Summary: Bella wants to build a snowman, and Edward doesn't want to get out of bed. Just a bit of fluff, because who doesn't love a snow day?
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or the characters, I just borrow them.
Not Beta'd because Midnight Cougar has her hands full with Kidnapped for Christmas and Adopted Hearts... both stories will be updated and finished. All mistakes are my own.
My current priorities:
1. Kidnapped for Christmas (finished writing and with MC... will quickly post as soon as she is done editing.)
2. Adopted Hearts (about 5 chapters left to write, the rest is with MC)
3. Sweet Surrender (15 chapters written)
4. The Lookout (started, still mapping out how long or short this one will be)
Add me to your alerts if you are interested. I also plan to re-post some of the fics I have written and pulled so that I can keep them all in one place. Thanks for reading and please review...they are very much appreciated.
Bella loves the snow. She supposes it's the novelty of growing up in a state where a blizzard is nearly a myth, where freezing rain is almost commonplace. So, now when she rolls over at 4:45 in the morning to a phone call giving her a day off because of it, she loves it even more.
Seattle isn't a very snowy city by winter weather standards. It gets most of its winter precipitation in the form of rain. It's an almost constant drizzle during the wet season. There is snow, sure, but it's not the Tundra.
But, every now and again, Washington gets smacked by a winter front that blankets the city of Seattle with inches and inches of the white powder. Today is one of those days.
"The roads aren't clean, and they're predicting another ten inches or more before the end of the day. We don't want you getting stranded at the office. Take the day, but stay near your phone. We may need you tonight."
She hangs up on the assistant to the assistant of the Assistant Director with a grunt that she hopes she takes as an affirmative and flops face down on her mattress. She's breathing hot air into her pillow trying to ignore all possible stimuli and sleep in for once.
Except she can't go back to sleep, because her bladder is full, and the telephone woke the mutts up—now they're pawing across the room towards the door needing to be let out.
She rolls onto her back with a huff, "Some fucking day off."
When she pulls open her sliding glass door, the irritation at her lost sleep instantly fades. Her backyard is covered in inches of pristine, white snow and it's still falling. The sky seems lighter somehow, the black of the night looking more purple under the sparkling flakes.
She feels her face pulling into a smile while she sips her coffee, even though her bare toes are starting to freeze. The dogs are barking and running through it. Harley is making a futile effort to eat every flake that falls near his snout, while McKenna digs down to the grass as if to prove it's still there.
They come running inside, shaking the snow off their fur before heading straight for the food bowl. Bella's a good mom; they're on a routine. Wake up, pee, eat. They're just like her only they don't shower afterward.
But it's an odd morning. Mornings are when Bella spends her time working, not sleeping. Today of all days, a snow day is when she should be sleeping, not ignoring her morning shower in favor of destroying the kitchen looking for a waffle iron to make breakfast.
"Where's our waffle iron?" she calls out from her spot in the doorway of her roommate's bedroom. Only Edward's ear is visible. His pillow is covering part of his head; while his down comforter and navy sheets are pulled so high over his chin, they cover his mouth and nose. His muffled response doesn't help her at all.
"Why am I awake right now?" he grumbles.
Bella pads into the room and drops onto the edge of the bed, moving the pillow, she tugs at the comforter and asks again, "Where's our waffle iron?"
She's trailing her fingers over Edward's back, walking them up and down the curve of his spine, when he rolls to his side and glares at her through one bleary unfocused eye, "We have the day off, and the sun isn't even up. Get the fuck out of my room."
"Just tell me where the waffle iron is, and I'll leave you alone!" Bella takes to poking Edward in the side until he slaps her hand away.
"We don't have a waffle iron, you fucking fruit-loop," he snaps, rolling over and pulling the blanket back up to his ears, "Now leave me the fuck alone and let me sleep."
"We don't have one? We have to get one," she mutters, exiting the room, lightly shoving at McKenna's nose when she tries to push her back through Edward's door.
~o8O8o~
It's not even ten minutes later when Edward is stomping through the kitchen pouring coffee into a mug and throwing himself onto the couch shouting, "I hope you die in a fire!"
Bella rolls her eyes and flips the pancakes, "Did you want breakfast?"
"Of course I want breakfast, you jerk. You owe me!" Edward growls.
Bella's not much of a cook. She knows enough that she's lived alone and is still alive, but concerning food; eating is more her forte. After years of having hangovers, she's learned that she can make a mean breakfast. She's got scrambled eggs with cheese and ham, bacon, pancakes, and toast dumped on a plate in the same time it takes Edward to finish his first cup of coffee.
"Eat up. I wanna build a snowman," she announces with no shame, dropping a plate in front of Edward before thumping his shoulder.
Edward reaches up and covers her hand with his own until she moves away to sit down. "How old are you again? Six or twenty-six?"
"Six," Bella answers with a wide grin, dumping half the bottle of maple syrup onto her pancakes and bacon.
"Right. Of course. How did I miss the big oh-five last year," Edward smirks and stabs at his eggs.
"We're building a snowman," Bella says flatly, not to be deterred.
"Why am I being volunteered for this?"
"Oh shut up, jerk. You know you want to."
"Spending hours in the cold and wet sounds like fun to you? What is it you think I do at work all day? Now you want me to do it for free? Uh-uh. I'm eating, I'm going back to bed, and I fully plan on waking up at two. So you better not come in my room looking for…I don't know, a fucking juicer or something equally stupid and pointless."
The smile on Edward's face betrays his tone. He's shaking his head with a grin when he goes back to his breakfast. Bella is watching him cut his pancakes into precise bites and rolling her eyes at the dollop of syrup he puts on every piece. He is slightly OCD about his food, and she would be lying if she said she didn't find it adorable, in a completely dorky sort of way.
"Sure thing, grumpy," Bella forces a large bite of egg into her mouth before shoving half a piece of toast in with it. When she speaks again, she sprays crumbs all over the table, "I bet you fifty dollars, you dream of me naked."
Edward's only response is one, extremely eloquent middle finger.
~o8O8o~
Bella's in the process of rolling the head of her snowman when she gets an idea. She can see Edward's bedroom from the backyard; the closed blinds are practically an invitation. She leaves Harley and McKenna in the yard and grabs a large fistful of snow.
Edward's sprawled on top of his comforter, wearing nothing except black sweatpants, when Bella pushes open the door. For a minute, she thinks he's asleep until he sees his toes twitching against the bedspread and his fingers curling around his pillow. He's minutes away from slumber, but not close enough that she feels guilty for the snow she hurls in his direction.
He wakes up with a squeal when the snowball lands on his bare back. Bella's pretty sure she has heard more masculine sounds from teenage girls. She leans against the doorjamb laughing so hard she has tears in her eyes, wiping at her face with her right hand, keeping her left from view.
Edward looks murderous when he sits up to clear the snow off his bed, "Why are you even alive? Is this some curse by God? Did I do something back in another life and this is karma? Honestly. What did I do to the world to have you inflicted upon me?"
Bella whips her left hand from behind her back and smacks his bare chest with another snowball. Edward climbs out of bed menacingly, and in a split second, he's chasing her down the hallway yelling about her mom being the devil and how it's not a fair fight because his pants keep falling and he can't hit a girl.
He almost manages to tackle Bella in the living room but trips on his pant leg. She runs in a quick circle around him and smacks his ass before using her long legs to propel herself to the sliding glass doors. She lets out a squeak of surprise when Edward's hands slide around her waist, but she wiggles from the grasp and runs outside.
She's giggling and laughing when she steps into the backyard, "You have to come out here if you want revenge, dude!"
Edward grins wide. It's not a sweet smile. It's the smile of a man with an idea, a dangerous one. He slides the glass door shut and turns the lock with a loud click, "Have fun being locked out in the snow, Swan!"
~o8O8o~
For as smart as Edward thinks he is for locking the door, Bella is quicker. The front door unlocks easily with the hide-a-key. Bella was just about to let Edward sleep, but the little stunt with the lock changes her mind. Once again, she foils his plans at sleeping in by throwing open his bedroom door and letting Harley and McKenna use his mattress as a trampoline.
He doesn't even complain this time when he climbs out of bed. He shakes his head and heads for his bathroom. Bella grins when she hears the sound of the shower.
She's rifling through his drawers for a snowman wardrobe when he emerges from the bathroom. Edward stops short in the doorway, wiping moisture off his face with his palm, "I know you're a freak show, but if you smelled my underwear while I was brushing my teeth, I'm moving out."
"You flatter yourself. I only masturbate wearing them," Bella answers breezily, waving an arm while she pilfers through his pajama drawer. She pulls out an old, stretched out tank top and declares it perfect, "He's a buff snowman, Edward. We can't tarnish our reputations as hotties by having a fatty for a snowman."
"Did you use 'hotties' in a sentence? I don't know why we're friends," Edward sighs, knocking their hips together to move Bella out of the way while he digs for jeans.
"Because of my undeniable charm and dashing good looks. Plus, I cooked your ass breakfast. You love me."
"Whatever. Your pancakes sucked ass," Edward shot back with a grin.
"Blasphemy!" she gasps.
Edward drags a pair of boxers on under his towel before dropping it to the carpet. He's yanking on his jeans when he mutters, "There's a reason people pay me to hang out with you."
Bella waits until his head pops out of the collar of his hoodie before planting a smacking, wet kiss on his cheek, "You love me, fucker. Now hurry up!"
Edward blushes scarlet at the kiss and shakes his head, "You need to work on your people skills."
~o8O8o~
Edward doesn't need to tell Bella that he's having a good time. She knows him well enough to know that all of his griping and bitching about the cold, the snow, the wet, and the early hour are a big show. Once he gets outside and gets his glove-covered hands in the white stuff, he can't stop smiling and laughing.
She is willingly letting him pelt her with snowballs so that he will keep smiling like that because it's a beautiful sight to behold. Bella's covered in snow from the impromptu snowball war. It's sticking to her beanie, her jacket, and her wool gloves. She shakes off the cold and laughs with him.
Edward is one of those people who shows his emotion on his face. When he's happy, his face lights up so brightly that Bella can't help but smile back. He's still smiling like that now while he scoops up snow in his hand and packs it against the snowman. She likes him all the time, but when he's like this, she couldn't want him more if she tried.
"What are we naming this thing?" he asks while they carve out deep muscles with their hands.
"Bane."
"Like…from Batman? That's all you can come up with?"
"Fine, you think of something better," she grunts, stretching the thin fabric of Edward's' tank top over the vast, snowy midsection.
"I was thinking something like…Bella," he laughs, ducking under the immediate barrage of snowballs coming his way.
When Bella tires of throwing pieces of the snowman's arms at Edward, he picks up the snowman's head to set it in place, "Fine, but if we call it 'Bella' we have to make another one. It has to be bigger and uglier. We'll call it 'Edward.'"
"Well, at least the part bigger would be accurate," Edward grins wide, blowing a kiss at her, and laughing when she wipes a handful of snow down his face.
By the time Bella the Snowman is erected and dressed, Bella is starting to feel the cold. Her cheeks are red and numb, her lips are chapped, and she can barely tell if her toes are still attached through her boots. She's tugging her hat farther down over her ears marveling at Edward still digging through the snow to make snowman boots without a care for the temperature.
Edward's standing up, brushing snow off his jeans, "Scarf me."
She hands him a scarf from his collection. It's a hideous, striped number that he rarely wears. Edward is wrapping it around Bella the Snowman with a flourish, fluffing it up like a snowman needs to be fashionable.
Bella laughs patting Edward on the back, "You keep doing what you're doing, man. I'm going inside."
His eyes widen, and he grabs Bella's wrist, tugging her closer to him, "No! We gotta make snow angels!"
~o8O8o~
Bella doesn't know how Edward manages to rope her into falling onto her back in the snow. She thinks it has something to do with the innocent, earnest expression on his face, the one that says if she leaves him alone to play in the snow, she'll break his heart. She's freezing everywhere now, and all she wants is a warm shower and a cup of hot chocolate. But he insists, so she is slowly trying to crawl out of her angel without destroying it. She fails.
Edward's still happily swimming on his back, making his wings, when she pushes onto her knees in the middle of her 'masterpiece.' "Good job, dork. Now there are handprints in the knees. You suck at this, you know."
"We can't all be snow angel savants, Mr. Cullen."
Edward manages to jump to his feet in one fluid motion that leaves Bella reeling. Between the two of them, he is the more graceful. He's always moved quick, reacted even faster. There's an elegant power in Edward's body that she isn't sure he knows he possesses.
"Come on. I'll help you. We have to get one, giant-sized angel in this backyard that doesn't look like an overgrown first grader did it."
Edward's barking out instructions like making snow angels is a life or death situation when he finds an area he deems worthy. There's not much space left for two grown adults to spread out. The backyard is slowly filling up with snowmen, ruined snow angels, and piles of snow the dogs built trying to bury their toys.
Edward carefully sits in the snow, motioning for Bella to follow. He crosses his arms over his chest and lays back into the powder. With a flourish, he spreads his arms over his head and drops them.
Bella is still sitting up, watching Edward's arms flutter back and forth gently moving the snow in their wake. The beginnings of a perfect angel are forming from his fingertips and toes. His eyes are closed, and he's smiling so softly it looks like a secret. He almost looks angelic himself spread out against the stark white of the snow.
Bella can't stop herself; she can't control her impulses. Before her brain can tell her to slow down, she's leaning down and kissing Edward.
For one millisecond, it's perfect.
Then, Edward's eyes shoot open, and he's gasping, shocked, against her mouth. He's out from under her in a flash, that strange, feline grace sending him to his feet and into the house before she can protest.
When she slowly stands, depressed and sad, her personal feelings immediately turn to guilt when she notices that smack dab in the middle—marring Edward's perfect angel—are his boot prints.
~o8O8o~
She finds Edward sprawled out on his bed, boots kicked onto the floor with his gloves and winter coat, but everything else still in place. He's lying on his back staring at the ceiling with his hands resting gently on his stomach. He doesn't say a word when she sits down next to him.
"Edward, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," she says sadly.
"It's okay," he murmurs as he rolls to his side, putting his back to her. He couldn't sound more insincere.
"No, I mean. I really shouldn't have kissed you. I know it's going to make things weird between us now, but don't worry. I won't do it again. We can forget all about it. I promise it will never happen again."
Bella lies down next to Edward on the empty side of the bed, resting her head on stray pillows while she toes off her boots and tugs off her gloves.
The room is silent, almost oppressively so, until Edward rolls onto his back. He turns just enough that Bella can see his face, "It is going to make things weird. You know that. I wish you would have thought about that before you did it. You can't just go around kissing people, Bella! What if they don't want to be kissed? Or if…"
Bella waits for Edward to finish his thought, but he never does. She has to hear the end of the sentence. She has to know if the hope turning her belly into knots is futile. "'Or if' what?"
"Or if you're not serious about it. You can't just kiss people if you're not serious about it. It's…it confuses things…confuses people."
Bella takes a deep breath and turns to her side, then pushes all her weight onto her elbow so that she can look into his eyes, "I'm serious about it. Deadly serious. I've been serious about it for…for longer than I care to admit."
They're at an impasse, staring at one another. Bella feels like they're having a conversation without saying any words as Edward scrutinizes her face. Finally, after a long moment, he touches his palm to her cheek with a tiny smile. It's the same smile he was wearing in the snow, and her heart seizes in her chest.
This time, when she leans down, he leans up to meet her. It's everything the kiss in the snow wasn't. There's a whole current of warmth running from his mouth into hers heating her all the way down to her toes. Edward's still-icy fingers drag across her cheek to curl in the hair by her ears, and she smiles.
When Edward pulls away with a sigh, Bella flops back onto the bed.
He pokes her in the side, "Wanna make sheet angels?"
"What?"
"Look," he says softly, fanning his arms and legs in his warm, flannel sheets. The wrinkles are an elegant angel, just like Edward made in the snow.
Bella follows his lead and starts making snow angels in his dark sheets. She's sure the ability to make a perfectly formed angel on any surface is nowhere in her genetic makeup, but she doesn't care. She's more concerned with the feel of Edward's fingertips touching hers as they fan and wave their arms. When their fingers brush together again, she curls hers into his until they twist and knot together.
With their fingers threaded, he smiles, "Well, you suck at sheet angels, too. You're hopeless."
"Well, I'd rather be good at things I care about. I'd rather be good at things I'm serious about," she trails off blushing through the words, hoping he catches the meaning.
Edward's smile widens, and he rolls over, messing up his perfectly formed angel in blue, "Good to know."
Bella rolls back towards him, ruining her angel to seal their lips together again. When she pulls away, she rests her forehead against Edward's and breathes, "I love the snow."
"Stay with me," Edward says, softly enough that if he hadn't lifted his head, Bella knows she wouldn't have heard a thing. She's not entirely sure she understands things right even with him looking at her, his eyes dark and serious. She can't look away, almost can't breathe.
"Edward," she starts, but he interrupts her.
"I know," he says, still quiet enough that Bella almost leans forward to hear him. "It's a bad idea. We work together and our families are so close and everything."
They've been living in each other's back pockets for almost five years. Bella's only seen this look in Edward's eyes once before, the night he had been sitting on the floor outside her front door, a fifth of tequila already half-gone when she had found him. The night Edward hadn't said anything but, "I can't be what she wants, and it's fucking killing me, Bella," and the two of them had finished the bottle.
"And, even though I know all that, I want it anyway," Edward says now.
There are a million things Bella could say, that she should say, that she fully intends on speaking, but what comes out when she opens her mouth is, "Me, too."
"But?" The tension's coming off Edward in waves, but his voice is calm and controlled. "You want it, too...but?"
Bella figures that later, maybe next week or next month, whenever her brain starts working again, she's going to be stunned by how she doesn't even think about taking the out he's offering her. Right now, she only says, "No buts," and reaches across to run her thumb over the inside of his wrist. Her heart is pounding as fast as Edward's pulse, but she's doesn't have to think hard to realize how fucking happy she is that the words are out there.
"Okay," Edward says, taking a deep breath. "I—you. Okay." He keeps looking down at where Bella's still stroking his wrist and then back up at her face, like one or the other of them is going to disappear. "Stop, you have to stop now," he says, but if he thinks she has any control over her hands, he's out of his fucking mind.
"Bella," he pleads, covering her hand with his own and not noticing that she still isn't stopping. "You—if you don't stop touching me…"
"What, Edward?" Bella is curious, with the small part of her brain that hasn't been taken over with the feel of Edward's skin under her own. "If I don't stop touching you, then what?"
"This," Edward gasps, rolling over and pinning her to the mattress, strength, and power and need. Bella's never really thought about kissing Edward, not in any detail beyond, yeah, that would be hot, but probably never going there. Now that they're doing it, she's not sure she's ever going to stop, stop doing it, stop thinking about it, stop planning ways to get to do it more.
"God, B," Edward pants against her mouth. "Wanted this for so long, wanted you." She doesn't bother with talking, biting her way along the line under his jaw, She doubles back to the spots that make him all but vibrate under her, working them again and again, until he twists around and catches her mouth in a hard kiss.
It's Bella who stops this time, cupping the back of his head to keep him close. "We doin' this here, Edward?" she whispers, lust heavy in her voice like it hasn't been in a long, long time. "Right here, right now, on your bed? You want it here, baby?" She leans back a little, enough that she can catch his eye. "You want me to suck you off right here in your bed?"
"Fuck yes, Bella," Edward groans and she explodes into action again. "Right here, right now, just like that."
"Right here," she pants, as he rolls over to his back. He moans low in his throat when she goes to her knees, and she starts working the button on his jeans open peeking up at him through her lashes. "Like's got nothing on what I want to do to you."
She gets Edward's jeans open and down past his hips, far enough that she can work, but still high enough that he can't move much.
"I want to make you scream, Edward," Bella whispers, mouthing the hard line of his cock through the thin cotton knit, sucking lightly at the damp spot. "Want you to come so hard you won't be able to see."
She fucking loves the way his hips arch up while she's talking like he can't help himself, enough that when he shoves at his boxers, Bella doesn't smack his hand away and make him wait. When he wraps one large hand around his dick, though, that's a little much.
"Edward," Bella warns, digging her fingers into the strong muscles high on his thigh. "If I wanted you to put on a show for me—and I do, baby, I do, want to see how you do yourself, what you look like when you cum on your hand—if I wanted that now, I would have said it."
Edward whines but lets his hand drop down on the bed, and Bella kitten-licks across the head of his dick in reward. "Good boy," she murmurs, glancing up. He is flushed and panting, mouth red and swollen from kissing, and for a split-second, she wants to pinch herself to make sure she's not hallucinating.
"God, do it, Bella, quit fucking around," Edward growls. There's a desperate edge to his voice that goes straight to her aching center, but when he drops his head back and whispers, "Please." She can't remember a time when she's wanted to make it good for whoever she was with more than she does now.
Fast and hot is never a bad thing, Bella thinks, but there's dizzying freedom in not needing to rush. Nobody's waiting on them or needs them or expects them to be anywhere. It's her and Edward and all the time they want to take with each other. She leans in and relaxes her throat and accepts him as deep, slow and smooth as she can.
"So good, baby, god, so good." Edward's voice is hoarse, and the muscles next to Bella are tense and hard, but then his hands slide over her hair, stroking with a gentle touch. She keeps her rhythm steady, smooth, winding him up until his words stutter out to nothing more than 'Fuck,' 'baby,' and 'please' and then dropping back to start all over again.
Edward lets her do that twice, but the third time she starts easing off, he growls. His nails dig firm into her scalp, holding her in place while his hips push up. She's been waiting for that, but it's still like raw electricity dancing across her nerves, and she doesn't bother trying to hold back the greedy, encouraging noises she's making every time he fucks into her mouth.
Edward shifts and moves under her, the two of them working the angles until it's perfect. His cock is hitting the back of her throat with every thrust, his hands steadying her head and his voice layered over everything, no words, nothing but want and need until he comes. The taste is sharp and hot and bitter salt on her tongue. She drinks him down, every last drop, savoring him and all she's wanted from him for so long.
Bella eases back to sit on her heels and tries to remember how to breathe. And yeah, she might be a tiny bit smug, but who wouldn't be. Edward's flat on his back on the bed, one arm thrown across his face and not doing too well with the breathing himself.
As soon as she moves though, he rallies, leaning up on one elbow and tugging at her with the other hand, until she's sprawled half across him on the bed.
"My turn," he grins, working her jeans open, and it's everything she loves about him, direct and clear and just as happy giving as he is receiving. She doesn't know how many women he's been with—for all his aw-shucks-good-old-boy attitude, he does know how to keep secrets when it suits him—but nothing is fumbling or awkward about how he's stroking his fingers through her pussy. Long fingers moving lightly over every inch; quick, light brushes over her clit that leave her panting for more.
"It'd serve you right if I kept doing you like this," he murmurs against her throat.
"Yeah," she gasps. "It would, but you fucking suck at delayed gratification. You want to see me lose it more than you want payback." He laughs, catching her mouth in a sloppy, messy kiss, slowly pushing his fingers inside and god, she is going to lose it, fly apart here any second.
"Would you beg, baby?" he whispers, and she's whining—fucking whining—and she can't even be bothered to care about it. "I could learn to hold off a long time for that."
He presses his thumb firmly to her clit, and she shudders at the sudden edge in his voice, but then his fingers start moving in quick rough strokes that have Bella clawing at the sheets.
He hesitates once, an endless second where she thinks he might go through with the threat. Edward catches her eye, grinning and murmuring, "Later," and his hand is moving again, not stopping even as she's coming, hard and furious, drawing it out and out and out, until she's the one who can't see, or think, or breathe.
The bed's almost too small for the two of them, but moving is so far down on her list of acceptable options that she doesn't care that she's got no place to lay but the tiny bit of space where Edward isn't.
"You were right," he mumbles, his breath warm against her ear. "I do suck at delayed gratification."
"Next time," she answers into the solid curve of his shoulder, and he hums in agreement.
"I love snow days."