For: Twiolic
Prompt: Uh oh! I've met my brother's (or son's) new bride before.
Pairing: Edward/Rosalie
Everyone has that person, or persons, with whom they act different. I knew a guy who was a rude prick, but with his girlfriend's parents, he was kindness and chivalry itself.
Myself, I'm a nice guy. Polite. Respectful. I consider myself a feminist. I don't believe in the friend-zone. If I score a woman's phone number, I don't think there's any shame in calling her the next day. Etc. Etc. Etc.
When I was with my brother, I was a different person; one I wasn't necessarily proud of. Emmett could be a real dude-bro, and with him, I wasn't much better. The way we talked about women didn't approach anything even resembling respect.
The problem was, I didn't get to see my big brother very often. We lived across the country from each other, and Emmett sucked at talking over Skype or on the phone. We texted fairly often, but the limited time we were together, it was a go with the flow kind of time.
All of this was important to know for several reasons. The first is, understanding our relationship, you might understand how it came to be that I had never met his girlfriend of a year, a woman he was marrying. The fact my brother was one of the two or three people left in the world not on social media explained why I had never even seen a picture. He'd sent one to Mom, and she'd gone into detail about how beautiful his girl-Rosalie-was. Really, I didn't care what his girlfriend looked like. I didn't expect her to last. None of them did.
As you might imagine, I was surprised when he told me he needed me to get my ass on a plane-he was marrying this girl. It all happened pretty fast. He called and by that weekend, Mom, Dad, and I were on a plane, headed for New York.
Mom was right-Emmett's girl was extraordinarily beautiful. And I'd been wrong. I had seen her before.
I'd seen a little too much of her before.
I wasn't a stranger to casual sex. If I hit it off with a lady and neither of us were interested in pursuing anything long term, sex made for a good hello and goodbye. I didn't hit it off with a lot of people, so it wasn't an all the time kind of thing, but it certainly wasn't unheard of.
Rosalie stood out, mostly because I hadn't hit it off with her. Up until the moment I kissed her, I thought she was the most rude, arrogant, self-centered person I'd ever met. I was playing wing man for a friend and trying to see a conversation through for his sake. She drove me too crazy. I said something under my breath-not mean or anything, but sarcastic. I tried to walk away before she goaded me into saying something right to her antagonistic face.
She followed after me, all ticked off because I'd called her on her bullshit-even if it was something I clearly hadn't meant to say out loud. My mother taught me the wise words of Thumper, after all. So Rosalie was right on my heels, bitching me out. She followed me down the hallway of the bar we were at, and I wouldn't have put it past her to follow me into the bathroom. I whirled around, grabbed her, pressed her up against the wall and kissed her quite fucking thoroughly.
Yeah, I was as surprised as she was. I'd never done anything like that before in my life. Why would I? Who the hell wanted to make a habit of kissing people who clearly didn't want to kiss them?
But she did want to kiss me. Or anyway, as soon as I broke the kiss-before I could apologize-she lunged at me, pressed me up against the opposite wall, and kissed me. Hard.
Sex happened. Hard. Fast. Mind-shattering orgasm sex. We weren't gentle. There was no cuddling. My back was a mess of scratches. I'm pretty sure she had a bruise or two-not because of any kind of violence, of course, just the kind of bruised that happened when one engaged me in throw me down, ride me hard, and put me be away wet type sex.
And that was fine. Both parties consented quite vocally. Neither of us pretended we wanted it to happen again. I knew her name was Rosalie, but I never got her last name-things just happened to quickly and when we were done, we were done.
The version of that story I told my brother, though, was detailed. That wasn't a lie. What was a lie was the way I talked about Rosalie.
"This bitch loved cock. Everywhere and anywhere. She was begging for it."
Enough that I felt guilty when I shook her hand in greeting when we came face to face. She remembered me, and she didn't seem pleased either.
Here was the other thing-that night with me, if I was getting the timeline right, was after she'd already been with Emmett.
So there was a moral quandary. I should have let him know she was a cheater-which wasn't necessarily true, because who knew if they'd been exclusive at that point. But letting him know would also mean he would annihilate me, not only for what I did to his soon-to-be wife, but for the things I'd said about her.
Yeah. This could get...interesting.