A/N: This chapter marks the end of the ficlet I wrote for Mostly A Lurker's fundraiser. I hope you enjoy!
Special thanks to my WC girls, and especially to BoydBlog, for keeping me company in day-long WCs while I worked to get this done on time. Above and beyond, BB! Thank you.
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Flushed and grinning, Edward makes his way back to the studio. His mind feels like a carnival ride; his thoughts are bumper cars bouncing off the walls of his cranium without having the slightest impact.
They smash around aimlessly in there, not making any sense.
He looks up at the sky, the walls of the Art School, the birds in the trees, but all he can see is black, black, black.
He registers the breeze on his face and the crunch of gravel underfoot but all he can feel is gritty palms holding his hands, rubbing calm and reassurance into his clammy, panicking skin.
Music filters down from the studio but Edward only hears the rushing hum of his own blood, storming his veins.
Standing outside the studio, he hesitates. To bluster in or to tiptoe?
In the end, he settles for opening the door quietly, hoping for another unguarded moment.
He's in luck.
Garrett is over by the CD player, having just pressed 'play' on something harsh and industrial.
He's on that spot again- the X that marks touchdown for the beam of afternoon sun which lights him up like a dark beacon.
He stands there, all lean limbs and acute angles, looking like the coolest supernova absorbing all the light from surrounding space.
The sun's dancing in his hair again, making a mockery of that dark Goth exterior as it paints him with a soft tangerine halo.
Seemingly aware of the warmth, Garrett inches a little backward to stand directly in the sunlight and Edward's drawing in his head again, because the man is striking.
Agile fingers gather and bundle dreaded hair into its signature messy bun, and Edward watches them flex as he shapes it.
The orange sun has turned Garrett's black dreadlocks into a glowing crown of fire, the thick, stiff ends piercing air like lightning.
Below it, his fair Gallic skin glows, too, as he seeks out the heat of the sun.
Edward watches hungrily as those lithe fingers catch the bottom of the dirty black tank and begin to lift, rolling the fabric over narrow waist and a broadening back.
Strength ripples, stirring muscle under the skin, adorned with a splash of tiny freckles over Garrett's shoulder blades and neck.
Having pulled the tank over his head, Garrett bundles it and uses it to wipe his wet stomach and chest.
Holding it in his fist, he braces his arms on the bench and rolls his head from side to side, stretching as short wisps of blond hair at the nape of his neck stir with the movement.
Edward can suddenly imagine his own mouth right there on Garrett's fair skin, kissing, breathing, panting. A searing flush makes his stomach clench at this erotic vision, and he's never been less confused.
He watches, transfixed by his own fantasy, as Garrett's shoulders flex and stretch over his naked, bowed back.
Edward inches closer until he's just a few feet away, close enough to chart the constellations of freckles on Garrett's shoulders.
"Are you gonna stand there all day?" Garrett says huskily and looks over his shoulder.
Edward almost jumps out of his skin as the Goth King turns to face him, suddenly much closer than Edward had anticipated.
They're face to face and close enough for Edward to see the gypsy liner smudged like kohl under Garrett's toffee eyes and the delicious curve of his pink upper lip, adorned with glistening blond stubble.
Completely on impulse, he quickly leans in and kisses Garrett on the lips.
Oh God.
Roaring silence.
One chaste, hard peck, nothing more, but it's enough for the world to stop and the breath to seize in Edward's lungs.
He hasn't completely moved away, and in that suspended moment, he seeks out Garrett's beautiful toffee eyes, equally hopeful and shocked at his own boldness.
The scalding heat of embarrassment begins to creep up Edward's insides as Garrett stands unmoving, regarding him calmly.
His nerves burn in shame as he begins to think that has made a fundamental, catastrophic mistake.
Edward's eyes dart between Garrett's, until the courage leaks out of him and the enormity of what he just did washes through his veins in icy swells.
He just kissed a guy.
He just kissed Garrett Lenoir.
As blood drains from his face, Edward prepares to make lame excuses and run, run the fuck away from his own stupidity, maybe dunk his head underwater somewhere for approximately three years, or until the shame of this washes-
Oh God. Breathe.
Garrett raises his hand and lightly touches the pulsing heartbeat at Edward's throat, silencing his thoughts, wiping his mind like a whiteboard.
His cool fingers graze Edward's jaw and the lobe of his ear, electrifying his whole body with barely a touch.
His large hand becomes a cradle as he splays his fingers over the back of Edward's skull, under his messy, damp hair.
So slowly, so very deliberately, Garrett closes his eyes and inclines toward him.
Then, he kisses Edward back.
Properly.
Reveling, deliberating, hard landing with his soft lips, he kisses Edward's slightly open mouth with beautiful, precise abandon.
Edward stands unmoving, a red-headed, pink-cheeked stone statue, afraid to breathe.
His stomach drops with delicious abruptness, an epiphany waiting at the edge of consciousness.
Garrett's pink lips linger on his, determined and unapologetic, opening to him, closing over him. They taste him with agonizing deliberation.
Edward has never felt anything like it, and he opens his eyes so he can see Garrett, see that this is really happening.
With eyes closed and a furrow of concentration between his brows, Garrett is kissing him on the mouth with careful, fixed delight.
Edward's one conscious thought is he's taking care not to freak me out. Then, his stomach clenches and he sucks air because he can feel those soft lips slowly parting.
His eyes roll back, and it's an erotic assault as he senses Garrett licking, wetting Edward's top lip with the tip of his tongue.
His conscious thoughts have fled and he stands incoherent as Garrett grows needful, clutching at him with his lithe hands, gathering him closer to take more of his mouth, to caress his tongue.
Sweet torture unrelenting, Edward begins to mimic the soft, deep kisses, until both men are breathless with the passionate torment of new lovers discovering the taste of each other's mouths.
Their hot breaths mingle as they swallow and pant each others' air, lips yielding and soft.
Garrett holds Edward's head still with his gentle hand and kisses him this way and that, working his lips over Edward's like he's eating something so delicious that it's sin and ecstasy all at once.
Edward's stomach feels like it's being pulled from within and he gasps hotly at the delirious sensation of being devoured with such abandon.
Edward has kissed people, but he's never, ever, been kissed like this.
He turns his face up to meet Garrett's and dives head first into the sensation, hands seeking the pale skin of Garrett's narrow waist, fingers digging into the sun-warmed flesh.
In answer to this urgency, Garrett's fingers contract, gasping a firm fistful of Edward's hair. Insistent and demanding now, he pulls a little and exposes Edward's throat.
Edward licks his swollen lips and gasps for air as Garrett nibbles and licks his jaw, teeth gently razing over stubble and skin.
"Oh my God," he whispers brokenly as Garrett nuzzles gently right under his ear, and squints his eyes so hard that he sees bursting lights under his lids.
Hot breath engulfs his earlobe as Garrett rasps, "I'm so glad you started this, Edward," and the sound of his name being evoked with such want is enough to make him weak.
Garrett's hands are both in his hair now, thumbs rubbing mindless patterns across his cheekbones while he mouths across Edward's Adam's apple and chin, then returns to his lips, storming them with his urgent, deep kisses.
With one arm encircling Garrett's waist and the other grasping his elbow, Edward gathers and pulls to himself all that he can reach, craving all the hardness of Garrett's lean body against his own and loving the feeling of being wanted, desired.
"I didn't know," he whispers, "I didn't know!" Didn't know you liked me. Didn't even know I liked you. Didn't know it could feel like this.
He senses the tangerine sunlight on his own skin too, and feels his whole word changing in the blink of a sooty eye and the hard pressing of soft lips.
Desperate to know if he's the only one affected with this ridiculous giddiness, Edward slides his own hand to Garrett's bare chest and finds his living heartbeat.
Incredibly, it pulses as fast as his own, erratic and hot under his fingertips, and Edward smiles against Garrett's mouth, ecstatic.
When at last they part, panting, Edward's eyes devour Garrett up close.
The afternoon summer light radiates over the slope of his fine, straight nose and enhances the crease between his brows when he's really focused on something.
That crease is there right now, Garrett's pupils dilated, the toffee melting into Edward's green, even as he deliberately grinds his obvious hardness into Edward's hip.
"Do you know now?" Garrett asks quietly.
Edward's fingers dance over Garrett's skin, the naked, male torso a completely new sensation- a study in hard and flexing muscle, sinew and bone.
His hand comes to rest at the little hollow just under Garrett's ribs, the centre of his sternum, and he feels like he can touch Garrett's life, right here where his diaphragm forces hot breath to rush up and bathe Edward's skin.
"I'm starting to," he admits, more breath than words.
Knowing he won't be denied makes Edward audacious. His eyelashes brush like wings over Garrett's stubbly skin as he lays strings of light kisses over his face, excited and amazed and so very attracted.
His heart just about bursts through his ribs when he feels the deep rumble in Garrett's chest.
A throaty groan reverberates through them both as Edward fits his whole body to Garrett's and drives them back against the bench, one hand at his nape, the other grasping a handful of the Goth's lean flank.
Edward presses himself back against Garrett's hardness just enough to let him feel how affected he is, too.
Hungrily, he grazes lips with his teeth and sweeps them with his tongue, wanting to taste, to feel Garrett's mouth the way that his own has just been tasted.
With the whole length of his body pressed to the Goth's like a flower to a card, he thrills as Garrett tells him, "I've watched you", and, "wanted you", and, "goddamn it, now I want you even more".
Edward feels like his eyes are full of the sun when he looks at Garrett, lips parted and breathing hard, pushed up against his work bench.
"Me? Wanted me?" He's panting like this air is their last, amazed and feeling so desired.
"You think I didn't know? You think I didn't notice you looking at me?" Garrett says around a knowing grin, and Edward can see how transparent he's been, just in that one look, that one quirked eyebrow.
"What did you notice?" he says, somehow making words, when all he wants is more of Garrett's mouth, and not for talking.
Garrett's grin becomes a lazy smile, and it's so wanton and sexy that Edward can't help himself, he sort of slumps against him like a barnacle attached to Garrett's hip and unable to separate himself for the need he feels.
"Intense loner with a good looking beard, colorful hands."
Edward smiles against Garrett's collarbone at his assessment of Rosalie, and wishing he could crawl into the hollow at his throat and live there for ever and ever.
"Colorful hands?" he questions.
Wordlessly, Garrett lifts Edward's hand between them so they're both staring at the callouses and stains of oil paint under his nails and filling the fingerprint whorls with blue, and green, and black.
The image of their dirty, art-covered fingers entwined will be one Edward never forgets.
They smile at each other shyly, like they haven't just been, and in fact still are, pressing themselves against each other and grabbing handfuls of whatever they can reach: hip, thigh, ass.
Edward does what he so often thought of when he had to stay motionless for the process of casting, and, if he's honest, way before that: he takes a handful of Garrett's dreads and palms them, testing and squeezing the thick roughness.
Seeing the want he feels reflected in the warm toffee eyes, he gently pulls to the side and lowers his mouth to lap at Garrett's throat, licking the lobe of his ear and the hollow under his jaw.
Tasting the fragrant essence of salt and sandalwood, Edward knows he's never going to be the same again.
He smiles against damp, salty skin, listening to the sounds of pleasure resounding directly from Garrett's body into his own through their molded torsos.
A new world discovered right here.
Right where he was looking all along.
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Fielding curious glances, Edward stays well back of the action at the Sandpoint Gallery, preferring the relative peace of the uncrowded corner.
Watching from the sidelines is still his speciality, though he's not quite the same man as he was just a few weeks ago.
In the heart of the space, Garrett Lenoir contrasts sharply from all around him, black, tall and lean in a sea of moving, pulsing color.
Confident, he stands straight as a poplar amidst visitors, lecturers and students alike, gesticulating almost as passionately as a drama student.
Edward smirks, knowing what Garrett would think of that comparison.
Crossing his arms, Edward leans his shoulder against the wall and watches the way that people flock to Garrett like he's a magnet.
He's so effortlessly cool, everyone wants to exchange a few words and feel like they've connected with the Goth King of UW.
Edward knows how they feel.
A touch on his arm startles him a little from his observation, but he's relieved to see that it's only Rosalie, a wine glass in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other.
"Looks fantastic," she says, inclining her head toward Garrett's installation.
"It's amazing," Edward agrees, and it really is. What he saw as rough sketches and plans has become a larger-than life project, a huge sculpture dominating this clean, neutral space.
Many limbs jut at unnatural angles as this four-headed Horseman comes riding out of the ether to collect the toll of humanity.
Garrett has assembled this amazing organic thing from many different parts- there are ceramic arms drilled through to join with bronze and beaten alloy gauntlets and a massive breastplate with ancient symbols carved into it.
It's masterful and frightening, a wonderfully foreboding figure captured mid-flight as it descends upon the world.
It's Garrett's artistic vision, and he's very passionately discussing its meaning, its existence, with peers and superiors alike.
Some of the plaster casts they'd worked on ended up serving as molds, and Garrett has created impressions in different materials that he has spliced together in this extraordinary creation.
The thing breathes life and movement, and astonishingly, people seem to be realizing that it's wearing Edward's likeness on all four of its faces.
It was worth the effort, though Edward remembers with terrible clarity just how scary it felt to make that particular mold, though that day is burned into his memory for other reasons, too.
It feels like that day Edward woke up.
Rosalie looks bemused at the attention Edward's receiving from people that last week wouldn't have looked at him twice.
Edward has always kept to himself, and though he works hard, he's not a showman.
His work is brilliant, she thinks, but he doesn't try to impress that on others, instead being content to work on his skills, developing a naturally impressive body of work.
She has documented it for him by shooting a set of high-quality slides for his folio, and has seen the beautiful canvases he creates late at night when it's just him and his Walkman in the dim cocoon of his studio.
He's not even aware of the fact that he's quietly respected for his dedication, but she can tell that those same people that flock to Garrett's larger-than-life persona are beginning to notice Edward, too. By association, he's going to find himself more popular soon.
Rosalie has definitely noticed some changes recently, even down to the way he carries himself.
No longer the ambling boy still growing into his Converse, Edward has recently found some equilibrium somewhere, and there's this new confidence about him, an air of determination and of tenacity.
For one thing, he has stopped hiding under his hair, and Rosalie approves of the way he's growing it out, and has begun pulling it back into a messy ponytail.
It's thick and quite striking in color, auburn like fall leaves. Pulled away from his face this way, Edward's bone structure is amazing, Rosalie can't believe she never noticed before, but the angular cut of his jaw and sensual mouth are incredibly sexy.
He's really handsome under there, and for the first time, those glasses don't conceal him, they make him mysteriously alluring.
He's been standing taller, too, and it's not just his posture. There's an air of calm purpose in place of the anxious, furtive skulking.
It hasn't escaped Rose's notice that Edward is now the recipient of interested glances, drawn by his newly found bearing, and unveiled good looks.
"Why don't you go and say hello?" She encourages, waving her unlit cigarette in Garrett's direction.
She knows they've become important to each other in these few weeks, and she's been Edward's quiet confidante, sinking his secrets like weighted stones into bottomless pits.
"It's his moment," Edward replies. For his part, he's quite happy staying where he is. Having slinked in here unobserved, he just wants to watch as people give Garrett his dues.
He's worked damn hard on this piece, and he'll be assessed on it as a part of his final grading in a few weeks.
Edward doesn't want to get in the way; he just wants to watch Garrett socialize, talk, move and be, basking in the well-deserved praise.
"Well, if you don't mind, I want to congratulate him and arrange to take a few pictures. Yes?"
"Sure."
Nodding to a couple of people walking past, Edward breathes in the air of Garrett's success and watches Rosalie tap the Goth King on the shoulder, giving him her brilliant girly smile; the one people fall all over themselves for.
They chat amicably for a few moments, and just as Edward's thinking about leaving, satisfied that the gallery opening is going well, Garrett turns toward him, following the trajectory set by Rosalie pointing her unlit smoke.
Over there, she mouths, and Garrett's eyes land on him like a paperweight.
Never taking his eyes off, Garrett barely excuses himself from his present company before he stalks over.
Edward suddenly finds himself standing straight and tall, waiting.
No matter how many times he looks into them, those black-rimmed hazel eyes always have the same effect on him.
They galvanize and stun him, caught as he is under Garrett's spell.
"Hey," Garrett says, smiling. "You came."
"I was in the neighborhood," Edward deadpans.
Garrett smirks, raising goosebumps over Edward's arms.
"What do you think?"
"It's fucking awesome." You're fucking awesome.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Edward looks around the room, in part to shake Garrett's unnerving influence. "You're a big hit."
"You too."
Edward snorts.
"No, really! They're all asking me if that's your face."
"What are you telling them?"
"That it's your everything."
Edward laughs, embarrassed and pleased beyond measure that Garrett's not ashamed to reveal his model.
He remembers every moment of the break they spent holed up (making out) in Garrett's grungy, industrial studio, casting (touching, kissing) and making parts of this incredible piece of sculpture.
It's a time Edward will never forget, as long as he lives.
"Come take a closer look," Garrett says, already moving away, and as tempted as he is to walk away from the attention, Edward finds himself following instead.
The gallery has filled up, and quite a few of their peers are standing around, discussing aspects of the religious connotations of the piece, and of the relevance of the four faces, the Four Horsemen, the four seasons represented. He hears Odin and Brahma and Swiatovid, Wicca, and the names of other pagan Gods who wore four faces. Garrett's work is fostering a lively discussion, and he's stoked to hear it on his friend's behalf.
Ignoring the conversations flying back and forth all around them, Garrett weaves his way through the throng to stand a few feet away from his sculpture.
Beside him, Edward finds himself a little too conscious of the looks thrown their way— taller as they are than anyone else here, so visible even if it weren't for Garrett's magnetic, black presence.
He looks at the sculpture, and admires the juxtaposition between the fine porcelain limbs and the metal armor, the beautifully cast impressions of his own face staring back at him, masculine and angular.
"Cullen, is that you?" a guy exclaims nearby over the noise.
Edward ducks and waves it off, but Garrett smiles and answers, "Yeah, doesn't he make the prettiest harbinger?"
Feeling the blood rush to his face, Edward looks everywhere except at Garrett or at the sculpture, which now seems to be mocking him. Fucking Jesus.
Garrett leans in close to his ear and points at his Horseman. "What? You don't think he's pretty?" he teases, his warm breath raising goosebumps over Edward's suddenly clammy skin.
"I guess," Edward hedges, grinning, loving and hating the torment.
The bustle and noise die away as Garrett suddenly maneuvers himself to stand directly in front of Edward's surprised face.
"I think he's fucking gorgeous. Don't you see it?"
Edward's mouth is drier than a tinderbox, and unable to form coherent words at that statement.
Garrett's warm toffee eyes are intense, searching for something within him. They raze over him, igniting that low burning fire deep in his belly that only Garrett's eyes can.
Edward dampens down the shiver that quakes his whole body and tries to remain standing under the deliciously loaded gaze.
He shakes his head infinitesimally, in case some sort of answer (other than just staring at the hottest goddamn guy ever) was actually required of him.
Garrett's eyes widen incredulously, the smudged, black gypsy liner defining them more beautifully than any intricately made-up woman Edward has ever encountered.
He steps a little closer, but Edward holds his ground, even as warm, pale hands grasp the plastic arms on either side of his face and remove Edward's glasses from his face.
Oh my God.
Edward knows people are watching, but he's powerless to do anything, anything, except listen to his own blood beating in his ears like a tidal wave, as Garrett gently blows his warm breath over the lenses of his glasses, and carefully, deliberately cleans them on his tight black t-shirt.
His eyes are still on Edward's as he rubs slow circles into them with his thumb, and as he finally deems them to be clean enough to replace on the bridge of Edward's nose.
He slides them on slowly, tucking a runaway strand of auburn color behind Edward's ear.
Standing too close but not close enough, he quietly says, "Do you see it now?"
Edward glances over Garrett's shoulder at the amazing sculpture.
With its stern, beautiful faces, the elaborate beaten metal gorgets and greaves, the finely turned and glazed porcelain hands all splayed, clawing air or posed as if in the heat of battle, the vision comes to life.
His own face looks back at him in quadruplicate, handsome in the angular, virile way he has only recently discovered.
The one that he sees reflected in Garrett's hazel eyes and in his tight embrace.
Edward's lips quirk lopsidedly as he refocuses on the man standing in front of him close enough for the scent of sandalwood to envelop them both.
A couple of little silver rings adorn Garrett's thick black dreadlocks tonight, reflecting the overhead lights like tiny mirrors.
Oblivious to the shocked gasps all around them, he leans in and kisses Garrett lightly on the mouth.
One chaste, soft peck, nothing more, but it's enough for the world to spin and the breath to quicken in Edward's lungs.
"I'm starting to."
~Fin~
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A/N: Thanks so much for reading my ficlet. I hope you liked it, won't you let me know? Cheers, AM