Authors Note: Author Stephenie Meyer inexplicably abandoned the delicious characters she owns to their imaginary fates after just four books; thank goodness FF has nimbly stepped in to fill that void. Please think of this story as my slashy valentine for the many wondrous authors who've salved our loss with unique, vivid works that spiral out from the Twi-verse in glorious swaths of creativity, love, and sex.
Do you like boy-on-boy love? If not, or if you are too young to understand the term slash, leave now and find some BellaxEdward fiction better suited to your tastes. Please—don't make me ask you twice. Go, now.
Note: This is not a light-hearted look at an emotional subject. There will be angst combined with as much humor as possible. I always feel cheated if I don't get an HEA. I expect this to be a dark exploration of two imperfect individuals who have all the pieces, but haven't worked-out how they fit together. This is not a hanky-alert (I don't really like tears, myself.) I am using this fic to hone what I understand about this world. It's a subject dear to me and fingers crossed I can handle it with both the sensitivity and the heat it deserves. The CA ruling on gay marriage was also an impetus to writing.
I'm going forward with my plan to include both the present day and the beginning of their relationship in each chapter. In truth, I could probably offer the 'inception' sections as outtakes or a separate story, but it's a device I like at present. If it seems too cumbersome, I'll pull it out and plop in outtake chapters.
Staying? You have been warned: slash ahead.
Boyfriend Swapping—Couples Style
Chapter One. The Set-up: Holding On by Letting Go
Jasper was bored. I knew it. I felt it. The waves of boredom just poured off of him.
My leonine, amazing boyfriend of three years was tired of me. (I nearly wept at the thought.) Or if not exactly me, he was tired of the sameness of it all. To be accurate, the het monogamy of just us naked in our bed every night. Or so I suspected.
It was like I could read his mind. All I needed was a turban, an 800 number, and a stage name. I cringed, but being known as Mistress Edward, resident psychic would be no less than a fitting punishment for neglecting Jasper's unexpressed needs for more variety.
Sighing, I resolutely began the self-appointed task of skimming the LA Weekly Online Personals. I was looking for random sexcapade-type ideas to enliven our lives, to bring fresh blood to our less-than-exotic pairings. Would I entertain the idea of introducing a third to our cozy twosome? I clicked on "men seeking men."
Fuck. Maybe. The first posting popped up.
OOOOOOO
Thurs 8/5 (Ventura)
Lik my hole, now….33
ME: Right to the point; who cared that he was minus a consonant? But too old for us twenty-somethings. Even if I was 30.
OOOOOOO
I surreptitiously adjusted my noticeably hardening dick, but not because of Mister 'Lik my hole.' My boyfriend, in his baby-blue tee with I Spray for Surf emblazoned across his smooth, muscled chest in flowing purple script, had shifted unconsciously beneath my piercing gaze. Said gaze which was once again riveted on his mouthwatering crotch. Was my tongue lolling? Did he notice?
The clearly visible object of my affection was encased in creamy pale yellow thin cotton slacks, simply begging for my attention with his legs splayed, one orange flip-flop clad foot slung over the back of the couch. But Jasper was completely oblivious to my need, happily skimming the latest issue of Out magazine, our patron saint Kylie gracing this month's cover. I'd given him a three year subscription for his birthday last year.
It was the gays' version of a cross between Martha Stewart Living and People.
We read it for the uplifting articles on gay culture. Uh-huh.
I smiled at the memory of Jasper's excited, grateful response to my gift. Good times.
Silently thanking 'Out' for distracting my usually attentive partner, I refocused. My poor Jasper, trapped in our dreadfully suffocating two bedroom apartment in West Hollywood with Dr. Large-but-Boring, my laptop opened in ungainly display on this crisp Sunday morning. Why weren't we fucking? Oh yeah, I'd begged off this morning, eager to get to my computer. I was such a fuck-wad. Uh, Fuck-ward? Whatever.
I continued scrolling through the Personals, dissatisfaction my unwelcome, but close companion at the paltry selection of ads boasting more than 'eat my cock,' 'suck my dick,' or 'come on my face.' Were we gays so uniformly predictable?
Whoa! This one instantly completely pissed me off.
OOOOOOO
Wed 8/4 (Laguna Beach)
Marry your gay lover for free at Coco de Spa, sex optional
ME: WTF! Didn't they realize how insulting the pretence was to those of us wanting to… Oh yeah, Prop 8 had made that scenario possible again in the Golden State.
OOOOOOO
I'd momentarily forgotten about the historic ruling, busy as I'd been all week at work. Of course, both Jasper and I had attended the raucous rally celebrating Judge Walker's opinion in Santa Monica the night the announcement was made. Yawn. The celebrities in attendance had been the biggest draw. The reading of the actual 136 (or was it 300?) pages of his decision was a typical display of judicial self-indulgence. As a physician, most days I truly hated lawyers. Especially trial lawyers.
I huffed in exas-speration: legalized gay marriage. It would be a pyrrhic victory for some of us: what was the value of the vaunted civil right if Jasper was thinking of leaving me? At least he still pretended in bed, for my sake. Although he was a damn convincing actor; I had to give him that.
OOOOOOO
Tues 8/3 (Torrance)
Jock in jock strap, on my knees, ready to suck…discreet for Bi/Married men…18
ME: Hmmm. No way. What if 'jock in jock strap' stole my Jasper? (loud groan)
OOOOOOO
"Love buns, what are you doing?" Jasper's lightly-accented Texas tones broke into my clandestine research. My eyes guiltily popped up to his expressive face to find him staring fixedly at me, curiosity causing that slight upturn in the corner of his mouth I loved.
Oh, shit.
"Checking for Whole Food coupons," I lied smoothly. He knew I was OCD about such things.
"Sure," he drawled. " Hey. Are we going to the beach later?" It was our usual late afternoon Sunday activity when Venice Beach wasn't an unfavorable fifty degrees, cloudy, and damp on a summer's day. Conditions that had been far too common this month.
Nodding in agreement, I offered, "Want to stop for barbeque at Roosterfish after? And what are you wearing to the beach?" I quickly envisioned my Jasper, generous package tightly encased in the white Jay swim shorts with the red drawstring he'd purchased at a shop on Robertson Boulevard. Jasper seemed to sense my preferences and usually indulged me.
"We shouldn't eat BBQ," was his automatic, and irritating response. "I was thinking about those new white trunks you like."
"How you can call yourself a Texan and not eat BBQ," I snickered. "Besides, I like BBQ."
He chuckled, the sweet sound momentarily scrambling my thoughts.
Thoughts that quickly re-assembled themselves, with 'ass' being the operative word. Fuck, yeah. Pristine white trunks. They would emphasize his well-toned torso and tanned, long, lean quads and hamstrings. And only I could cup his ass-cheeks and mold my fingers into his private curves anytime I wanted. Hawt.
Jasper's slim, but jaw-dropping physique was courtesy of both his career choice and his frequent workouts at Equal-knocks gym, his membership yet another self-serving gift from me. I reflexively ran my tongue over my teeth as I imagined biting the cloth off of him, chewing the red drawstring into small pieces as the saliva pooled in my mouth, and he whimpered softly from beneath me.
Crisis averted, Jasper hastily returned to his reading, a smile flitting over his lushly decadent lips. Lips that spread so beautifully wide, creating such deliciously strong friction against my leaking, feverish cock...
I halted mid-thought, and cautious now of distracting him again, I watched him in silence for a few minutes. Assured once again of a brief reprieve from his scrutiny, I slowly resumed my covert searching.
OOOOOOO
Mon 8/2 (Manhattan Beach)
Who likes being nude? And doing new things outside the bedroom? Call me ….20
ME: Jasper and I would like to try. But after viewing your attached photo? No thanks, twink.
OOOOOOO
A recently-minted Physiatrist affiliated with Santa Monica UCLA Med Center, I'd met Jasper when he'd consulted with me, complaining of a recurring ache in his gluteal cleft. His arrival and wait in the reception area had the normally immune Practice's nurses quietly buzzing. Tanya gave me a dark grin before ushering me into the examination room where my new patient awaited, pacing anxiously. My eyes widened as we shook hands, but that was the only visible reaction I permitted myself.
Unfortunately, my resolve was no match for the stunning and uninhibited man about to become my first real boyfriend in 27 years. Although I hadn't even dared to dream about a future with him when I asked him in a pleasant tone to make himself comfortable.
After we were both seated, I mentally reviewed the usual catalog of questions. I decided to go with the basic recitation of my "where does it hurt" routine I'd memorized as a first year resident.
"So, Mr. Whitlock, how old are you?"
"24. Didn't you read my patient information?" Younger than me. Snottier, too.
"Right. Eh, and how long has the pain been bothering you?"
"It's an ache, not a shooting pain. It might be the result of a minor injury I suffered during my last competition."
"At least it wasn't caused by over-enthusiastic screwing," I'd replied, but only to myself. Aloud, I asked, "You teach martial arts to youngsters? Was the competition related to your workplace environment, then? "
A physical being, I guessed my new patient was having trouble remaining static in the armchair across from me. He appeared to be twitching; I immediately averted my too-avid eyes.
"Yes." It was more in the form of a grunt than an actual word, but I let it pass. I was having my own problems. I'd just felt a large dollop of sweat that had gathered between my shoulder blades choose that moment to calf, the resulting drip slipping slowly down my spine. Shaken by the undeniable evidence of nerves, I hurried on with my survey.
"Umm, so does the…uh, gluteal ache prevent you from engaging in your usual daily activities?"
"If it didn't, why would I be here?" Jasper might have scowled at me; my vision was possibly a little blurred. Was the office air conditioning system malfunctioning? I briefly wrestled with and dismissed the idea of standing to check the room's thermostat.
Instead, my eyes roamed over the patient for evidence of moisture pooling about his person. Nothing. Nada. Zip. I passed a hand over my eyes before continuing.
"Mr. Whitlock, does my examining room seem a little too warm? Let me call a nurse…."
"It's fine; let's proceed."
"So, what specific activities trigger the ache?" He looked at me in disbelief, his mouth forming a flattened 'O' shape.
I hurried on through my list of questions. "And how would you describe the pain? On a scale of one–to-ten, is it a ten, or a five?" I was fishing, and I knew it.
Mr. Whitlock simply stared. I knew what was coming wouldn't be good. Still, I waited.
"Is ten a good number, or a bad one?" He finally scoffed. "And, if I say 'five', does that mean I can't be treated? What's the difference between a three, say, and a four?"
And then, what I'd always feared finally happened. I lost control of the consultation and my patient.
Growling in frustration at my lockstep, unimaginative medical queries, Jasper had unexpectedly stood up from the chair, effectively establishing dominance with his actions. Spinning around, he quickly unzipped and shrugged off his jeans, me helpless to stop him. I'd been too mesmerized to react, my professional demeanor completely blown by the royal, superior display of sculpted ass now bared to my covetous eyes in the otherwise lifeless examination room.
And no tan lines, anywhere. 'Flawless,' my cock screamed at me. Luckily my cock wasn't able to broadcast his inappropriate thoughts.
I'd sucked in a shallow breath at the first accurate observation I'd made since meeting the patient, licked my lips, and silently begged him to face me.
Or maybe not as silently as I'd assumed. He'd immediately straightened from the partial crouch he'd been in while showing me exactly 'where it hurt.' Speechless now, I watched him turn back to face me, his hand covering his junk, eyebrow quirked. I'd barely been able to remain seated, and in a choked voice advised him to cover himself.
Likely my eyes had crossed in wanton abandon at the sight of him; I was really too bedazzled to care. Somehow I fumblingly cut our appointment short, and slowly regaining my senses, firmly referred him to a colleague at another Practice.
He'd studied me for many long seconds before clasping my outstretched hand in his free one in farewell, and thanking me for the referral.
Embarrassed, I quickly let go of him, only to have Jasper drop both previously engaged hands to his sides. In slow motion, he stooped to casually tuck in, adjust, and zip up what was a decidedly non-flaccid member. And then he was gone, the ghost of his smirk firmly implanted in my mind's eye.
I sat dazed in my office for the next half-hour, professing to need some time to complete overdue insurance paperwork. I only eventually relaxed sufficiently to resume seeing my appointments by convincing myself I'd never have to see him again.
It was over.
Instead, Jasper called me the following week to give me an update on his visit with the definitely straight Dr. Volturi. And, after running out of conversation, I was shocked to hear myself suggest we meet for coffee at Café on Fourth. Five hectic weeks later, dramatically declaring he loved me more than life itself, he'd moved in. I was ecstatic. I finally had a boyfriend.
And now, after three nearly perfect years together, I was sure he was thinking of leaving me.
OOOOOOO
Sun 8/1 (North Hollywood)
Big Dick Uncut Bottom 9 Inches Wanted (No Cut Cocks!) (No 6 or 7 inch Cocks for Me! No Thx)….27
ME: Christ, was the asshole laughing all the time he wrote the Ad? I was anxious just reading his requirements: who could be expected to perform in a high-pressure environment like that?
OOOOOOO
I exited LA WEEKLY's site before I was forced to spend the day in bed, Jasper's mouth repeatedly engulfing my cock in mute reassurance. Or possibly the next decade in therapy, painfully exploring the sexual inadequacies commonly associated with being the unlucky possessor of a thick, eight-inch dick that stood straight out from my body when aroused. Nine inches? Indeed.
I got a grip, literally, and checking first that my boyfriend was still occupied with his reading matter, I slowed my pounding heart, chilling enough to allow my imagination to flower. I needed a truly miraculous idea if I was going to resuscitate Jasper's flagging libido.
On a whim, I entered 'Gay Couples personals' in the search bar. Google brought up 356,000 results in less than a quarter of a second.
Clearly, it hadn't been an original idea.
The first site looked promising. At MeetGayCouples, the page was papered with images of loving men in personal photos. Each clasping couple's headshot was framed against backdrops ranging from tropical beaches, to overly-elaborate restaurant interiors, to oddly barren rooms or dangerous work settings—for the Bears, I guessed.
Humming, I eagerly scanned the selection of photos on the 'teaser' page, looking for like-minded candidates in their twenties. I'd sign up later for the site; no need to waste monies I could be putting towards paying down my education loans if this one proved to be a bust.
Although the web page was overrun with travel ads for gay friendly destinations, clicking on the photo of an attractive, younger pair labeled Carlisle and Garrett brought up their detailed profile.
Only to have my investigation interrupted by a slightly petulant Jasper.
"I'm so fucking sick of reading about Adam Landert in gay publications. What is he? The great gay hope? He's an entertainer. Period. We've seen both him and his former boyfriends playing tonsil-hockey around Venice for years."
My own boyfriend could never be faulted for his deadly accurate knowledge of the homosexual's impact on popular culture. Some of our acquaintances had even taken to calling him our gay history buff. However, I always felt he'd had an unfair advantage over the rest of us, coming out at the age of three as he claimed to have done. He'd thus been free from a young age to store away all sorts of cultural references I'd steadfastly ignored. That kind of shit definitely left me vulnerable; I'd not stepped out of the closet until I turned 22.
Swiftly preserving the web address of MeetGayCouples in my Favorites, I shut down the computer and stood in a blur of speed, stretching fully. My ergonomically correct chair was merely a precaution; I didn't expect to need back support for a very long time, if ever.
"Venusian Adam is old news, Jigsaw. If anything, I'm astonished your magazine even agrees to take his publicist's calls any more; didn't he get into an argument with one of their writers?" The gay singer was a sensitive topic between us. For I knew, beyond a doubt, that Jasper had sported a rather large crush on Adam the Raging Top when he'd first appeared on American Idol. It still rankled a bit, especially in my more fragile emotional state of late. Luckily, the erstwhile performer was off touring Europe on an extended trip. I was grateful for the temporary respite from worrying about his currently boyfriend-less state compelling him to snag Jasper out from under me.
"Venetian," he mildly corrected me. "Venice isn't Venus."
"Unless you are gay or an actor," I shot back.
Having satisfactorily countered Jasper's original comment, I was now at liberty to make one of my own. His crystal blue eyes crinkled in anticipation as he had undoubtedly guessed the direction, if not the specific form, of my next remark.
"We missed connecting yesterday, and I'm horny. Want to nap with me before we pack for the beach?" I rolled my eyes suggestively; most days it was better if I refrained from my usual juvenile seduction techniques, but I'd felt so unsure of Jasper lately, I wasn't above a little coaxing. Those pants of his had been taunting me all morning, the seam nicely outlining what I feverishly craved in my mouth, on my tongue, and cradled in my palms. Not to mention stretching my ass. (I was a 'special occasion' bottom, but there were a rather large number of annual events constituting what Jasper deemed to be special occasions in our household.)
Today, the special occasion decision was going to be my call, because in the brief moments I'd been able to skim my target gay couple's web profile, I'd read a section entitled 'About Us.' And beneath the header, in a subcategory labeled 'We're Here For', Carlisle and Garrett had entered: Friends, and possibly more…
It was the more that was both stimulating and terrifying me at the moment. Thoughts of Jasper and I simultaneously fucking faceless, blond, muscled strangers, staring into each others' eyes as we grunted and moaned in tandem, the sounds of slapping, erotically pounding flesh echoing in stereo around our bedroom…
But instead of sharing my fantasy with Jasper, I merely held out my hand, bending formally at the waist to invite him to join me. It was my clumsy attempt at chivalry, at seduction, at persuasion, and at appeasing my demanding, dripping dick.
For only Jasper could decide if he still desired me. I lately had taken to imagining each of my frolic requests of him in the form of a large white daisy with petals I was frantically plucking as I silently chanted: He fucks me. He fucks me not. He fucks me. He fucks me. He fucks me…
The next moment, my incredibly flexible tae kwan do instructor of reluctant, pimply teen boys gracefully bounded from the couch and into my arms, burying his face in the lonely space between my neck and shoulder. I shuddered at the feel of his warm breath ghosting over my sensitive skin.
"I. Love. You." This from Jasper, each word punctuated with the emphatic press of his lips against the side of my throat. "And I like your suggestion we unleash our pythons." Here he snuggled closer. "Let's do it here on our balcony," he purred.
He fucks me!
"Always," I breathed. "I mean, me too. Iloveyou." Clearing my throat, I continued heatedly, "Mine's been spitting his venom all morning," counting on the fact that the buff, gay historian in my arms didn't know much about actual pythons.
Jasper's breathing hitched at my confession, causing the now rigid pole between my legs to twitch in anticipation. The movement may have been been imperceptible to the casual observer, but to me, it felt as if the always dicey California soil had decided to shift another foot or two to the left. My legs were shaky and my pulse erratic as I deeply inhaled his outdoors scent that went straight to my dick.
"Wrap your legs around me so I can carry you into our room." I mumbled this as I was licking the curve of his ear, inhaling his unique flavor for all I was worth. His crotch was pressed so tightly against mine, I swore I could feel the beat of his blood through the thin cotton material. He happily complied.
And in that sweetest of moments, fate chose to intervene in the form of his innocent request.
"But Ed, I'm bored with always fucking on that rock-hard mattress you insisted we buy. Let's walk over to the pool house and take some towels. Treat it as our own personal bathhouse. This is WEHO, hometown to eager sluts and unabashed exhibitionists. We'll fit right in."
He chuckled at his double entendre, evidently unable to hear my heart breaking in two. "It could even be fun to be caught in the act by our fellow…" Finally pulling back and catching sight of my conflicted expression, Jasper stopped and gifted me with one of his loopy, wide grins, flashing his beautiful enamel at me.
"Babe, I was only teasing you! You know that, right?" Releasing his legs from my waist, he slid all the way down to the floor onto his knees, leaving him eye-to-eye with my rapidly deflating erection.
'Ed-wood, what has caused you to sheath your sword?"
"Nothing." I moped: I was no longer sporting my usual eight inches.
"Here, let me see; I'll make him feel better. Promise."
As he spoke, Jasper's ardent fingers were already skimming over the front of my jeans, caressing and stroking the lost opportunity back to life. He leaned forward, one knee bent underneath him, to ferret beneath my black tee-shirt and tease the faint reddish-gold hair encircling my belly button, repeatedly darting just the tip of his tongue into the depression. A moan escaped his lips; coyote-like, I called-out with one of my own in response. His fingertips had walked up my chest, finding and now gently pinching and twisting my nipples between thumb and index finger. I began gently rocking my hips in time with his tongue dipping into me, and felt him slide it down into the waistband of my low-slung jeans. He didn't have far to go to lave it over the slit of my straining cock. I grunted, needing to push so much more of me into his mouth. Wanting it now, I fidgeted in frustration and began tugging my constricting clothing down over my hips to give him better access.
I was swiftly losing that feeling of depression that had earlier descended upon me. Until I remembered.
Jasper had finally admitted he was bored.
I wondered what Carlisle and Garrett would look like from the waist down.
A/N: Just for fun. Musical accompaniment: youtube. com / watch?v=wmXQFwlD7vk
OMG, those skintight white pants at the end.
JPOV will be next.