A/N: Love to Starfish422 for betaing!
Edward
Talking with Carlisle had taken up most of the morning, so I spent the afternoon explaining to Esme why it was necessary to leave, without actually blaming our new family members for adding to the mental hardship that was slowly wearing away my last traces of sanity. Our goodbyes were to take place tonight, after Jasper and I returned from our hunt.
Everything was scheduled: my car was full of fuel, everyone was informed, and all I had left to do was pack a small carry-on bag with an extra set of clothes to change into after the hunt – Alice had informed us that it would storm tonight, and I hated to wear wet clothes, a pet peeve of mine – a wallet, and the key to our soon-to-be home.
I liked it that way, everything orderly and ready so that I wouldn't have to fret. In fact, the only part I was concerned about was the goodbyes: even with prior knowledge, Esme was guaranteed to shed tears, Emmett would treat me with a rough hug, and Alice, Rosalie, and possibly even Jasper, who would be weighed down with everyone's grave emotions, would be melancholy. Carlisle would let me go, the only one of the family, I felt, who grasped what I was saying without making me explain. He let me go when I needed to, and stay when I wished; an atonement, he felt, for changing me too early and pushing me to stay with him not so long ago, when I was wild with bloodlust and bore the scar of crimson irises.
Suddenly, as I was packing a spare change of pants and a shirt, my door burst open; my visitor closed it behind him, clicking the lock. I looked up, and flinched. Shit.
"Edward," he said, standing at my door. His hair was askew, bangs flopping across his forehead and covering one converting iris – half-way between red and gold, almost a burnished bronze. His eyes were wild – with agony, with worry, with sorrow. I couldn't take it; my wilted, dead heart rebelled against anything that would cause him pain...but I had. I had been the one to harm his dark innocence. "Edward, talk to me," he beseeched.
I looked away, like the coward I was. "Yes, Jasper?" My voice was tense.
"Why are you leaving? I thought you were part of this coven."
I barely resisted looking up at him; my mind was a jumbled mess, as were my unbridled emotions – I couldn't focus on my current task. With a heavy sigh, I gave it up and sat on the couch, massaging my temples. God.
"I am. I just have some other business to take care of before we leave the area." The lie came easily to my practiced tongue.
But, ah, he easily ferreted out my false statement, crossing his scarred arms furiously. The white skin of his forearms was exposed, and I held in a pained whimper, recalling how they had looked as Alice had kissed them. I managed to fight down the memory; with effort, I recovered somewhat.
"What business?"
"I have to leave and visit the family and remind them we'll arrive next week."
"Wouldn't a phone call suffice?" Stop lying to me, Edward! Tell me the truth, for the sake of my sanity! Don't leave me; I need you!
Sanity. The word brought back the reason why I had to leave, and the memory of Alice imploring her husband to stay with her last night. It also caused so, so many questions to spring to mind, the ever-present why's and how's: Why, Jasper? Why do you want a monster like me to stay? Why do you need my presence in your life? How is your sanity in jeopardy? But I tightened my lips, sealing them with the glue of a secret, and listened to his mind.
Jasper's irritation was multiplying, that much was apparent, and spawning fiery ire to replace the sorrow within his eyes. But only just. Why do you want to leave me; we've just begun! Oh, Edward, love, we're so close.
So close to what? And love? My, I had many things to ponder on this trip.
I pranced around his words as if they had been a riddle. "Perhaps. You might want to shield your thoughts; it's hard to ignore them," I warned. It was becoming more difficult to focus on what needed to be said when his baffling thoughts flitted around my mind.
He listened, lips pursed as he concentrated on batting averages in the 1928 league. He was worried about what I might have heard.
"Won't you stay?" His words were a plea – he was begging me. In that single moment, I hated myself more than I ever had before: when I was first changed and thought myself a monster; when I had killed my first human; when I had left a sobbing Esme and Carlisle to gleefully drink the blood of criminals; when I'd watched, my triumphant smile falling from my face, as the daughter of a murderer wept over her father's body; when I had lost control only minutes before. I wanted to stab myself through the heart, just to take away all the pain in his voice and eyes and soul – oh, if only the myths surrounding our kind were true!
I spoke hardly above a whisper. "I can't."
He nodded. A moment passed, and his hand crept across the navy fabric, slow enough to warn me of his intentions, giving more than ample time to pull away. But I didn't. And I wanted it. And I hated myself all the more.
Then, his warm hand nudged mine, the silvery, feathered flesh of his fingers reflecting the light as he intertwined his hand within mine. He squeezed it, and I looked away from the floor into his passionate eyes, so full of life and sorrow and joy and weakness that I was captured within their bittersweet net, and I couldn't escape. My breath halted as his irises bore into mine: red and gold and auburn, all together in a blistering, scorching inferno that rose about us. My body trembled.
"If that's your choice and I can't influence it," those eyes voiced, crinkling as he murmured, "Then allow me to give you a parting gift."
A beat passed, the imaginary thud of a heartbeat sounding within my ears; waves crashed over them and I had to, for the first time since my rebirth, ask him to repeat his words.
He sighed. "May I give you something?"
This time, I could work my jaw and tongue, and the words escaped. "Yes, Jasper, you may, if it will make you happy."
He smiled sadly, hand rubbing soothing circles on my hand. "Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me."
"But you still wish I didn't have to leave," I said, finishing his unspoken thoughts. I didn't have to weasel my way into his mind to know that he was still disheartened; within the past couple days, I had gotten to know him surprisingly well. And that scared me more than I'd like to admit.
"Of course I do." He shrugged blue-clad shoulders, and I couldn't help but wonder what color his eyes were before he was changed.
His eyes narrowed. "What is it?"
"What?" What had I done?
"I can feel your curiosity – it's practically everything your feeling at the moment. Just ask me your question, Edward."
I looked away. I didn't want his burning eyes on mine as I spoke; I feared my mouth would run away as if I was intoxicated. "What color were your eyes, before you were changed?"
He was silent, and I feared I had misspoken. From previous experiences with all my family members, especially Rosalie, I had found that our human lives are often delicate subjects, approached with care. Yet here I was, bluntly asking him to tell me something private about him, something that maybe only Alice knew. We were all speculating about Jasper's history. While it was obvious from his scars that he had not been made recently – unless torture was a new trend started by the Volturi – we had no idea how old he was.
And then I realized that I wanted to know more than his eye color, but his past, too.
I wanted to know what his mother was like, and if she was anything like mine. I wanted to know how he was changed – a topic even touchier than human experiences – and why he drank human blood and who Maria was; what his favorite color was and if he had a favorite flower that would bring a smile to his face. I wanted to know everything I could about him, but I couldn't bring myself to ask. Everything in our relationship was becoming too intense too soon; we were already intimate friends within a few days of his arrival.
I waited uneasily for him to speak. I could always ask him about his life at another time; the moment had already passed. He turned my hand over and began tracing simple spirals and motifs on my bloodless palm; I felt his metacarpals and phalanges through the impenetrable surface of his skin in turn.
We sat, holding hands as the night passed around us and the moon climbed steadily higher, its white face ominous against the navy velvet of sky and diamond stars; until midnight, when the increasing intimacy finally drove me to pull away. I let go of his hand and flexed my own to try and eradicate the lightning coursing through the points he had touched: my fingers, my wrist, my palm. As I rose to finish my packing before our overdue hunt, he disclosed to me in an undertone: "Gray. My eyes were gray with a hint of blue, like slate." Like my mother's.
I stiffened as I heard him begin to think for the first time that evening. "What did your mother look like?"
The thoughts were incautious, and I was astounded he didn't bother to shield them. She was…beautiful, a true Southern belle, charming accent and all. Chocolate hair, gray-blue eyes, fairy-stature. My father fell in love with her on sight. He sighed. I suppose it runs in the family.
Suddenly the thoughts violently veered back to the statistics. I nodded, crossing my arms over my chest. Yes, I could tell that he loved Alice from the start; it was obvious to all.
"She reminds me of my own mother. Carlisle tells me I looked exactly like her."
"What color were your eyes?"
I looked back at him as I zipped up my suitcase. "Green. Like emeralds, my father used to say."
"They sound lovely." Especially on you.
Something in his statement made me feel…strange. All airy and light, buoyant and yet bound the earth by the prison of gravity; like a balloon filled to the brim with air, or a perfectly weightless soufflé that could deflate at the drop of a hat. Something in my chest jumped, and I gasped, placing a hand over my heart. What was that? It certainly wasn't my still heart, and nothing was broken; my granite skin prevented injury.
I didn't like the feeling; it was unwelcome and I felt the need to chase it out. "And you sound like a dolly," I retorted rudely.
Jasper's awed face fell, and I felt rotten, as if I had drained an innocent dry or condemned another to this half life. I hid my face beneath my messy locks and placed my slim bag near the door. Tanya had promised to procure adequate clothing once I arrived, and blood was no issue in the Alaskan wilderness.
"I'm sorry. I-I just can't..." I stumbled. The words weren't coming out right, all twisted and mutated like deformed pearls, still shiny and white and pure, but ugly in shape. "I can't do this, Jasper; everything's too fast, too much for me, too strange. Give me time."
Only a whisper of feet hinted at his movement, and then I felt his muscular arms wrap around me. I leaned back in into him, feeling his hard stomach against my back. "It's alright, Edward. I understand."
"What is this?" My relationship with Emmett or any other man had never involved any of these things. I only knew of relationships women had that were similar to this: hand-holding and hugs, the occasional kiss on the cheek.
And then I wondered if this was the ragged path we were traveling upon, if we would kiss. The concept both terrified and delighted me. Images of tenderly-pressed lips against foreheads, cheeks, noses, and even lips dancing through my head; tongues intertwined, lips locked in a heated, passionate exchange, a morbid display of mutated passions. To my immense shame, I even felt slightly aroused at them. I shifted my hips in a weak attempt to dispel my growing erection. Behind me, Jasper purred softly, pressing his body even closer to mine; I could feel his own erection nestled behind me, and I moved a half-step away to regain control of my unpredictable body and mind.
Yes, I would have to depart at once. Perhaps Tanya could return the sense to my idling head.
"I don't know," he finally answered.
"Me either," I breathed. His body felt so good against mine, and my mind screamed red-hot warnings to me: too much, too fast, too intimate! Back away and return to safety immediately!
I leaned my head against his shoulder to nuzzle his neck once before shoving away.
"Too much?" he asked me. I silently nodded. "Was that alright?" Another nod from me. "Did you like it?" he questioned disbelievingly, voice passionate, awed, and worried. I moved my eyes to trace the dents and cracks in the aged concrete floor; my family's reckless driving had caused the need for a replaced cement floor twice in four years. Soon, we would have to fix the garage for prospective buyers.
His hand reached forward to tilt my chin up. "Hey, don't hide away," he said softly, like one would to a timid puppy or a child. My eyes lifted to meet his, and time fell away once more. We didn't blink or move, enchanted by each other's powerful gaze.
Then he blinked and I looked to the door and moved aside. "Are you ready to hunt?" Internally, I cringed as I realized how husky my voice had become in those cherished moments stolen from the face of reality as the world turned around us.
How had we come so far in such a short period of time? Was it our similarities? Our perfectly-matched personalities? I didn't know; but deep within I'd realized that we were two peas in a pod, two parts of a whole entity. How was that possible?
It wasn't.
It wasn't, and I knew this, and I had long accepted this, thinking myself as a lone man. However, in that one thought I found a wicked solace and comfort: that we were perfect together. Our time spent in each other's company was effortless – when the tense strain of our unusual relationship was forgotten.
Jasper blinked and growled, stepping closer. "Say that again," he commanded me.
"Say what?" I cleared my throat in an attempt to rid my voice of its rough quality. It didn't work. "Are you ready to hunt?"
"Yes, that." Lord! Does that boy know what he does to me? Does he have any clue? The pleased purr began again, a deep rumbling in his chest and throat; I wanted to smile, but my unfocused, alarmed mind wouldn't let me – I actually liked his reaction. But what did he mean, calling me a boy? I might be a boy in technical age, but my mind was mature, and my experiences had left scars on my character. And what did I do to him? Did he experience the same feeling I did when we were together, and alone? Was it the weightless feeling, the fluttering in my abdomen that had refused to abate, or the instant draw to me that he felt?
I had no idea.
And I wasn't sure I was prepared to learn the answer, yet.
I pressed a hand against his chest, feeling the vibrations that ran throughout his chest and veins and body. Did they originate in his heart, or in the muscles and organs associated with vocalization? Could it have been born of both?
His hand caressed my cheek, rubbing up and down, his perfect fingers – only one scar on the littlest finger blemished it – kissing my cheekbones and jaw. I let loose an involuntary purr at his actions, eyes closing briefly, before they snapped open and I shoved myself onto the door; away from him and his magic touch and emotions. The beautiful tone of his pleasure abruptly cut off; his face blanked.
I faced the door, not wanting to see his torn, distraught features, a result of what I'd done to him with one careless, selfish deed. My heart fell into a lightless, heavy pity as I snagged my bag with a hand and toed the door open with a foot; my mouth, detached from my heart, as it well should be, uttered the unspeakable words that would never, I knew, be forgotten, for it was the beginning of the end.
"Are you ready to leave?"
No. No I'm not, love, he thought, making me feel all the worse as those yellow butterflies zipped around my chest and stomach; but what came out his lips was different: "Only if you wish to, Edward."
"I do, Jasper."
"Then, yes, of course I am."
Quiet was his voice, a lovely baritone that echoed through me. I felt as though he had messed with my mind, planting little emotions in there; but no, inside I knew the truth. It was all me – every feeling, every touch.
I didn't lock hands with him when we left, though, even as I wished to; my body thrummed with the need for it.
And when we ran into the dark night, I refused to give into the sharp electricity in the air, thought it brought dry tears to my eyes.
I would not make another mistake again; I would fix this, fix myself. I had somehow gotten myself into this mess, and I was going to find my way out, one way or another.
XXX
We ran in silence. On account of my faster speed, I slowed down enough for him; he, in turn, ran at an even lazier pace, forcing me to grit my teeth and continue following the gradual decline in speed. Before long, we were jogging at a human pace; similar to a sprint by an Olympic athlete, but still painfully slow by my standards, until I simply…stopped.
I couldn't take it anymore, and even the sharp beauty of the wilderness – every blade of grass with grinning teeth; every leaf with razor edges, as seen under a microscope; every millimeter of archaic land – could no longer distract me from the pressure building between Jasper and me. It was like fire, crude and uncontrollable, combusting and tearing at the seams.
Jasper was irate, as he had been cross since I had left him at the door while I ran away, escaping from the questions and terrors that haunted my wakeful nightmares. Rage pooled off him into the stormy night, falling behind in our trails, intermingling with my hopeless alarm.
Legs locking like a newborn foal, I stopped at once. Jasper continued on, however, even speeding up, and half a mile away, he pounced on a deer. I watched in awe as he drained the helpless beast, entranced in the way his muscles bunched and contracted in his biceps and triceps; trapezius and latissimus dorsi moved under the net-thin covering of that blue shirt. It was a marvel, undoubtedly better than Michelangelo's David or a Greek god in all its flawless glory. He was more lithe than the mountain lion I favored, stronger than a rhinoceros, and more skilled than an ancient samurai warrior. I held in a purr that threatened to escape my sealed lips. I would not let my desires get the better of me!
When all that was left was a corpse, nothing but bones and skin and bloodless muscles and sinew, he turned around. And despite my tight self-control, a gasp escaped me.
His eyes were already decidedly more golden than they had been a few minutes ago as they bore into me: more amber than orange. A small trickle of the coppery blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and his tongue darted out to lick it away.
Overhead, I heard the first rumble of thunder, and further off, the crackle as lightning materialized overhead, heating the molecules of the atmosphere until they were fire, light, and sound. A drop of rain, the firstborn of its generation, fell from its mother cloud and sire sky and plopped onto my nose. A second immediately followed, and then a third, and fourth, and so on.
But I didn't notice this, so fixed on Jasper's pink tongue, icy with sweet venom, as it retreated back into those plump lips; the drop of blood, crimson and still warm, but cooling, on the tip of his tongue.
His eyebrow raised, a wanton smile on those desired lips, and...I lost control.
Sprinting at him, I knocked him over. The sound of boulders colliding mimicked the clap of thunder, increasing in tempo as the storm grew closer. I straddled his waist, leaning over him; I could feel my semi-hard cock against his, and it was strangely pleasurable. His eyes widened as I leaned even closer still, until my face was inches away from his own.
All but a small amount of the blood was gone, and that small portion was mine; he was mine. Our breath mingled in the downpour, all sweet and chypre, like fougere scents; it was addicting, further clouding my foggy judgment. I stared at that morsel dripping further down his throat – not even a mouthful, but a few drops flavored with his skin. Mine. All mine.
My lips brushed his throat as I opened my mouth, sliding my tongue out – frosted with venom.
And then, I licked it up.
As soon as my mouth made contact with his painted skin, his thoughts went wild, further encouraging me on.
Oh, God, he moaned as his hands came up to hold me to him. God, Edward! Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop, don't stop…oh, the things I want to do to you! God, fuck, fuck! He groaned, verbally this time. "Fuck!"
I increased the pressure of my tongue as I lapped at his skin. When I reached his jaw, the nectar gone, I whispered into his ear, "What do you want to do with me, Jasper?"
He hadn't even noticed that I was deeply settled within his mind. I want to rip your clothes off and fuck you senseless, love. I want to watch you come as I pump your hard dick in my hands, and I want to feel your hands – god, your perfect piano hands! – on me as I orgasm. "Oh, you have no idea." He rasped a dark chuckle as I bit on the lobe of his ear. Fuck, boy!
Somehow, in my dark and confused mind, his unspoken response seemed to make perfect sense; here, on a moonless night with a storm above us – sensitive as we were to nature's ire – our desire like a high that made us crazed, everything made completely logical. The scent of his breath drove me insane and the taste of his skin, ever so slight, mixed with the sinful temptation of blood was heroin to my body. Electricity shot through my frame; my lesser instincts controlled me as a puppet master would his little creations. It wanted him, and nothing could withhold the cracked dam of passion at that moment.
I was intoxicated, with want and need, and with the power of the storm – the need to mate, for our kind.
I replied, "Somehow, I think I do."
He smirked. "And?" Do you know what I'm thinking, boy? Do you know what I want to do to you? Do you want me to make you mine, make you feel good? Do you like the thought of it?
"I like it," I said, answering both his verbal and nonverbal inquiries.
"You do?" He was incredulous.
"Yes."
"Well, then." Jasper pushed on my right shoulder, flipping me under him. I complied and relished in his weight above me. "Let's get straight to business." Oh, God!
His tongue, more skilled than mine, traced a line up my jugular. He paused there, waiting to see if I would flee, as I had before. But why would I? He set my body on fire in the best way, as all my drugged senses informed me. I should have stayed all those other times; but now I planned to.
At my silent acceptance, he released a blithe sigh of satisfaction. It seems like I've waited forever for this moment, he mused as he stared down into my eyes. His lips – so soft, so full! –pressed hesitantly against the edge of my jaw, and I bit my tongue to hold back my response; my hands clawed at the earth.
The gale was at a high now, thrusting hail and pouring rain down upon us; it made everything all the more intense, the contrast between the warm and cool.
His kisses grew more intense as he, gaining confidence, licked and bit along my jawbone to the lobe of my ear, which he flicked with his tongue. My eyes reflexively rolled back into my head.
"Oh, Jasper!"
He sucked on the area behind my ear, hard and long, as if to create an impossible hickey there, before whispering into my ear, "Call me Jazz, Edward." You are mine, after all.
I took to his new name with relish. "Jazz, Jazz, Jazz," I murmured back to him as he began his way back to – I could see in his mind – my lips.
I couldn't wait.
When he finally arrived there, just kissing the corner of my lips, I let go of the last of my inhibitions: my hands twisted of their own will around his neck, a leg wrapping around his perfect waist that flowed from a v-shaped torso, my face moving as swiftly as possibly to capture his own pink lips at an angle.
It was heaven, electric to my senses and made my veins, long dead, come alive with molten heat. Soft and smooth, I wanted more; I hungered for it. The puppet master had no intentions of letting me escape without more; it wanted release. Jasper's unrestrained lust and pure want poured into me, and mine into him. We were like mirrors, reflecting and intensifying each other's need, like metal in the sunlight of a summer's blue-skied day.
He moaned into my mouth and pulled back for just a moment – eliciting a small cry of protest from me – before hungrily claiming my lips once more. I wanted more, required it like blood or venom. For those first few minutes, we just kissed, until he traced my bottom lip with his tongue and caught my bottom lip between his; we locked and relocked our lips for just a moment until I understood: Let me in, Edward, he thought, presenting an image of the two of us French kissing.
I couldn't resist; I wanted to taste him, and vaguely wondered in a small part of my mind if his venom tasted even better than his skin, which was sweet and fresh and earthy under the lighting and thunderous sky – intoxicating.
Eagerly, I opened my mouth to him. He brushed his lips against mine, though, much to my disappointment, once, twice. I began to close my mouth; but then I felt his tongue snake out to tentatively touch mine; and my eyes rolled back into my head.
Saccharine, like the finest spun sugar, and heady, like a drug – like nicotine – I was addicted to his taste in that single burst of sunlit summer. He groaned, and made a tiny thrust with his hips, liking my own flavor – It's like bottled sunshine and ambrosia, honey mixed with the freshest mint, he rhapsodized.
The rain above us began to slow down, the squall drifting off for just the moment.
But my mind froze in the lull of the storm, for that moment no longer under its overpowering influence, even as my own body responded with a thrust of its own and my erection grew.
What on earth was I doing – with a man, no less?
I gasped as Jasper moved against me, unhindered like I was. It was the sweetest, most awful melody we made as I bucked and he thrust. We were racing toward the unknown, and I raised my hands to push him off – but ah, the storm returned with all its oppressive might! I was once more powerless to my desires, like a helpless kitten in an alley – I certainly mewed like one! – and I could no longer think logically.
I could feel the cliff coming closer in my mind, and waiting to reach it was almost painful, but oh so good. Jazz broke off the kiss, moving to my neck; we moved faster and harder against each other now, and I ripped his shirt apart to place my hands against his bare skin, as the storm instructed my inexperienced body. He responded in kind, moving a hand from my hair to my chest, stroking the pale flesh that lay exposed for him.
Mmm, he hummed, placing tiny bites against his neck...and then I knew how to get us both over the edge; it was so simple, really…
"Jazz," I gasped, clutching his shoulders and pressing him harder against me with my heels. "Jazz, bite me."
He stopped, eyes enormous as he stared down at me. "What?"
"Trust me, just do it!"
It'll hurt, he reflected, returning his attention to my collarbone, which he sucked and licked and kissed as he tweaked a nipple. I should know; it'll hurt more than you think…
"Do it!"
He hesitated, preparing the skin with sweet kisses and swirls of his tongue. A hand went further down, cupping me through my jeans. I threw my head back as he rubbed me – trying to give me more than enough pleasure before the pain, I presumed.
If you really want it, then I'll give it to you.
"Yes! I need it, Jazz!" I was almost there
Fine. With that one last thought, he latching his lips around my skin and harshly bit down into it.
I growled as satisfaction and agony mixed in equal amounts, his venom burning a feathered scroll on my white, white skin – silver in color, my own personal tattoo – and I came, for the first time that I could remember.
It was all warm and wild and uncontrollable as I felt a warm liquid rush from me; I was free, soaring...
Razor sharp teeth continued to dig into my skin, and I felt him still above me, pushing still as he tried to obtain his own orgasm; half a dozen thrusts against my thigh later, he did. Then he collapsed against the muddy ground, bare skin glistening in the rain.
I wanted him closer, though; I needed him.
Inching closer in the dying storm, I wrapped my bare arms around his waist and lay my head against his shoulder. My new tattoo – a claiming of his – glittered on my collarbone, and I faintly smiled as Jazz lifted a finger to caress it.
Oh, it was a fine night, I wondered, hugging my Jasper beside me. He purred in response, and I nuzzled against his neck, disturbed as I was.
Through a break in the clouds, a single fleeting band of moonlight slipped away from its home, kissing the trees and their leaves, lilting on our exposed minds and bodies, white and pallid and scarred against the sable dirt. Rain caressed our faces and skin, but began to slowly die out.
And the moon slid behind the clouds once more.
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Dolly (n): a girl
