Oh, our poor boys! Last chapter was tough on them. I think it's time for them to each have a bit of fun, don't you?

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. I do own the OCs – Jack especially. Mmmmm – Jack.

-o-

Jasper

After the door is safety closed, I physically smack my forehead as I mentally chastise myself for the indulgence of calling him 'beautiful'. What a harebrained, impulsive thing to do. The thing is that it was out of my mouth before I even realized – seeing him again was a shock, and even without the confessions he made, I'm sure the word would have been on the tip of my tongue; from habit, and because it's just so fucking true. He's so beautiful I could weep.

Nevertheless, I am annoyed with myself for allowing it to transform from thought to spoken word. As I flop onto my couch, exhausted by our conversation, I think about how having Emmett at my apartment tonight when Edward buzzed on the intercom, affected the outcome of the evening.

"Jasper, it's Edward. I was hoping we could talk".

Emmett turns to me and says, "He's the one, right?" Frozen with shock, I can't respond. "Jasper," Emmett says urgently. "What are you going to do?" Still I say nothing, several times over. Finally Emmett says, "I'm letting him in."

His words finally break my trance, and though I cry, "No!" it's too late. He has pressed the button to unlock the security door. "Emmett!!" I wail. "What the fuck did you do?"

"You didn't say anything!" he hisses. "Besides – he wants to talk to you. Isn't that a good thing?"

"I'm not ready…I'm not prepared to talk to him."

"Fine," Emmett replies, "when he comes up, I'll tell him it's not a good time."

"You can't do that – he knows I'm here and you fucking buzzed him in!"

"I don't think he'll argue with me, Jay," he points out.

"That's not the point," I protest, almost shrill now.

Out in the hallway, I hear the elevator chime, signaling that it is opening onto my floor. "Fuck fuck fuck," I chant under my breath.

"Jay!" commands Em in a furious whisper. "You go over there and wait, and calm yourself down. Take deep breaths. If you don't want to talk to him, I'll get rid of him. Simple as that."

"Okay," I concede, and step back from the door, using every ounce of determination I have to summon the fiercest mask I'm able to find. Shoulders are squared, head held high; face impassive. Quiet, expressionless...let him draw his own conclusions at first.

I take a couple of deep breaths while over my shoulder, Emmett is whispering to himself, "Don't break his face, don't break his face." Emmett totally would have done just such a thing in the old days, if I'd asked him to. Things have changed now, with the addition of his sons to his life; but he still struggles sometimes against being the uber-protective grizzly bear.

The knock sounds on the door, and I jump. Emmett turns to eye me, and mouths the word, Ready? I nod shakily and he opens the door.

Edward's eyes widen significantly when he sees the unanticipated individual standing in the doorway. He doesn't have to look up by much to meet Emmett's gaze; but he has to lean significantly to see around him to where I stand. When our eyes meet, my heart jumps into my throat, dragging my stomach with it. I manage, though, to hold on desperately to the shred of self-control that lets me maintain Jazz.

Wordlessly, Emmett steps aside; but Edward waits for my assent before coming into the apartment. As disinterestedly as possible, I look away and nod – doing my best to express just how much this concession is costing me. He sidles past Emmett cautiously, and then goes straight to the living room.

"Hang on a sec," I mumble, and accompany Emmett into the hallway, outside my door, where Edward can still see.

"Are you going to be okay?" Em asks me in a whisper.

"I have no idea," I concede. "I guess it depends on what he's here to talk about…"

"I can stick around if you want, hang out in the guest room," he offers, "if you don't want to be alone."

"I'm not afraid of him, Em," I assure him.

"No, of course," he nods. "Jay, I hope you get what you want – whatever that is; whatever's best for you. You are a great uncle and a kickass brother. We want you to be happy."

"I know. Thanks, Em." I hug him and give him a kiss on the cheek, and as I pull away I say, "I love you."

"Love you too, Jay," he says. He stands for a moment, eyeing Edward in the living room; and then gives me one last look, and a wink, before striding off down the hall to the elevator. So much for Thai food. It occurs to me, though, that crow might be on the menu in my living room tonight.

I sigh as I close the door, and I slowly walk to where Edward waits in the living room. We stare at each other for several moments before I ask him why he's here; though I am rather certain it has to do with my incident with Carlisle yesterday. Finally, he speaks, apologizing for interrupting my plans with my "date". For a moment, I consider allowing him to suffer under that delusion, just for a little while. It is a very brief moment though, and I immediately correct him. Unable to stand it any longer, I ask him outright.

"Why are you here, Edward?"

The question opens up a torrent of information from this man who, in my experience, has been a closed-and-locked book for as long as I've known him; in every capacity in which I've known him. I can't help an acerbic laugh when he uses the "I was going to tell you" line – the same one he refused to accept from me; but that bitter amusement vanishes quickly.

"You fucking broke my heart," I murmur, barely hanging onto my composure. As I say it, though, I realize that he is the one who is crying – and I am astonished. Utterly astonished. Edward didn't cry when we saw his parents, or when he broke up with me; but here he is weeping in my living room. And then the words that I would have given anything to hear, are being spoken by him – and instead of embracing them, I find myself rejecting them, asking him not to say it again - ready to physically push him away if necessary.

And he's telling me about his reunion with his parents, and acknowledging that I didn't betray his confidence, and I'm listening and nodding in the right places; and then, like a punch in the stomach, he confesses to picking up other guys after we broke up. The first one being the day after our breakup…! I can barely stand to acknowledge his words – he touched other guys – his hands on a hard body, his tongue in a willing mouth, his cock stretching a tight ass…the thought makes me feel like I'm going to throw up. Instead, tears come to my eyes picturing my…Edward groaning as he pegs some stranger. Or – unthinkably – bottoming for them.

I have to know. "You said you'd never give your gift to anyone but me. Did you…?" He quickly promises that he didn't; and adds that he didn't fuck anyone in his bed (his bed…no longer ours, regardless of what he says now). I flop onto the couch and bury my face in my hands. What does he expect me to be, relieved? I'm just fucking devastated. I know what Edward was like before we met – to him, sex was just fucking. Pleasure with no emotion or meaning. But if I had as much impact on him as he claims I did, why was it so easy for him to return to that after he ended it?

And then he asks for forgiveness. Asks if I can love him again. "I didn't know I loved you," he says. And I can believe it; but believing it and being able to live with it – opening myself back up to it – are two very different things. I do love him – I may always love him – but I honestly don't know if I can take this chance again. Because if it went south for a second time…

So I'm honest with him. Brutally fucking honest. I tell him that I just don't know if he has what I need in a relationship. "Equanimity. Endurance. Integrity. Permanence. This ripped me apart, Edward, and we were only together for two weeks. What if we get back together, and after a few months, maybe a couple of years, something happens that scares you, makes you panic and flee. I can't live my life on eggshells, Edward; I'm not going to constantly worry that I'm going to do something to spook you, and that you'll be out there fucking around while you figure things out. It's all intensity and fire; but when the fire gets too hot, who gets burned?"

And then he whispers, "Kas…" And that's just fucking it. If he thinks that'll be his trump card, that he'll call me a sweet term of endearment – my Oma's name for me, for fuck's sake – and I'll cave, he is so fucking wrong.

Turning in his direction, I level an absolutely withering gaze at him.

"Don't…call…me…that. You may not call me that." He shrinks away, his eyes wide, and I continue to glare at him until he slumps back, his head resting on the back of the couch. Only then do I shift back to look out the window, and determine to myself that the next word will be his. I will not break the silence between us.

It's difficult to hold my hard line, though, as I hear him softly cry beside me. Certainly, Edward crying is an enormous surprise, something I could never have anticipated seeing, even in spite of having been told by the NICU nurses that he'd been teary at the sight of the pre-term babies. An argument between my head and my heart rages silently; and my head is dangerously close to losing the battle. My heart, which I thought he'd turned into a block of ice, seems to be forming some condensation around the edges. By the time he finally speaks, it has started to drip and there's a decent-size puddle below it.

His voice despondent, he asks, "Is this it, then, Jasper? Is it all lost? Isn't there anything I can do…?"

With a sigh, I answer honestly, "I don't know. I need to think."

He rises, saying, "I understand. I should go, I guess."

I get up and accompany him to the door, where he suddenly clasps my hand in his, and tells me again, "I need you to know, Jasper, that I love you. Regardless of what decision you come to, I will never stop loving you, for as long as I live." He tells me he's going out of town again – San Francisco this time – but will return on Saturday. And that he'll miss me while he's gone. He holds my gaze, as though he can't bear to step away; the pain and longing are plainly visible in his eyes.

Saturday…the day after my plans with Jack. I don't know whether I'll be in the finest form on Saturday, as I've been planning to get good and smashed Friday night. "Give me till Sunday," I tell him vaguely – he doesn't need to know why.

He agrees, and then repeats, "I love you."

I bid him goodbye as I close the door behind him, and then that word…that incriminating word slips out, and I want to beat my head against the door as soon as I've said it.

I don't know what I'm going to do – I'm nowhere near making a decision. It was stupid and irresponsible, and if he heard me…I don't even want to think about it.

For the rest of the night, I attempt to do other things to distract myself. Heating up some leftovers for dinner (and grumbling because I didn't get my Thai food). Television. Reading. Taking a bath. Reading in the bath. But it's always there, and not even in the back of my mind. Edward is before me, no matter what I do. His face is hovers before my eyes, like a carrot dangled in front of a donkey. But does a donkey ever say, "Meh, I'm not sure this carrot is the one for me"? No.

We, though, are supposed to be "smarter" than donkeys. Why do we still act like jackasses?

This mental merry-go-round plays in my head late into the night, until I finally fall into a restless, disturbed sleep.

-o-

The rest of the week passes, and I find that I'm as undecided on Friday afternoon as I was on Tuesday night. Over and over, my head reminds me of all the reasons not to be with Edward; and my heart scoffs resolutely at each one. A frank discussion with Kathleen over lunch on Thursday doesn't shed any light; neither do hours on the phone with Rosalie. I just don't know. I stepped so far out onto that limb before, knowing I'd always wonder if I didn't try. I can only place responsibility for that decision on myself; but how can I possibly do it again, having been gutted by it once?

And yet…I remember his body against mine, feeling wholly connected to him. Laughing with him over silly things; listening to him as he told me about his passion for photography; watching him work. And thinking, This is it. I'm home. And my heart reminds me that when I knew Carlisle and Esme had him back, I wished to have him back as well. Now I have the opportunity – will I really refuse him?

By the time Friday night comes, Jack and I have been in touch and we've decided to go out for a late dinner before heading to a club. He has suggested an Indian food restaurant in Ballard, a neighborhood northwest of my place in Fremont. We meet at the restaurant, and make small talk while we wait for a table to open up. Jack seems in a better mood than when I saw him on Sunday. His smile comes more easily, and he's relaxed and open. As we stand at the bar having a drink while we wait to be seated, I surreptitiously check him out – something I didn't really do on Sunday. I mean, yeah – I noticed that he's, well, pretty ridiculously good-looking. But I didn't give it much more thought than that.

Standing here with him now, though, I can imagine the attention he gets anytime he happens into a gay establishment – hell, any establishment, really – and I can't help thinking that it'll be very interesting to observe what happens when we do get to the club. He's dressed more with dinner in mind than clubbing, I imagine; he's wearing a pair of black flat-front slacks that sit at his hip bones, and a charcoal-grey ribbed v-neck, the wrist-length sleeves accenting his long arms. I didn't realize on Sunday that, despite being rather slim, he's also pretty buff. Yes, this will be a very interesting evening.

Finally, the server seats us and takes our orders – roghon josh for me, mattar paneer for Jack, who tells me he's a vegetarian; and a plate of vegetable pakora to share. Once the server leaves, we fiddle with our drinks a bit, not looking at each other too closely; until he breaks the mildly-uncomfortable silence.

"So…how was your week?" he asks a little absently, not realizing what a loaded question this is for me. I sigh – just a small sigh, thinking he won't even hear it in noise of the Friday night restaurant crowd – but his eyes flicker to meet mine, curious. When I don't answer, his eyebrows pop up. "That doesn't sound promising."

"It wasn't the greatest," I grimace.

"Work stuff?" he asks, and I shake my head.

"No, actually – work is great." I smile a bit at this. "I love it there."

"Sorry," he says, "I don't know what you do." I give him a brief overview of working as a comptroller at the hospital; and he reciprocates by telling me about his job as a stock broker. "It's been a little nerve-wracking the last year or so," he says, and I find myself wondering at the smug smile on his face till he continues, "Some of the weaker stomachs have gotten out of the market.

"But not you," I remark.

"No," he says, smirking. "Everything I have, is because I hung on for the ride. I have a strong nerve."

"And a healthy sense of self-worth," I tease, hoping he won't be offended by the remark.

He isn't, breaking into a self-satisfied grin. "I can't deny it," he says. "I've found what I'm good at – I fucking love it. But you – your problems aren't at work…is it the guy…?" He already knows that I've recently broken up; not having to explain it is a relief.

"Yeah," I nod, "the guy. I ran into his father this week, and then a day later, he came to see me, and…"

"It didn't go well?"

"Well…he apologized. He…" I pause and my eyes light on Jack's face to gauge his reaction as I continue, "He says he loves me. Asked if I could forgive him. He wants me back."

"I see," is Jack's only reply; though I can from the furrow that appears between his brows, that he's puzzled by something. At that moment, the server arrives with our vegetable pakora, and we're silent as we each consume a couple of the gram flour fritters.

Finally, wiping the residual grease from his fingers on a napkin, Jack asks, "So, what are you doing here with me?"

I blink at him, confused. "Pardon?"

"This guy…"

"Edward," I supply.

"Edward. I thought you said you fell in love with him?" he asks.

I nod slowly. "I did fall in love with him."

"And he apologized? Says he loves you? Wants you back?"

"As I said," I answer, a bit stiffly.

"Then Jasper," he leans towards me and levels a pointed stare at me, "what are you doing here with me? Why the hell aren't you with him, beginning your happily ever after?" I don't answer him, instead staring at the table. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him I had to think about it," I answer quietly, my eyes still locked on the table. When he doesn't answer, I look up to find him staring at me, aghast.

"What the hell is there to think about?" he demands.

"Lots of things, Jack!" I answer him defensively. "Like how he slept with other guys after he broke up with me. How he never told me he loved me until he showed up begging me to take him back. How he fucking ripped me in two pieces…" A woman at the next table glowers at me. I realize how loudly I just swore, and lower my voice. "How he ripped me in two pieces and then kicked me out of his apartment."

The server chooses this moment to arrive with our meal and offers to refresh our drinks. Several minutes later when we're taken care of, Jack resumes our conversation.

"Breakups aren't pretty, Jasper," he replies calmly, spearing a piece of paneer with his fork. "People say things they don't mean; they yell, and they throw their lover out, and they do stupid stuff. What happened to you hurts, I know; but it happens to almost everyone." I dip a piece of naan in the sauce from my lamb, avoiding his eyes. "If this guy is the one – the one you thought you would be with for the rest of your life – and you can still picture that, even a little bit…you owe it to yourself not to burn any bridges. At least give him a chance to show you that what he says is true. If you don't try, won't you always wonder what might have been?"

I nod slowly, and he continues. "If you give it a try and it doesn't work out – then you know you tried it, and you can move on. Even if it's difficult to move on, you'll know you gave it your best. But if it does work out…"

I know. I've already had this conversation with myself, the night I first found out that Carlisle Cullen was on staff at Northwest. Life is a gamble – love is the payout. And if the payout comes, I'll have hit the jackpot. But I gambled already, didn't I? How many times must I take this risk?

"I'm going to say this one more thing, Jasper," Jack says, "and then I'll let the subject drop. I've been in love with the same person for four years, and it's an utterly lost cause. I'd do anything – anything – for the opportunity to have a relationship with him. You have this chance; he wants you. Don't waste it because he had sex with a few other guys while you were broken up."

I scowl a bit, still not meeting his eyes; and we both eat in silence for a few moments. As I crunch a piece of pappadum I consider his words. And then I decide to turn the mirror the other way.

"So, I don't imagine you've been celibate all that time you've had a thing for Ashton, then, huh?"

He coughs a bit around a mouthful of peas, and downs them with some water. When his breathing has returned to normal, he says, "Jesus, Jasper; way to just jump right in to that conversation."

I give him a look of wide-eyed innocence, saying nothing. After a minute he continues, "No, I haven't been celibate. I've had one-night stands, like everyone has; I was even in a relationship for a while. A short while."

"Really?" I ask, intrigued.

"Yeah." He makes a wry face. "He was very nice, but…"

"Yeah." I get it.

"I was never completely invested in it, and it wasn't fair to him. I ended it after a few months. He knew, anyways." He signals to the server to bring us some more water.

"He knew?" I press.

"When I told him it wasn't going to work out, he was very calm; he said he couldn't compete with the ghost of a relationship that never happened," Jack muses. "I knew then that I shouldn't be in another relationship. It would never be fair to the other person, as long as…"

"As long as you were still in love with someone else," I finish.

"Right. But, honestly – I'm okay with not being in a relationship. I work ridiculously long hours, and I'm sure you'll be shocked to find out that I'm actually pretty anti-social." I smirk, and he acknowledges my smirk with a wry smile. "If I was with someone I'd never see them during the week. But you, Jasper," he says seriously, leaning across the table to me, "you should be with someone. You have a warmth that draws people to you. You deserve to have a happy relationship with someone you love. If that person is Edward, don't let him slip through your fingers."

By now we are finished eating. I'm sitting thoughtfully, twisting my napkin in my hands, when he says, "What do you say we skip the club?"

I start and look up. "What? Why?"

"You don't seem to be in the mood for dancing," he smirks.

"Oh," I reply sheepishly. "Yeah, sorry to be a wet blanket. But honestly – I've been looking forward to this all week. If you're still up for it, I do want to go."

"Well," he says with a deep roll of his eyes, "I kinda had myself mentally prepared, you know, to have fun." I can't help laughing at him; as he said, he is rather brooding. "So yeah, let's go have fun or whatever." He sets his face in a mock scowl and I laugh again.

-o-

After some debate, we end up at a club called XY. His original suggestion of Spin being quickly vetoed by me – after the display I put on last time I was there, I'm not anxious to show my face there again – he recommends XY because of the good reputation of the house DJ. After checking our coats, we head to the bar, where we each toss back a couple shots of tequila. Just as the fuzz starts to settle nicely into my head, Jack turns to me. Inclining his head towards the dance floor, he grins and asks, "Should we risk it?" I grab his wrist and pull him onto the floor.

The DJ's reputation is well-deserved, as he spins old-school progressive house and trance. One song after another, Jack and I dance, just for the sheer enjoyment of abandoning all our troubles and losing ourselves in the familiar tracks. For all Jack's protest, he's a fucking fine dancer. Having left his sweater with his coat, after half an hour or so he takes off his t-shirt and tucks it into the side of his waistband. He's slim and his chest isn't exceptionally defined; but it's entirely bare. The thin sheen of sweat that glistens in the lights gives him an otherworldly quality, and I can't help thinking, if I wasn't in love with Edward…

My thoughts are interrupted by a twink who approaches, attempting to ingratiate himself into a sandwich between the two of us. Jack and I step away from him and continue dancing several feet to the left of where the twink is. Numerous times over the course of the night, Jack or I get hit on – him more than me, I must say – and we both politely decline.

Later on, as we're regrouping with a few more shots at the bar, Jack is commenting on how these guys don't even care if you look as though you're here with someone – they will swarm on anyone new or anyone one who hasn't been around in a while. "Little punks," he mutters. "Didn't their mommies teach them manners?"

The words are still hanging in the air when another youngling comes up to us. This one, though, doesn't give us the usual smarmy come-ons. Instead, he pokes a finger into my chest, and says maliciously, "Guess you're not such a hot commodity after all, fucker. Cullen tossed you faster than a used condom."

I look at him, aghast, and realize I'm looking at the twink from Spin, the one I pissed off by being there as Edward's date. A group of friends surround him – presumably the same group as from Spin, though I never looked closely enough at any but this one to make a positive identification – and they all snort with glee at their friend's witty observation.

Jack speaks before I can even stand to intimidate this infant. "Hey, Billy," he says to the bartender, "how carefully did you check their IDs? This one's in eleventh grade – he goes to school with my little sister. In fact...." he points at several people throughout the group, "these ones are too."

"Fuck," Billy curses under his breath. "You little shitheads get the fuck out of here, and don't come back, understand me? I'll remember you, Cody," he says, pointing directly at the big-mouthed ringleader. "I always remember the ones with mouths too big for their own good."

The boys protest loudly – Cody especially – but Billy signals for the door staff and they escort the entire group out. Jack watches the show, and when they disappear from sight, he turns back to me with a wide grin.

"Nice," I say appreciatively. "What an unlucky coincidence for them that he goes to school with your sister."

Jack smirks and leans toward me conspiratorially. "I don't have a sister," he says in a low voice. "And Cody celebrated his 21st birthday last month at Spin."

Clapping my hand over my mouth, I laugh hysterically, thinking of how furious Cody will be to be hustled out of the bar because they think he's underage. The alcohol in my system makes this the best fucking joke I've ever heard. I'm still gasping for breath as Jack orders two more tequila shots. When the shots are poured, though, he slides them both in front of me.

"What are you doing?" I ask, slurring a bit.

"Am I to understand that the guy you were seeing was Edward Cullen?" he asks with a lopsided grin, a product of his alcohol buzz.

"Yeah," I mumble, feeling confused and a little hazy.

"Then drink up," he encourages. "Because if you're in love with Edward Cullen, you need these a hell of a lot more than I do."

-o-

Edward

I lie on the bed, relaxing back onto the soft bank of pillows, my hands clasped behind my head. I watch him as he stands on the floor at the foot of the unfamiliar bed, loosening his tie slowly, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor. His eyes never leaving mine, he unbuttons his dress shirt, pulling it out of his waistband; it joins the tie in a puddle on the floor. Next are the belt, button and zipper, and his pants drop. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of his black DMK low-rise boxer briefs; or more specifically, the bulge straining at the front of them. He steps out of the pants, quickly rips off the socks; then, turning his back to me, he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and slowly, slowly inches them down over the edible curves of his ass. When his ass is fully exposed, he turns and does the same in the front, slipping the briefs lower and lower until his turgid length is completely revealed. The underwear, too, are discarded.

He climbs onto the bed and slowly crawls towards me; then straddling my body, he slides his smooth chest up my thighs and over my throbbing cock, capturing it between his body and mine. My cock is ultra-sensitive, and his touch sends shivers all over my body. His slow ascent up my body continues, his chest meeting mine, our cocks touching each other. He dips his tongue into the hollows at the base of my neck, spending long moments tracing the lines there. As he does, he shifts his hip slightly from side to side, rubbing our cocks together until I'm panting, moaning for a reprieve before he drives me to distraction.

Finally he retreats, sliding his body back down until his face hovers over my cock; then his soft lips part and he takes me into his warm mouth. Over and over the head of my cock meets the back of his throat, his tongue teasing my shaft with the most delicious torment. Several times he brings me almost to the edge; but then, sensing how close I am, he backs off.

When I think I can't stand it any longer, he pulls back and lifts my knees up. From nowhere, a condom is on his cock and a bottle of lube is in his hand. He lubes his gloved cock, then my ass; wordlessly, he lifts my legs up onto his shoulders and without hesitation, he slowly but steadily presses into me. There is intense pressure; but no pain, as he stretches my ass to fit his gorgeous, thick cock. As soon as he is fully sheathed, he pulls back again; slowly thrusting in and out, constantly in motion; and the tension in my body builds, more and more, pulling me tighter until I am taut as the string on a bow.

Our bodies are slick with sweat, our skin gliding easily against each other. He increases his speed, his face frowning in concentration, and the string that is pulled tight threatens to snap. "Stroke yourself," he whispers hoarsely, and I immediately comply, wrapping my hand around my aching cock. He looks into my eyes, the intensity burning between us, as the strain starts to show on his face. His voice is thick as he commands, "Say the words when you come." I nod, knowing that it won't be long before my hot cum explodes between us.

Just another moment and I tense, clenching the muscles in my ass. As wave after luscious wave of ecstasy engulfs me, I cry out, "I love you, I love you!" The declaration and the spasms of my ass bring him to his climax as well. He growls, slamming into me, holding, pushing as deep as he can; and then he shouts his powerful release, his cock throbbing inside me.

When there is no more pleasure to be chased, he pulls out and quickly disposes of the condom; then he collapses on top of me, his face nestling against my neck. "So good, so good," he gasps, struggling to regain his breath. Burying my hand in his hair and pulling his head still closer, I nod. Moments later when we have come down somewhat from our peak, he lifts his head to look into my eyes. "I love you," he whispers.

"I love you too, Kas," I reply, taking his face gently in my hands and kissing his soft, delicate lips, before we drift off to sleep together.

I wake, and though my eyes are still closed I know there's no light coming into the room. It must still be dark out. My sheets are wet, sticking to me; and I think, Jesus, we were sweatier than I realized. Eyes still closed, I reach for him…reaching, reaching…but not finding him. I sit up, fumbling beside me for the bedside table to switch on my lamp. Nothing is where it should be; and I finally crack an eye open to look around. I am completely disoriented for just a moment, and then I realize.

I'm in San Francisco. In a hotel room. Alone. It's early Saturday morning, and Jasper is 800 miles away - geographically. Emotionally, he may be a million miles from me. And the wetness in my bed…yeah, I had a wet dream, for the first time since I was fourteen years old. I suppose that's what I get for neglecting my daily relief session in the shower as of late. But this one…it was so fucking real. Even now when I'm awake, I remember every detail with perfect clarity, as though it really happened. Knowing it didn't is almost more than I can bear.

I drag myself out of bed and fetch a couple of clean towels from the bathroom. I clean up the

sheets, lying down one towel for me to sleep on and pulling the top sheet off the bed entirely. For the second time in a month, I am in a hotel room by myself, feeling the full extent of how alone I really am.

And to think I used to love this part of my job.

Instead of allowing myself to slip into despair, I decide to get up and take action. Knowing I can sleep in tomorrow, I throw on a pair of pants and pull open my laptop. I need to do some research into an area in which I have almost no experience; because this is something I need to get right.

For the man I love.

-o-

Raise your hand if you thought Edward was getting some on the side while he was in San Fran – bottoming, no less!! **peers into ficdom** I see a few hands. Tsk, tsk – ye of little faith!! Your humble author was just having a bit of a lark. In all seriousness, this moment of hotness was brought to you by a special reader who respectfully requested a hot, sexy dream. I was only too happy to comply; and I hope this was everything she hoped for, and more.

As an entirely-irrelevant aside: I am totally going to get Indian food for lunch today; after this chapter, I'm desperate for roghon josh. :) Either that, or Thai - chicken and veggies in oyster sauce sounds equally good. Gah - what is this, a food fetish story? Damn.

What do you suppose Edward is researching?

New on the blog this week:
Fan Art, by and I'm None The Wiser
The Love Through Lemons Twific Contest
Check it out at starfish422(dot)blogspot(dot)com