A/N: Hey guys, it's been a while. If any of my usual readers are, well, reading this…I'm sorry. I know. Pelt me with rocks, please. But I needed to write, and this is what came out. That's what happens when Twilight takes over your life.
Background: Takes place post-Breaking Dawn, but very AU. Bella has changed into a vampire, but Renesmee never happened, thus, Jacob's imprinting never happened, and let's just pretend that Edward has left his wife's side and isn't snooping in on Jacob's thoughts.
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He leans forward and catches her scent. Honeysuckle and blueberries, lilacs and nutmeg and some indefinable tinge that is almost like lilies and almost like soap. He wishes he didn't have his senses, so dense and powerful, for times like these when the only thing he can think of is how damn good she smells. He wishes his throat didn't go dry and his muscles slack. He wishes he was three times as smart, and ten times as powerful.
She leans away, almost unnoticeably (except to him, of course). His eyes shift downward, a faint blush playing across his darkened cheeks. He knows he can see it and he turns his head, hiding his desire in the strategically growing shadows that appear with the setting sun.
"I'm sorry," she says.
He nods, his head still turned, knowing she will catch the tightening of the veins on his neck, hoping unabashedly that this will make him seem realer, make her like him, make her love him, make her stay. Make her realize that he is not a child, and his heart is still beating, even though he might as well be dead.
"It's okay," he says quietly, finally turning to meet his dark eyes with hers. He is once again struck by the perpetual depth and warmth in that brown, the love in it, even as she rips his soul in two.
"It's my fault," she whispers, reaching her pale hand forward to slide it against his. Her cool touch sends hot pulses throughout his body, threading across his blood vessels, popping them one at time. A thousand scenarios play through his mind, all of them involving different words spilling from her lips ("It's not real"; "You're mine"; "I love you").
"I'm stupid and reckless, and I knew that this would hurt you."
He flinches at her words.
"I don't want an apology," he mumbles.
She leans forward, tightening her grip on his hand, upping the voltage of electric current shocking his insides. He circles her small palm with his, heating up her skin within seconds.
"What do you want, Jake?"
Saliva builds in his mouth, and he swallows, tasting blood. He realizes he's been biting his tongue hard enough to tear the soft muscle, but he ignores the sting and focuses on the deeply bronzed orbs he's staring into.
"I want you," he says softly, carefully ignoring the subtle tightening of her jaw. "You know that by now."
He watches her pained, caught expression, but also notices the gentle reaching of her grasp, and the desire that suddenly glimmers in her eyes. He leans forward very slowly, encouraging her pull, until the distance between them is enough that he can feel his heat radiating to her body, can see the shadows of her dark eyelashes, can taste her floral scent.
"Why are you here, Bella?" he asks calmly, her lips parting slightly as she tries to recall her own motives.
"This isn't right," she breathes. He can see her resolve fading, though, with every centimeter he moves forward. "You don't deserve this."
"If it isn't right, then why are you still here?" he asks smugly. He reaches his free hand to wipe away a stray hair from her perfect face, cradling her jaw in his large palm. She automatically leans into it, her eyes closing with the sensation. He lets his heat seep through her cold, hardened skin, and he imagines a red tint in her cheeks.
"Because I'm stupid," she murmurs, her lids still shut. "Because I'm a horrible person who hurts everyone around me."
"I'm tough," he nods. "I'll be okay."
He pulls her face closer, and she glides across the cushions beneath them, her sharp hips pressing into his abdomen. She groans, lightly.
"What about…?" she asks, her eyes finally turning upwards into his, remorse clearly seen behind the more powerful emotions.
He knows that this is a mistake. He realizes that his heart has been broken enough times already, that the millions of shards left over double the number of stars in the sky. But the stronger, masochistic side of him also knows that he will endure any amount of pain for a second of her attention. A fragment of her heart.
"Bella," he coos, moving impossibly closer, until he could fit a thread in the distance between their lips. "There's nothing left to lose."
With that, he closes the space left, and presses his mouth against hers, tasting her scent and her being, feeling the sharp slice of electricity tripling its strength inside of him. He knows that the world is all around him, but he can feel his universe shifting; fitting around the shape of her lips and the feel of her hand against his. He is her everything, and it will cost him his being.
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END