This started off as smut for a friend. It turned into a story and it was bad, so I scrapped it and thought I could do better. This is one of my first ventures into writing fanfic and is certainly my first refined piece with sex.

Not definitely sure about the title, however..

Characters owned by Stephenie Meyer.

Jasper and Edward.

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Have you ever heard of freedom?

Swiftly, black shadows flit through the forest, trespassing the earth, intercrossing; tangled for brief moments before departing and continuing their paths. The air is a glaring mysterious green.

This speed is power that causes an unnatural drifting, featherlike, of a breeze as they flee from the piercing sunlight recklessly and race towards the alluring shade. Here, they can be consumed by the darkness that they've known for hundreds of years, the kind that fills their eyes. If they could choke, it would be purgatory of the smothering ash of darkness that fills their lungs, twists like smoke and grips every nerve tight. It pulls violently like persistent chains and ropes that won't fray. They've known this hunger for so long. This darkness is Home.

But their hunger is enticing, tangible. Their livid bruises speak, inveiglement.

The wind caresses their every line, the surface of their stone skin and flexing muscles.

Black eyes. Let me stroke the shadows that engulf you now.

Battling for dominance over one another, they fill the space of dust motes with brittle grunts and breathless moans as each fight to control their deadly broken rhythm with pushes and pulls that become desperate slams. Trees surrender beneath them as they buckle at the knees and both bodies are strewn on the forest floor.

Hands roam over every structure and unforgettable texture. Fingers dig into bones.

Show me the sin that lies beneath your unbreakable bones and let me crush you.

Devour me with your hands. Make me a web of you and when I break away, mould me pure.

Decay me in your filth so I can be unbound once again, reborn.

I think a phoenix suits you, my angry bird. You smell of violence, musk and you've been waiting for so long to be set aflame.

You think you can soar, victorious, from our burnt nest of seduction.

Something must come of the pollen.

Bullshit.

Bodies knot together with grace, locking their bones beneath the moonlight. Where their secrets lay, littered with their clothes; their thin embodiments scatter also.

Eyes blink at the turn of a century as time unwinds its meaning from a lost core. Perspectives are dismantled as suns rise, fall to greet sisters of moons who fade to kiss clouds with brothers of suns. And those brothers bear the grandchildren of dusks.

Human hours unravel to become their decades.

And as time grounds on, those decades feel like mere seconds to their Inhuman, Cold Forms.

Spiraling downwards beneath the heathen, they are torn between flawless shades of right and wrong.

I would give this darkness, this you, to.

Breathless.

Curl these wings in one graceful breath of warmth.

In an unbreakable bond of fraying eternity, they continue their deathly dance - fighting under a canopy of branches and black leaves disturbing the sky of its perfect hue, on a carpet of crisp fiery leaves.

Their cries of pleasure and greed accompany their crescendo.

And mountains fall from their wild grace.

While ages of thunder are endured as a consequence to their never-ending desperate symphony of accelerando.