one of the few patrons flying solo, and I feel all the more out of my element.
Still, the feeling of being watched won't go away, so I scan the room again. I make it as far as the corner booth before I'm nearly knocked off my barstool. Sitting underneath the neon glare of a Miller Light sign, his back against the wall and legs stretched out on the seat, is the most breathtaking man I ever laid eyes on. Which sounds pretty fucked up to me, because I have never thought of another man in that way before. His hair, which is dark in the dim light of the bar, is a wonderfully disheveled mess all over his head; like he just got out of bed and forgot to comb it. His bold face is accentuated by fierce, dark brows and an angular jaw. And staring at me from the center of all this masculine gorgeousness is a pair of the most intense eyes I've ever seen. I try to avert my gaze, but his eyes are locked onto mine and they pull me in like a tractor beam from some fucked up sci fi movie.
I don't even blink until he tips his beer bottle against his lips to polish off what's left inside. He then lifts his index and middle fingers to his lips in a smoking motion and nods his head toward the back door.
I have a split second to decide whether or not to follow him. This is what I came here to find out, right? Didn't I want some answers? The only thing I know for sure is I have about two seconds to shit or get off the pot. Two seconds between knowing and not knowing.
I am so fucked.
Not giving myself any more time to debate the issue, I stand and slam down what's left of my beer. Sitting the bottle soundly on the counter, I turn and stride out of the back door. I wait alone in the alley only a couple of seconds before Mr. Bedhead strolls out behind me. The entry light over the back door gives me a better look at him, and I take a quick moment to give him the once-over. Standing side by side, he is a couple of inches taller than me. His hair is the color of burnished bronze, and my fingers are itching to find out if it is as soft as it looks. His face, including his chin with its lickably delicious dimple, is shadowed with what looks to be two days' growth. Oh, hell -- did I really just admit another man's chin was lickably delicious?
He takes a flip-top box of Marlboro reds out of his shirt pocket and pulls out two cigarettes. After lighting them both at the same time, he hands one to me and takes off down the dark alley. I draw hard on my smoke and make another split-second decision to follow.
We walk for half a block until we come to a recessed doorway where he stops and lazily leans a shoulder against the wall. I follow suit and lean against the opposite wall, each of us smoking and silently regarding each other.
I extend my half-smoked cigarette toward him and break the awkward silence. "Thanks for the smoke, man," I say, pleased that my steady voice masks my nervousness.
"Yeah, no sweat," he throws back casually.
"I'm Jas--" I begin to introduce myself but he cuts me off mid-name.
"No names," he barks.
"Oh…sorry, man," I blurt out, a little put off by his brusqueness, but after thinking about it for a second, it only make sense. No one in their right mind would want to give someone their name in a place like this – they might go home and do something creepy like Google your shit or something.
Now I'm at a loss for what to do next. Will he make a move, or should I? Do I want either one of us to, or perhaps we could just share a smoke and maybe a beer when we get back in the bar? Then what? God, I wish there was some kind of an instruction manual for this shit. Cruising for Dummies, or some crap like that. My exasperation manifests itself as a loud sigh.
I guess I must look really lost because he gives his head a little shake and lets out a sad sort of chuckle. "First time here?" he asks. Fuck, am I that transparent?
"That obvious, huh?"
"Just a little," he laughs softly.
"What about you?" I question him. "Are you a regular here?"
"Nah, I've only been here a couple of times. Never really found anything in this cesspool that was worth my time…until now." He takes the last long draw off of his cigarette and drops it to the ground where he crushes out the cherry with the toe of his boot. When he looks up, he gives me an eye fuck to end all eye fucks. His penetrating stare shoots from my eyes straight down to my cock, which immediately starts to harden in my jeans.
He shoves off the wall and steps toward me, his motions fluid and graceful like a large cat. His eyes continue to hold mine – he's got the fucking tractor beam thing going on again. I'm unable to move as he closes the distance between us. The next thing I know we are forehead to forehead, eyes still locked.
He breaks his gaze and trails his nose through my hair from my temple to the spot at the top of my neck just behind my ear. He pauses briefly before flicking his tongue on my skin there, and I shiver in response. I am so torqued I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. It wouldn't surprise me if he can hear it, too.
The angle of his head puts his jaw right in front of me. It is strong, and covered with stubble, and so fucking hot that I can't help but trace it with my tongue. His sharp intake of breath in response exhilarates me. The idea that I can affect him…this beautiful specimen of the male species…in that way is such a fucking rush it nearly takes my breath away.
Slowly, he kisses a trail from my ear to my mouth, and for the first time in my life I feel another man's lips on mine. They are soft, yet firm as his mouth caresses and teases, not at all like Alice's pouty, painted lips that do their level best to consume everything they touch. He deepens the kiss, his tongue probing questioningly, seeking passage beyond my lips.
I feel him step closer so that our bodies now touch. He grinds himself against me, the rhythm of his hips in sync with his tongue. The rock-hard bulge in the front of his pants makes his desires perfectly clear. I'm sporting its twin in my own jeans, I just don't know for sure what to do with it. Since he apparently has more experience at this than me, I decide to…god help me…just follow his lead.
As his tongue continues its wanton exploration of my mouth, I finally give in to my hands and allow them to tangle themselves in his hair. It is incredibly soft and full. I use my hold on him to try to bring his face closer to mine, if that is possible. His silky hair in my hands, his lips on mine, and the raw maleness of his scent (maybe sandalwood mixed with leather?) is almost enough to put me over the edge, and I panic at the thought of jizzing in my jeans.
I groan in spite of myself, and in the midst of his kiss I feel his lips curl into a little smile. I know I'm being played, but I can't bring myself to give a shit. When his hand gently but firmly cups my erection through my pants, I'm forced to distract myself to keep from exploding in his palm. He squeezes a few times and breaks our kiss, moving his mouth to my ear. Slowly tracing the shell with his tongue, I hear his smooth whisper vibrate in my ear:
"Would you like for me to take care of this for you?"
"Ungh," is as coherent a response as I can manage.
He expertly flicks open the button on my jeans, and I stiffen for a second as the realization of what's happening, or is about to happen, sinks into my lust-addled brain. My hand closes around his wrist to halt his progress, and he leans back a little to look me in the eyes. He quirks one eyebrow questioningly, and I know I have only a second to make my decision.
It's amazing how many thoughts can go through your mind at the same time. I think of my parents and my strict, faith-based upbringing; I think of the number of women who have succumbed to my charms, just like I'm now entranced by his; I think of Alice, sweet Alice who, in any other time and place, could very well become a permanent fixture in my life. I also think of this man before me and how his kiss, his touch, feels so comfortable…so right…and I wonder if this isn't the answer to the questions that have plagued me for so long.
I don't voice an answer; instead, I grab the back of his neck and roughly pull his face to me, commanding his lips to continue their assault on mine. Once more I feel his little smile against my mouth, and I groan again.
His hand makes its way to my zipper and the sound of it being lowered is so loud in my ears I'm afraid it can be heard at the end of the block. Skillful fingers sneak past the waistband of my boxers and wrap themselves around my rock-hard cock, which twitches in his palm. He gives me a few firm pumps, using the pre-cum that has beaded at the tip as lubricant. My hips move involuntarily in rhythm with his strokes and this makes him chuckle.
"Eager, are we?" he coos softly against my neck.
"I…uh…I," is all I can manage, sounding like a complete idiot. Maybe I do belong on the short bus.
"Shhhh, don't talk," he instructs, pressing his index finger against my lips.
The hand stroking me ceases its ministrations and joins the other one at the back of my waistband. In one swift motion I am bare to my knees, and he is now eye-to-eye, so to speak, with everything I never dreamed I would be giving to another guy. My gaze ventures downward; he is looking up at me with that signature questioning eyebrow quirk of his, and I am once again speechless.
He interprets my silence as approval and touches me once again, his firm, warm palm gliding over the head to pick up the moisture beading there. He appears to be in slow motion as I watch his head move closer to me, close enough for him to flick at my slit with his tongue. My breath hitches in my chest, and I can't keep my eyes from rolling back in my head at the sensation.
He looks up at me and there is a lustful wickedness in his eyes as he utters a single word: "Beautiful."
While I'm certainly no head virgin, I can't recall anyone ever describing my junk as beautiful. But the illicitness of our encounter, coupled with the fact that it's all going down in this quasi-public alleyway, pushes my heightened senses to full-bore overload. Before I have a chance to react, his lips envelop the head as he wraps his mouth around my cock. Slowly…excruciatingly slowly…he slides forward, surrounding my length with his warm mouth, pushing my breath upward and out of my lungs with his movements. He moves his head back and forth a few times, one hand firmly pumping the part of me that he doesn't take into his mouth, the other softly massaging my balls.
In no time my legs are like jello, and I start to question how long they will hold me. Again my hands find their way to his tousled locks, my fingers winding through the ruffled softness, finding a firm hold there as his head rhythmically bobs back and forth in front of me.
My head falls back against the wall, and I groan softly as my midnight mystery man continues to work me. His hands move from the base of my cock to my ass, and he grabs one cheek in each hand, pulling my pelvis forward to meet his mouth with each thrust. I feel the tip of my cock hit the back of his throat and he hums at the contact, sending vibrations through my hardness and straight to my soul.
I feel my cock swell and know I won't last much longer. The idea that I am about to blow my wad in a total stranger's mouth freaks me out and turns me on all at the same time. Is that some fucked up shit, or what?
The pressure builds until I can no longer hold it back. I bite my lip to keep from screaming as my orgasm breaks like a cracked Hoover Dam. He swallows everything I give him. My chest is heaving as I'm rocked by the aftershocks; his warm tongue gently cleans me off before he slides my jeans up and tucks my softening dick back into my boxers.
When my head finally stops spinning and I feel like I can stand on my own, I push myself off the wall so I can straighten my clothes. My mystery guy stands up in front of me and presses his lips to mine in a parting gesture. His kiss is slightly salty, and I realize it's me I taste on him.
He breaks the kiss and I just stand there, still reeling from the most mind-blowing orgasm I ever had. I wonder now if I'm supposed to reciprocate, or just what the hell I'm supposed to do. Well, shit -- no one is going to accuse Jasper Whitlock of a cum-and-run.
"Do you want me to…um…you know…," I stammer, flicking my eyes down to the front of his pants, where I notice an obvious bulge.
"No, not this time," he says as he gives me a lazy grin and a wink. Before he walks away, his hand cups my crotch one last time as he breathes in my ear, "But I will catch you later."
~*o*~*O*~*o*~
December 23rd, Six Months Later…
"Jazz, honey, we're going to be late if you don't hurry up. I want to try to get to Forks before the snow hits." Alice has been bouncing around the apartment for the last two days, packing clothes, wrapping last minute Christmas gifts, and generally being a royal pain in my ass. Not that it's her fault, or anything – that's just Alice being Alice.
Shit. I don't know how I let myself get talked into this. Well, I guess I do. Few people are immune to Alice's charms, and that includes me. There is no such thing as reverse gear for Alice; once her mind is set, that's it.
I almost died when she asked me to spend Christmas with her family in Forks. It would seem like the next logical step to anyone looking at our relationship from the outside. We've been exclusive for the last eight months now (with one exception on my part.) Hell, Alice practically lives in my apartment now. Her things mysteriously appear, a little more every day, and she's here almost every night.
How the fuck did that happen, anyway? I don't remember us discussing moving in together. Do I really even want her living with me? Do I really even want to go where this relationship seems to be heading?
Honestly, I don't remember a whole hell of a lot about the last six months. They have been a blurry mixture of Alice, work, and memories of my life-altering evening with a beautiful stranger who evades me to this day.
Not that I didn't try to find him again, mind you. I made a dozen trips back to the club, sometimes even lying to Alice about my whereabouts, hoping I would run into him again. Each time I drank my beer alone, fending off the advances of hordes of club regulars who thought I was now one of them. But I'm not looking for men – I'm looking for him. He's the only one I'm interested in. None of the others even come close to measuring up.
But he's never fucking showed up since. Not one time. I even grew enough balls one night to ask the bartender about him. He said he didn't remember him. Seriously, dude, how do you not remember? Are you fucking blind, or just piteously stupid?
"Jazz, baby, come on!" Alice wails and slaps me on the ass as she walks past, and I realize I'm dumbly standing in the middle of the bedroom, frozen in my reverie.
Throwing the last few pieces of clothing in my suitcase, I head to the bathroom to grab my shaving kit. I pause to look in the bathroom mirror, wondering if any traces of my inner chaos are visible on the outside. The guy staring back at me is the same one I've been looking at for 28 years: blond curls framing a strong face; sky-blue eyes; straight nose; square jaw. Yep, it's the Triminator alright.
I bark out an involuntary laugh and try to cover it with a fit of coughing. "You okay in there?" Alice calls from the bedroom.
"Yeah, babe, I'm fine," I answer weakly. "Just got choked for a second."
"Well, I hope you're not coming down with something. Maybe we should have Daddy take a look at you when we get to Forks."
Fuck. No. The last thing I want is my girlfriend's (if that's even the correct term anymore) doctor/daddy poking and prodding on me. "I'm fine," I assure her as I walk back into the bedroom and slip my arms around her from behind. She is tiny – not quite shoulder-high to me – and I lean down to kiss the top of her head. God, this used to feel so right…how did everything get so fucking twisted?
Alice determines we're finally ready and I carry our luggage (how many fucking bags does one woman need for a four-day trip?) and the hordes of gifts to my truck. We hit the road on schedule, which pleases Alice greatly. There is peace in the valley. Amen.
The three-and-a-half hour drive to Forks is pretty much uneventful, if you don't count Alice's incessant chatter. I know she's excited and anxious for me to meet her family, but…dayum. I feel I know their entire goddam history at this point: her dad, Carlisle Cullen is a doctor at the local hospital; her mom, Esme, has a finger in every charitable pie in the county; her older brother Emmet and his wife Rosalie live nearby in Port Angeles; her twin brother Edward is an up-and-coming concert pianist who is divorced from his wife Bella and stays with their parents when he's not on the road.
I guess things might be different if I were completely comfortable with our relationship. A year ago I probably would have been. Really – what's not to love about Alice? She truly is the most caring person I ever met. Overbearing? Probably, but she means it in a good way. She's always looking out for me, picking up the shit I leave scattered around…homey shit like that. Looks-wise, I couldn't have asked for better if I had special-ordered her out of a catalogue: short brown hair, softly spiked all over her head; honey-colored eyes; an angelic mouth that is capable of devilish deeds; a petite body that can do things that would make a contortionist pea-green with envy…
Most guys would give their left nut to be me. Why the hell can't I just be happy with what I have?
We finally make it to the little town of Forks, where Alice grew up. I can't believe I've managed to hold her off this long. She has been nagging me about meeting her family since before they had their big Labor Day get-together. I'm just not a getting-to-know-a-girl's-family kind of guy. But it seems to be the next thing in the pecking order of the Alice-and-Jasper-become-an-item ideal that continues to develop around me.
Alice directs me to her childhood home, which is just outside of the town itself. The driveway is all but hidden from the paved road, and I almost miss seeing it. The house is nearly a mile off the road, and it seems like we drive forever through the forest before we reach a clearing. The house itself is an impressive two-story affair with white siding, black shutters, and a huge covered porch. The yard is pristinely manicured, with flowers and shrubs everywhere.
The driveway makes a circle in front of the house, and I veer to the right. Alice is squirming furiously in her seat by the time we pull up in front. She doesn't bother to wait for me to open her door for her; instead, she flings it open and meets me at the front of the truck. Snatching me by the arm, she half-drags me up the steps and through the front door.
"Mom, Dad – we're here!" she crows unceremoniously as she flings the door backward into a nearby umbrella stand.
"Alice!" a female voice calls from the back part of the house. It is soon followed by a handsome woman who, by my calculations, must be in her early fifties. Her hair is perfectly coiffed, her make-up precise. To my blue-jeans-and-teeshirt eyes, her clothes look fuck-all expensive, molding perfectly to the youthful physique underneath. She hurries toward Alice and throws her arms around her in a huge hug.
The two women share a rocking embrace for a minute before Alice breaks away and introduces us. "Mom, this is my boyfriend, Jasper Whitlock. Jazz, this is my mom, Esme."
"Pleased to meet you," I say politely, extending my hand toward her for a shake.
Apparently, hugging is the Cullen family's preferred method of greeting, because Esme steps past my hand and wraps her arms around my shoulders, squeezing tightly. I'm stunned by her actions for a split second, but I quickly recover and return her hug. She pats my back a couple of times before releasing me and stepping back.
"I'm so glad you could join us for the holidays, Jasper," she gushes. "Alice has told us so much about you. We're all very anxious to get to know you while you're here."
"Thank you, ma'am," I respond.
"Please, call me Esme," she gently corrects me. "There's no need for you to be so formal around here!"
"Sorry…Southern roots, and all," I apologize lamely.
"Where is everyone?" Alice asks, looking around the room.
"Your dad is still at the hospital, and Edward is floating around here somewhere," Esme begins. "Emmet had to work all day today, so he and Rosalie won't be here until tomorrow morning."
"That's great!" Alice quips at her mother before turning to me. "C'mon, Jazz, let's go get our bags out of the truck."
I follow Alice outside, and it takes two trips for us to collect everything we brought with us. Our first load is all of the presents, which we deposit under a magnificently decorated Christmas tree in the formal living room. We go back for our luggage, which Alice instructs me to carry to her old bedroom on the second floor.
As we reach the top of the stairs, a door opens off to the side and a body steps into the hallway. "Edward!" Alice squeals. She quickly drops her bags and hurls herself into her brother's arms.
"Pixie!" Edward greets her, swinging her in a big circle in the middle of the hallway. It is when his rotation is complete that I can finally see his face. My stomach falls to the floor, along with the bags I'm holding.
Jesus. Fucking. H. Christ. It's him.
The blood drains from my face, and for a moment I feel like I may faint dead away. The room spins around me and I quickly grab the nearby stair railing for support. My ears are filled with the sound of my thundering heartbeat, and a couple of seconds pass before I realize Alice is talking.
"…boyfriend, Jasper Whitlock. Jasper, honey, this is Edward, my twin brother." She is literally beaming, like she's just inherited the crown jewels and she's showing them off.
Composure can be such an elusive bitch. I try to get my collective shit all back in one sock so I can introduce myself; all the while my pussified brain is telling me it's not too late to run back down the stairs, jump in my truck, and just haul ass back to Seattle.
Or
I can grow a pair and face this head-on. After all, isn't this what I wanted – to find him? I don't want to think I spent the last six months getting hit on by the tools in that tank of a bar for nothing.
Now that I've found Edward again, what the hell am I supposed to do about him? Do I just look at him as a sleazy, one-timer? He sure as hell felt like more than that to me, at the time. What if that's all I was to him? But he did say something about catching me later. That should count for something, right? If that's the case, why did he never show back up at the bar? Surely to Christ we didn't just keep missing each other. No one's timing can be that fucked up.
And what about Alice, my supposed girlfriend, whom I am all but living with now? What would I tell her? "Sorry, but I can't be with you anymore because I've got a terminal case of hardwood for your brother."
I must have done something really bad in a previous life for karma to give me an ass-fucking of this magnitude.
Miraculously, I come to my senses enough to extend my hand to Edward. I pray to every god I can think of that he nor Alice notice how bad it is trembling. I can't bring myself to look him in the eyes though, and I concentrate instead on the little dimple between his nose and upper lip.
"Um, nice to meet you…ah…Edward," I sputter. Running buck naked through Times Square at high noon couldn't possibly be as tortuous as this moment.
"The pleasure is all mine…Jasper," Edward purrs as his warm hand grips mine in a half shake/half caress. The feel of his skin against mine sends an electrical charge up my arm and straight to my cock, which immediately begins to harden.
My eyes involuntarily fly up to meet Edward's, and once again I am stunned by their intensity. In the daylight they glow like polished emeralds, and they emit a wicked glint that I hope like hell goes unnoticed by Alice.
Could someone please just kill me now?
"I'm so glad you two finally have the chance to meet!" Alice gushes, rescuing me from Edward's trademark tractor beam eye fuck. She is shifting back and forth on her feet, and any minute I expect her to start dancing down the hallway. "Jazz, let's get these bags to our room," she directs me before turning her attention to Edward. "Edward, we'll see you downstairs in a few minutes."
"Okay, Pix, see you in a little while." Edward gives Alice another hug as he heads toward the stairs, but not before he shoots another steamy look in my direction.
Alice heads toward the bedroom, and I'm only too glad to grab our bags and follow her. The hallway scene has become way too intense, and I can't decide if I want to have a nervous breakdown or spontaneously combust.
We reach the bedroom, and since my arms are full of luggage, I shove the door closed with my foot. Alice takes the garment bag from me and hangs it in the closet while I deposit the rest of the bags at the foot of the bed.
I sit heavily on the side of the bed and put my head in my hands. I wish to hell I could crawl in, pull the covers over my head, and stay there for the rest of eternity.
Alice misinterprets my actions and rushes to my side. "Are you sure you're okay, baby?" she inquires. "You look a little peaked." No shit.
I look up and give her a weak smile. "No, I'm fine," I reassure her. "I'm just a little tired. I didn't sleep very well last night. Why don't you go downstairs and visit a while? I think I'll just lay here and rest for a few minutes."
Alice's bullshit meter picked a bad day to work overtime. "I still think you must be coming down with something," she insists. "I'll say something to Dad when he gets home."
"Alice, I'm perfectly fine. Really. Go. I'll be down in a little while."
"Alright," she concedes, leaning down to kiss my forehead. "You don't feel like you have a fever…"
"Alice!" God, this woman irritates the shit out of me sometimes.
"Okay, I'm going!" She throws up her hands in mock defeat as she walks out the door.
I stretch out on the bed, my mind in forty-seven kinds of hell. I don't really need to sleep (how the fuck could I sleep after what just transpired?), but I do need to try to sort through some of this shit if I want to have a snowball's chance in hell of making it through the next four days.
"Of all the gin joints in all the towns…" The odds of me drawing my girlfriend's twin brother in a random bar hook-up have got to be about a gazillion to one. With luck like that, I should probably go buy a fucking lottery ticket, or fly to Vegas, or some shit. My conversation with Alice about coming here for Christmas suddenly comes to mind; I recall her mentioning her brother was traveling for work, but that he would be home for the holidays. That would certainly explain why I never saw Edward again at the bar. 'Maybe he would have come back,' I reassure myself. 'Maybe he felt the connection as much as I did.' Maybe our chance encounter wasn't by chance at all.
I ponder the unpredictability of fate, and before I know it, I'm asleep.
When I wake up, I look at my watch and realize an hour has passed. Damn, I guess I really was tired after all. I roll off the bed and smooth out my clothes before heading downstairs to find Alice. I check the living room and the kitchen – empty. I don't know the layout of the rest of the house, but I'm determined to wander around until I find her.
Past the stairwell, toward the back of the house, I find the family room. Edward is stretched out on one of two couches watching television. I pause in the doorway, unsure if I'm ready for another encounter with him. He either hears me or senses my presence, because he turns his attention from the TV to me.
"Hey," he says simply.
"Hey," I parrot him, swallowing nervously. Very eloquent, asshat. "Um, have you seen Alice?"
"Yeah, she and Mom left for town about fifteen minutes ago to do some last-minute shopping. Said to tell you they'd probably be gone for a couple of hours or so." His emerald eyes smolder like the embers of a campfire. "Guess it's just you and me."
Holy shit.
"Want to watch the game with me?" Edward asks amicably. I glance at the TV screen and see two college teams are battling it out on the gridiron.
"Yeah, I guess," I shrug and head toward the other couch. What can I say? I'm a baseball fan, myself. Before I can take a seat, Edward sits up and pats the couch beside him.
"Why don't you sit here?" he suggests.
My eyes dart nervously back to his, and there is no mistaking the look he is giving me. I've seen that look on him before, and I remember all too well where it led. I know I'm playing with fire; I just have to figure out how close I can get to the flames without getting my ass singed.
My brain tells me I should do what's proper and sit on the empty couch…so I head toward the spot next to Edward instead. I know in my heart I'm going to Hell, but I can't seem to bring myself to care at the moment.
I sit down cautiously, my legs shaking so badly I'm afraid they'll buckle under me before my ass hits the cushion. I focus on the TV, too chicken-shit to look in Edward's direction.
His weight shifts on the couch as he moves closer to me, and I feel his nose caress the sensitive spot behind my ear. "I missed you," he whispers.
My eyes squeeze shut and my breath hitches in my chest. Edward is giving me the full court press right out of the gate, which overwhelms and confuses the shit out of me.
"We don't even know each other," I breathlessly point out to him. "How can you have missed me?"
Edward laughs softly as he continues to nuzzle my neck with his nose. The feel of his breath on my skin is fuck-hot, and I'm rock hard in seconds.
"I knew I wanted you the minute you walked into that bar," he whispers his confession into my ear. "You looked so fucking scared…so lost…I was afraid you were going to bolt and run before I had the chance to hook up with you."
"I don't know what the fuck I'm doing," I admit to him. My fucking heart is trying to jump out of my throat, and I'm having a bitch of a time trying to swallow it back down so I can speak. "This isn't me – it's not who I am. I mean, I never…"
"Oh, but something tells me it is," Edward maintains. "It's not your rapid heartbeat." He flicks out his tongue to lick the skin covering the pulse point in my neck. "It's not your shallow breathing." He gently caresses my chest through my shirt. "But this…" he coos, cupping my erection over my jeans, "this tells me everything I need to know."
I turn toward Edward and he covers my lips with his. There is a sense of urgency in his kiss, his tongue immediately demanding entrance to my mouth. I comply, and moan into his mouth as his tongue immediately finds mine. Kissing has never felt so fucking wonderful in my life.
We continue to steam up the Cullen's family room, and it suddenly dawns on me that we are, indeed, in the Cullen's family room. That means someone could walk in on the middle of our shit at any second. And to think I believed I couldn't be any more fucked than I am now. I immediately tense up, and Edward pulls back.
"What's wrong, Jazz?" The sultry way he says Jazz nearly causes me to blow my wad right there.
"Shit, Edward…I mean, we're in your parents' family room, for chrissakes. What if someone walks in and sees us?"
"No one's going to see us," he reassures me, stroking his index finger down the length of my arm. "Dad won't be home for hours, and you've never seen Mom and Alice together shopping. One time, they didn't come back for two days, and we were forced to send out a search party."
I chuckle a little at Edward's humor and appreciate his attempt to reassure me. I give him a half-smile which he covers with one of his own, resuming our make-out session.
While his lips and tongue work furiously against mine, Edward gently pushes me down so that I am lying back on the couch. He moves over me and deepens the kiss, sucking on my tongue with the same enthusiasm he used when he got me off in that alley. His pelvis grinds into mine, and his erection feels like a steel rod pressing into my thigh. A slight shift in position puts his cock directly on top of mine; the motion of our hips creates a fucktastic friction between us.
Our tongues and hips settle into a steady but frantic rhythm. I feel the telltale tightening in my groin, and I know I'm getting close to my release. The moans coming from Edward, coupled with the increasing tempo of his pumping, tells me he is also near the edge.
I tear my mouth away from his, gasping for air. "Fuck, Edward…I'm gonna cum..."
A heavy groan escapes me as my balls tighten, and I blow my load in my boxers. Edward's body stiffens above me as his face contorts and he lets out a heavy sigh. God, he is beautiful when he cums.
Where the fuck did that come from?
Edward relaxes on top of me as we ride out the aftershocks. "Jesus, Jasper," he wheezes.
"No shit," I breathlessly agree with him.
We are content to just lie together; no words are necessary. Though we are still virtual strangers, carnal knowledge notwithstanding, there is a bond…some unseen force…that inexplicably draws us to each other.
Where will it lead us?
Do we want to follow?
These are questions that will be answered in time. The hows and whys will be worked out as we go along.
Edward suddenly chuckles and lets out a quiet snort. "Jasper?" he says questioningly.
"Yes?"
"Do you realize we're laying here…on my parents' couch…together…both of us with spunk in our jeans?"
I bark out a laugh at the absurdity of it all.
"Jasper?"
"Yes, Edward?"
"Are you going to tell my sister about us…or do you want me to?"
A/N – I have the continuation of this story rolling around in my head; I will continue to follow J & E through this madness, if the reader interest is there. So how about click that little green button and let me know what you think!