A/N: This was like, the second story I posted on FFn. It was taken down at one point due to the themes. I found it while editing the next chapter of Landslide, and decided to put it up for y'all. I'm not even sure if Val was my better when I wrote this, so I can't speak t to the errors. I'm sure there are some, apologies in advance.
Also, because people have asked: Yes, I plan on finishing The Longest Year, as well. That one is much easier than Landslide, as it's not plot heavy, and relatively drabble-y. You know, what Landslide was supposed to be before Fucksper decided he had this super in-depth plot to tell.
Anyway, on with the fic.
"Wait," he panted. "Stop, we can't do this." His naked body felt so perfect lying on top of mine, his strong hands in my hair, his full, pouty lips parted with heavy breaths escaping them, washing over my face as he looked down at me, his blue eyes blazing with an intensity that made shivers course through my body. I could see the storm raging in them, the battle he was fighting inside to make himself believe that this wasn't what he wanted.
But his bare, hard cock pressing against my own was enough to prove how much he wanted it.
How much he wanted me.
"Please, don't…don't stop. It feels so right. It always feels so right," I begged shamelessly, one hand constantly running up and down his back. I had waited too long to have him like this again. To have him alone, and baring his body, and his soul as well, to me. While to the outside world he was your average boy next door, with me, to me, he was so much more. I was privileged to be able to see him like this, this secret side that he kept hidden from everyone else. As much as I knew being with me like this caused him the same amount of emotional turmoil as physical pleasure, I knew the pleasure…and possibly the love, would always win out, but not without a price.
"But it isn't right," he murmured brokenly after burying his face into my neck, his moist breath washing over the tender skin there. With his entire weight settling comfortably on top of me, I wrapped my arms around him, stroking his honey colored hair, knowing that eventually it would calm him, help soothe away some of his demons, even if only temporarily.
That was what we did.
He'd fight it, hold off as long as possible, and I'd beg, plead with him to understand that what we felt for each other was not wrong.
It was not immoral.
It was not a sin.
It was love.
Sometimes, he would take me roughly out of sheer anger of his 'failure', as he called it. 'Failed' at fighting off his urges and living a normal, straight life. I didn't mind the roughness, though; I knew he wasn't trying to hurt me. Besides, if that was the only way I could have him, I would gladly take it.
But I could tell that this time would not be rough. This time, he just needed me.
"I love you," I whispered into his hair.
I felt him release a staggering breath against my neck before he pushed himself up on his palms, hovering above me for a moment before rising to his knees and resting his ass on his heels. His still-hard cock bobbed with his movements, making my mouth water. Raking his hands over his face harshly, I heard him groan, that tell-tale groan that told me he was giving in to me…to us.
Overwhelmed with relief and happiness, I quickly sat up and grabbed the lube and a condom from my bedside table, my hands literally shaking with anticipation. Knowing he wouldn't be able to do it himself, I quickly lay down and prepared my body for him, coating my fingers with lube and stretching myself, moaning softly at the sensation.
Of course, he didn't watch me, but I knew he wouldn't. He just sat in the same position, his eyes screwed shut and his hands balled into tight fists resting on his thighs.
After I was ready, I resumed my position in front of him and ripped the condom package open with my teeth. Sliding it onto his cock and drizzling lube over him, I heard his barely audible whimper as I stroked him, spreading the lube all over his shaft.
That whimper made my cock twitch.
Turning around, I placed my hands over his on his thighs, feeling the head of his cock start to push through my tight ring of muscles, a low whine escaping me at the pleasurable burn. Oh so slowly, I continued to push down until finally I felt his body flush with mine; his chest to my back, my forearms resting on top of his as I gripped his fists while his lips lightly caressed the skin at the base of my neck.
We were finally joined, finally connected again, and I could have almost burst into tears at the intensity of it.
I stayed still for a bit, just feeling his cock deep within me, reacquainting myself with the delicious fullness that his body provided mine. Panting heavily against my shoulder, he finally moved his hands, unclenching his fists and wrapping his arms around me, one hand splayed widely across one of my pecs while the other moved across my stomach to rest on my hip.
He was with me now, no longer just going along, but actually with me…in body at least. His mind was still occupied with his torment.
I would take it away for him, even if only for a few glorious minutes.
I rocked my hips slightly.
"Oh God, Edward…." He groaned in my ear.
Moving one hand from his thigh, I brought it up to weave through his hair and turning my head to look at him, I whispered, "I know, love. Just feel me."
Continuing with slow, subtle movements of my hips, his arms tightened around me, securing me to him as he placed open mouth kisses to my shoulder.
"Feels so good," he moaned.
"So good," I echoed. "So right."
Eventually, he started meeting my thrusts, pushing his hips up to meet mine a little harder each time, the muscles in his thighs tightening with every movement.
It wasn't rushed.
It wasn't frenzied.
It was just fucking perfect.
Our sweat-slicked bodies moved together in a beautiful rhythm as we loved each other. Lips were met, breaths were shared, hearts were joined. It was everything I had waited for during the time that he had stayed away, and I felt my soul reconnecting with his every time he whispered those three cherished words in my ear.
"I love you."
His hands moved to my upper thighs, gripping tightly and spreading my legs wide before moving one hand to my cock, stroking slowly. He could touch me now, really touch me, now that he had accepted, at least temporarily, our love making. Those were the moments I cherished the most, waited for, those moments when he could let himself go and just be with me.
Only me.
His other hand moved to caress my inner thigh, a spot he knew drove me crazy all too quickly.
"I'm so sorry, baby…I can't last," he whispered in a strained voice, stroking me harder and faster, his fingers rubbing the head of my cock to spread the leaking fluid down my length. "Yeah…Oh, yeah…."
His thrusts became quicker, harder as he fucked me with abandon, his teeth raking across the skin of my neck. It felt so good that I felt my orgasm approaching rapidly, a burning in my body that started in my lower abdomen and spread downward.
"God, please…." he whimpered as he moved even faster, but he wasn't talking to me this time.
"I love you, Jazz." The words burst from me as I pushed back, grinding my ass onto him, my cock erupting and shooting cum in long spurts across my bedspread. Every muscle in my body clenched and my eyes clamped shut as I came hard, my orgasm exploding throughout my body.
"Oh, God…Oh, please…forgive me," he cried, placing his forehead on my shoulder as he stilled, and I felt his cock swell inside me as he came. Grunting through his orgasm, I felt the first few of his tears hit the bare skin on my upper back. As his body slumped against mine, the tears fell more freely and he was whispering so lowly that I couldn't make it out, but I didn't need to hear his words to know what he was saying.
He was repenting.
Jasper had been raised in a very religious home, his father was a preacher and his mother was the perfect church-going Baptist. They had sent him to religious schools his entire life, and he had been in church every Wednesday and Sunday where he had been taught to believe the word of God. He had been told that being gay was wrong.
It was a sin.
It went against every single thing he believed in.
Jasper never wanted to be gay. He wanted to graduate college, meet a nice girl, marry, have three kids and a house with a white picket fence, while he preached the word of God in his father's church.
That was what he wanted…until he met me.
The first time I had seen him, I knew that was it for me, as corny as it fucking sounds, I knew I was his. Sitting on a bench right outside the lecture hall my next class was in, he had a Bible in his hand and black, square-framed reading glasses on. The sun's rays played in his golden hair and when he looked up at me, it was with the bluest eyes I had ever seen.
He was fucking beautiful. And not just his appearance, there was something about him, not visible or tangible, but something I could sense in the air around him. Even his small movements, like licking his finger before turning the pages of the Bible, or flicking his head to get his hair out of his eyes, were like a magnet for me, drawing me toward him.
Even if I had wanted to resist the pull, I could not have.
Just needing to talk to him, I quickly asked if he minded sharing the bench with me while I waited for the lecture to start. The smile he gave me, wide and dimpled, nearly made my heart stop. He had told me that he was also waiting for the lecture, which led to our favorite classes, which led to what our majors were…
We ended up missing our lecture that day.
We were inseparable after that. Even once he realized that I was not as devoted to religion as him, he remained by my side. We spent every waking moment together, which was both hell and heaven wrapped up in one for me. I wanted him so bad I could taste it, but he had never mentioned being into guys. Actually, he never mentioned being into anyone.
And then, one night in my apartment, he kissed me…and it was so wonderful I felt like I couldn't breathe. His soft lips pressed against my own, tentatively at first, then with a little more force when he realized that I wanted it. Hands in each others hair, tongues swirling, heart beats accelerating higher and higher, it was better than all of my fantasies combined.
Until he bolted out of my front door and I didn't see him for three days.
That's when the routine started.
He would come back, progress a little further, berate himself about it for a few days, and then start all over again.
And I stuck with him because he held my heart. I was nothing without him.
Pulling me from my thoughts, I felt his hands grip my hips to gently lift me off him before he got off the bed to lock himself in the bathroom, not wanting me to see him praying, kneeling on the cold floor with his face in his hands, his cock still dripping from his orgasm as he begged for forgiveness. Knowing he would be in there for at least fifteen minutes, I took that time, like I always did, to clean myself up and change my bedspread, knowing he would come straight to the bed when he was ready to the leave the makeshift sanctuary of my bathroom.
Clothed in pajama bottoms and in the bed waiting for him when the door opened, I noticed the light in his eyes was gone, but I knew it was only temporary, that his beautiful glint would return in a few hours. Laying down on the bed, he never met my eyes, just curled himself into my side and cried. With his face buried in my neck, I could feel his hot tears rolling down my skin as he shook and clutched at my sides, soft sobs escaping him every so often. I cradled him in my arms, holding as tight as I could.
He cried for his failure.
He cried for his sin.
He cried for his love for me.
The good Christian battling with the homosexual that both resided within him.
I stroked his hair and wiped his tears, knowing it was easier on him when I didn't speak. This was the most difficult part of our situation, not being able to help him through his struggles, having to listen to his pleas of forgiveness and know that I could do nothing for him. As long as I didn't speak, if I just provided him with the comfort of my arms, he could stay locked away in his mind, fighting with his personal demons until he reached a breaking point, a point where he felt God could forgive him for his sins. Eventually, he had cried himself out, and I heard him snoring softly, his beautiful face streaked with tears and his eyes red and puffy.
And I just held him through the rest of the night, like I always did, even though I knew that the when he woke up, he would leave without saying a word.
He seemed to be staying away longer and longer each time.
Repenting for longer amounts of time.
But that was okay, because I would wait for him, no matter how long he needed me to.
Because I loved him.
My beautiful sinner.