A/N: So, they're finally back! I hope you've been enjoying Black Swan, even though it's such a different story from this one. This chapter's just a bit of fun and filler before the story progresses. I gave you a bit of raunch to make up for the mini hiatus ;)
Thank you, Kim, for rushing this through and to StarryEyedWriter8 for prereading.
Gaytime: Golden Gaytime is toffee, vanilla and chocolate ice-cream swirl with little biscuit pieces. It is all kind of delish, and anyone who buys it cannot stop at only a few scoops.
Hundreds and Thousands: What we call those little round sprinkles you stick on ice-cream. We also put them on bread - fairy bread.
Woolies: Woolworths supermarket.
Hoodwinked
Chapter 27
"I'm hungry," Edward states the moment he opens the door to me.
"What? Have you eaten dinner?" I ask. He's had a shower and he smells nice—and no longer of my mother's herbal bath.
"Yeah, but I'm still hungry," he replies, curling his arm around my shoulders and turning me in the direction of the interior entrance to the garage. "Let's go to Woolies and get ice-cream."
"You're not driving!" I insist, grabbing his keys from his hand the moment he presses the keyless entry.
"There's no chance in hell you're driving my car, booger, and how many times do I have to tell you? There's nothing wrong with me," he insists, snatching them back.
"Love your car more than me, do you?" I ask, arching a brow, but I'm not surprised by it; he's such a typical male. Total rev-head.
"Well, yeah," he teases, opening the passenger side door for me. Yeah, he's a rev-head, he's crass, he fights too much, and he's a complete caveman, but beneath it all, he's a total gentleman.
"You know there's a song about that?" I say, after he pulls himself behind the steering well.
"Oh, yeah?" He turns to me after slotting the key into the ignition.
"Okay, so you've got a car," I sing Shania Twain. "That don't impress me much – uh, uh, uh-ooh."
He breaks into an immediate grin and shakes his head to himself. "You're a dork."
"I can't believe you kiss your car goodnight. Now come on, baby, tell me, you must be joking, right?" I continue to sing as Edward drives, glancing at me like I'm nuts.
"What the hell are you singing?" he asks me at a red light.
"Shania Twain."
"Ah...Well if you had legs as long as hers, I'd let you drive my car." He reaches over and clamps my nose.
"Nice!" I protest, swatting his hand away.
He chuckles. "Hey, at least it's realistic. What the hell am I supposed to do with pretty-boy Cloud?"
"Carry a huge sword and save the world!" I play along, and he smirks.
"Big sword, puny dick."
"So, you're Brad Pit!" I ignore him and continue singing, but it's stuck in my head now. "So you got the looks but have you got the touch...?"
"You don't have a bad voice, babe," he over exaggerates it.
"When you say it like that you might as well not say it at all—darling!" I make my point.
"I told you, it's gay."
"Lame," I correct him.
"That too—so after twelve it's tomorrow," he changes coarse without missing a beat.
"Huh?" I say vacantly, unable to keep the pace with him. Not that I ever could.
"We fuck every day from tomorrow, remember?" He raises both brows suggestively, and I roll my eyes.
"You have sex on the brain," I say dryly.
"I'm at my sexual peak," he offers as some kind of explanation.
"Guys peak at eighteen. You're past it."
"Stop that! Anyway, my old man will be back soon, and there's no way in hell I'm sneaking into your house."
He has a point, and I shudder at the very idea of my father catching me and Edward between the sheets. "If he ever caught us he'd probably force us down the aisle."
"Yeah?" Edward replies, breaking into a broad grin.
I only stare at him for a moment, attempting to ascertain whatever the hell it is he's thinking.
"He likes me so much he wants me as a son in law," he elaborates.
"He likes me so much he'd force you to make an honest woman out of me," I clarify.
"If I knock you up, I will." He shrugs, but his grin gives him away.
"If you knock me up, I'll castrate you. I'm not having babies until I'm at least thirty. And if you say another word, I'll tell my dad you want to watch my mother's birth video."
He laughs for a moment. "Wouldn't she be embarrassed? I might see...shit..." he says, appearing to almost shudder himself.
"She wouldn't care. You know how many people she's hamstringed into watching it?"
He turns to me, his brow knotted in disbelief mixed with obvious humour. "Your old lady is off her rocker."
"She's kinda...unorthodox." It's the best word I can use to describe her.
"Well, I'm glad you're normal, booger."
I sigh and shake my head to myself. "How is it you can say booger normally, but saying 'babe' almost strangles you?"
"Jesus, will you shut up? Pain in the neck," he changes coarse again, and I swear sometimes it's exhausting just keeping up with him.
. . .
"God, Edward, your face...People are gonna stare at you and the security guard will probably throw you out," I say, after we leave the parking lot and head in the direction of the supermarkets.
"Just tell them I won a fight with Cloud Strife." He leans down and jokes, grabbing my hand.
"I hate you," I say exasperated, nudging him with my shoulder as he laughs. Or attempts to. His bruised ribs don't make it easy for him.
"That's all bullshit, you know," he pipes up as we're browsing the frozen dessert aisle. The supermarket is virtually empty, but one checkout lady did stare at him; though, it was more out of concern for him than herself.
"What is?—Gaytime?" I suggest.
"Nah, ate a whole tub of it not long ago. Just the thought of it makes me wanna puke—boys peaking when they're eighteen."
I turn to him and arch a dubious eyebrow. "Really?"
"Yes," he over emphasises it like a typical smart arse. "I barely lasted thirty seconds when I was eighteen."
I huff. "What part of your brain thinks I want to hear that?"
"Well, I needed to back up my argument, didn't I?" He slings his elbow around my neck and pulls me toward him, squeezing me.
"Anything to bring up sex again..." I say ruefully, untangling myself from his arms. "Choc Mint?"
"Hmm..." he deliberates before shrugging noncommittally. "Vanilla and we'll crush Tim Tams into it."
"Hundreds and Thousands," I barter.
"What are you?—three?"
"Arsehole—I like Hundreds and Thousands."
"Fine..." he caves.
"You use the same tone when you say 'babe'," I point out dryly.
"Okay, Hundreds and Thousands—in my babe voice," he teases me, "but with caramel topping."
"Deal."
"I just can't do babe," he admits, as we're checking out at the self-serve. "We're gonna have to think of something else."
"What on earth happened to your face?" A fellow shopper stops as she passes us and brazenly asks.
"I got into a fight with Cloud Strife," he answers straight-faced, because he is the world's biggest smart arse.
I only sigh beneath my breath, and try not to make it audible.
He carries the grocery bag back to the car, because again, gentleman. "Beetle bug?"
"Huh?" I turn to him, and I swear getting a concussion has made him even harder to wrap my head around.
"In replace of babe."
"You're doing that on purpose now," I say cynically.
"Shut up and answer."
"Beetle bug?" I echo, quirking a brow to emphasise how silly I think it is. "It's childish."
"Yeah, but that's what you reckon I am."
"But I'm not," I point out. "And I didn't say you were childish," I retort, several beats behind.
"You said I wasn't 'grown up'," he reminds me, leaning his elbow against my shoulder.
I expel another breath, but concede. "Not beetle bug—you'll only change it to beetle slug, anyway."
He chuckles lightly to himself, not even bothering to contradict me.
"Just call me what you want. I don't mind," I relent as we're driving home.
He turns to glance at me, his forehead bunched as if he's not convinced. "You sure?"
"Sure."
"What are you gonna call me?" There's something sly in his tone.
"Shithead," I answer, fighting off the urge to grin.
He laughs again. "Well, it's us."
"It is."
"I won't call you snotface anymore, though."
"But you call me booger—that makes sense," I say wryly.
"Booger is 2019," is his justification.
"So, is booger grown-up snotface?" I ask, and when he glances at me again, I quirk a brow.
He smiles and almost laughs again—only to swallow past an obvious groan. "Pretty much."
"You okay?" My voice falls with concern.
"I'm fine."
"Sure?"
"Shut up."
"Fine," I imitate his usual tone.
"Fine!" he decides to further over exaggerate it. "I'll probably still call you babe, though. When I'm drunk," he adds with a wink, a canny smile on full display this time.
. . .
"Oh, god, being with you is going to stretch my stomach to gargantuan proportions," I moan to myself after finishing off one very large bowl of vanilla ice-cream topped with caramel sauce and Hundreds and Thousands.
Edward scooped the servings, of course. He had twice as much as me.
"Light-weight," he teases me, and scraping his finger along the side of his bowl he wipes the gooey remnants on my nose. I only sigh and allow him to suck it clean. "Half an hour to go," he reminds me against my ear.
"I said after you get an MRI," I refresh his memory, shoving him lightly back.
"Fuck," he complains, gauging me closely for a moment. "You're not really going to make me get one done, are you?"
"Of course I am!" I'm adamant.
"I'll make you a deal—" he begins with a sly smile, when I immediately interject.
"No, we already had a deal."
"Come on, baby, look at me?" He juts out his bottom lip pathetically, but it's his words that suddenly hamstring me, not his face.
"What did you just call me?"
He opens his mouth to reply when he stalls. "Fuck...that was lame." Running his hand over his brow, he flashes me a sheepish smile.
"It was sweet," I insist.
"I'm not calling you that all the time," he warns me, and I laugh.
"I don't want you to. Just say it on impulse like you did just now."
"Alright," he relents, his voice dropping to almost a murmur, but judging by his shrewd expression, he's plotting. "I will, but make me happy, Bell, please?"
"Bell?" I raise a brow, bringing it to his attention.
"Bell is grown-up beetle slug," he says, laughing through his nose.
"God, you're a dork." I shove him again, playfully.
"You love me, right?" he grabs my hand.
"You think that's always going to work?" I put to him.
"Well, if it doesn't, I'm fucked," he mutters, and groaning lazily he lays himself back against his bed.
I observe him for a moment before releasing an exasperated breath. He's so battered it's near impossible to believe he could be in the mood for anything other than sleep. "Is it still sore?" I ask, flattening my palm gently over the hideous purple bruise on the right side of his rib cage.
"Hmm...yeah..." he mutters from behind closed eyes, and removes my hand, "but c'mon, Bell, you're tight, and hot, and Jesus fucking Christ, it makes me horny just thinking about it." He moans as if to reiterate it.
"Stop it!" I blurt, but I'm unable to prevent my grin from following his.
He chuckles, and it's husky, not from lack of sleep—which is exactly why I'm attempting to resist him.
"Bell...?" I echo, ignoring anything else for the mean time. "Where did this come from?"
"I'm not an arsehole," he opens an eye and squints up at me, an all-too-charming smile tugging on his lips. "I've been thinking of things to call you that weren't completely lame. I like just Bell." He shrugs a shoulder.
"Hmm..." I mumble in thought, running my fingers through his hair. "It'll hurt you," I say.
"No, it won't," he assures me, his voice softening, because he knows I'm worried about him. "Wanna try on top?"
"On top?" I echo. "I was a virgin two days ago."
"Yeah?" he says in monotone in some kind of emphasis. "Hey?"
"What?" I ask suspiciously. He's going with another angle; it's obvious.
"I'll make you come again..." He cocks a suggestive brow, and I have to admit, I do pause to consider it.
"Alice and Jas are asleep a room away." I return to logic, and point out the obvious.
"They're hungover and won't hear a thing," is his argument.
I can only sigh and shake my head. "Jas is hungover. Alice isn't."
"Alice won't give a shit."
"She's your sister—of course she will."
"Bella..." Grabbing his pillow, he shoves it over his face and feigns a completely over-the-top sob.
"Call me baby and I'll think about it," I bend down and promise in his ear.
He immediately yanks his pillow from his face and turns to me, his eyes already dark. "Fuck me hard, baby!"
"Oh my god!" I completely give up, and laughing he curls his arms around me and pulls me flush to him.
Relenting, I go fluid against him. He immediately winces, but groaning to himself in frustration, he rolls me beneath him. "Don't say it," he warns, leaning over me on his knees before bending down to plant his lips to mine. "Admit it, Bell, I look pretty hot like this, right?"
"No, you just look banged up," I insist stubbornly, even as I allow him to slowly relax the weight of his body over mine.
"I'm not going to do anything," he whispers, kissing my face, my neck, my shoulders, and back along my throat to my lips. "If you want him, you have to pull him out."
"Him...?" I repeat dubiously, curling my legs around him as he settles between my thighs. I'm continuing to fight the sensation he's slowly drawing from me, even in the state he's currently in. "As in Mr Doobee? That's lame, Edward," I tease him.
"Call him what you want." His voice is becoming low, gravelly, his lips hot and firm against my exposed flesh, and I realise I have ten seconds until he wins me over.
He doesn't attempt to undress himself, or me, for that matter. Just as he promised, he's using only the power of his mouth, and his good-bloody-looks to sway me—even as beaten and bruised as he currently is. And I'm in a freefall beside him, allowing him to take me down, and with each breath I take, each second that passes, I'm yielding and the shithead knows it.
"Edward...after...the...MRI..." I somehow manage to get out against his lips. "I...promise..."
He groans to himself and pulls back to meet my gaze. "You're really that worried about me?" He smiles, and there's something soft and vulnerable about it.
"Of course I am," I insist, confused that he can't understand it. "I just... I can't get turned on when you look so terrible."
He pauses and gauges me for a moment, and taking advantage of the situation, I pull myself out from beneath him. He takes a breath and releases it heavily. "Alright, you pain in the neck," he relents. "But you have to stay over tomorrow night, as well," he counters, his eyebrows pulling high, the grin creeping back to his lips.
I sigh, but his smile is infectious. "Okay. What time's your dad coming home Tuesday?"
He shrugs a disinterested shoulder. "Sometime in the arvo, but I have to work."
"What if the doctor tomorrow gives you time off?" I put to him.
"Then I won't get paid—I need the money," he stresses, pulling himself carefully upright beside me.
"Your health is more important," I remind him, and he rolls his eyes.
"I've got a few bruises. Geez, I'll survive—"
"A concussion is not a bruise," I interrupt him. He always has to make light of everything with him, and I'm not sure if it upsets me more than it frustrates me.
"It was mild." He shrugs again offhandedly. "I was fine today, wasn't I?"
I huff, and jerk his arm from me when he attempts to pull me to him. "You were knocked unconscious by those bastards, so no sex until you get checked out." I'm serious.
He groans again, dropping his head to push the heel of his palm into his eyes. "Killing me, boog."
"Boog, now?" I question, and he smirks.
"I like boog."
I let my head hang back for a moment. "Okay, I can live with that."
He takes a breath and releases it into a long-winded hum. "Good. Wanna get high?"
"No," I answer, side-eyeing him sceptically.
"What?" He arches a confused brow, before his eyes spark with realisation. "You think I'm going to date rape you again?" It's not a question.
"Did I say that? Stop putting words into my mouth," I nudge him with my shoulder.
"You still think I'm an arsehole," he mutters unconvinced.
"I do not," I assert, rolling my eyes, before elaborating. "I just don't trust myself," I admit.
He smirks again and doesn't making a single effort to conceal it. "Well, I am pretty irresistible." I huff sharply, and open my mouth to reply, when he quickly adds, "We'll just fool around—promise."
"Okay," I agree in a mumble, leaning forward and planting my lips briefly to his cheek. "What do you want to do?"
"What can I do?" he asks shrewdly this time.
"Anything. You're my boyfriend, aren't you?" I deadpan, fighting the urge to smile despite myself.
"Lie back and I'll make you scream my name," he whispers against my ear, and turning to him I hastily clamp my palm over his mouth.
"Alice and Jas," I explain when he quirks a brow.
"You know how many times they've fucked in her room while I was in here pretending I couldn't hear?" he admits after moving my hand free.
"Edwa—"
"Jesus, you're a pain in the neck," he interrupts me, and pulling his long frame from his bed, he inserts his phone into his speaker dock and switches on iTunes. Music blasts out, effectively drowning us out in the event we get loud. "Happy?"
"Is it me you want, or sex?" I ask all too-knowingly.
He pauses and eyes me for a moment before deliberately flashing that smile of his. "Both, baby—both." He winks.
I scoff, immediately unconvinced. "Are you trying to charm your way around this?"
He groans again, and curling his arm around me he tugs me back with him against his mattress. "Will you shut up—we're just messing around, right?"
"Alright..." I sigh, remaining doubtful. How can I not? And pulling me further to him, he leans closer only to pause with his nose a fraction from mine. "What?" I muse.
"Kiss me."
I do.
We don't have sex—I'm able to resist that much, at least—but we do mess around. By mess around, I mean Edward makes good on his promise. I do scream his name. At least, I come very close to screaming it. He takes me so high with him, for one horrifying moment I'm sure the energy multiplying and erupting from me will cause some kind of brain haemorrhage. He makes me climb, and climb, and climb before I reach that peak, and when I do my mouth falls open, I gasp and explode into tremors as my voice tumbles from my lips, hoarse and failing.
When I plummet back down, I'm actually seeing stars. In fact, I'm almost positive the blood vessels in the whites of my eyes have broken, while all words—all coherent thought—are stolen from me in the moment as I stare flabbergasted at him.
Like the first time, he laughs uncontrollably, needing to shield his ribs from it as he does. "Jesus, you're funny, boog," he teases me, reaching over to clamp my nose before he kisses my lips tenderly.
I'm not going to lie, I like boog, I like Bell, and I definitely like baby. I don't tell him that though, but I'm sure he already knows. The shithead knows me more than I've ever given him credit.
Getting hold of myself, I only shake my head to myself. He's a lot more experienced than he ever let on. Unless I was just naïve, but then, I think that's a given.
It takes me a lot longer to recover than I first thought, but as my body bounces back, I all but pounce on him, suddenly feeling untamed and riding up that high again.
Of course, I fully intend to return the favour, but I have absolutely no idea what the hell I'm doing. With my hand is one thing, but with my mouth? I have never had that conversation with Alice before, and I avoided it from my mother at all cost to save my sanity. Once, not very long ago, the very idea of it repulsed me, but that's because the only alternative I had was to experiment on Mike.
On Edward is another matter entirely.
He helps me as much as he can. He calls me boog, Bell, baby, and even babe, as I completely mess it up. I cause him a lot more pain than I do pleasure. I bite him, almost gag, and bite him again until I'm sure he's either going to turn cross-eyed or pull a muscle.
And then, slowly, I get the hang of it, but Edward's still in pain, and not from me in all my unmitigated inexperience. His battered body doesn't deal well with the exertion it takes. He struggles to breathe deep enough to allow the energy to consume him, and ends up spasming from it as he attempts to hide it from me.
"Edward!" I panic and immediately release him, my brow heavily knotted with concern for him.
"I'm fine," he croaks out, one hand wrapped rigidly across his mid-section and the other sliding down to wrap around himself. "Don't stop, Bell, please."
"I told you I'd hurt you." I'm horrified by the fact.
"You're not hurting me—I'm already hurt!" he insists, his voice restricted as he continues, unsuccessfully, to downplay it.
"But—"
"If you leave me like this, I'll get blue balls," he heads off my next objection.
I only eye him sceptically; his are burning and overly animated.
Noticing my hesitation he groans loudly, sounding more in pain than he does frustrated. "You're gonna kill me."
"I'm hurting you," I reiterate. "I'm stopping."
"Bella, please!" he pleads with me, pretty pitifully, and with a conceding sigh, I continue.
He immediately turns tense and rigid beneath me again, his body flashing hot as one of his hands grips around my hair.
I wasn't expecting the sensation of it, or metallic taste in my mouth. I'm finding I'm not as averse to it as I expected. I take careful note of Edward's physical and audible cues, and soon realise the mechanics of it; what makes him tick.
He doesn't last much longer. He starts to twitch more frequently, and practically turns to stone as he attempts to muffle his reaction behind his clenched jaw. Then, without warning, he clamps his fist around my hair and jerks me off him.
It startles me at first, until I soon realise why. He came, and I knew if it hit the back of my throat when I wasn't expecting it, it wouldn't be good.
He comes down, gasping in pain as much as he does release, and practically sobbing as his lungs heave forcefully. But he's mellow and suddenly unable to wipe the smile from his face, and I can only join him.
"I sucked, didn't I?" I say sheepishly.
He fights to hold back the laugh I know will practically kill him. "Pun intended?" His eyebrow cocks, and I shove him gently.
"Stop it—I was terrible."
Taking a breath he releases it with a long and languid moan. "Okay, you're a...novice"—he flashes me a quick, teasing grin—"but you sure are shocking the hell out me, boog."
I seem to do that a lot.
His t-shirt is unsalvageable, and helping to pull it over his head, I relax myself against his bare chest and expel every molecule of air from my lungs. It's been an eventful few days, and we're both coasting through it on adrenalin. Though, I'm not even minimally tired, and by all accounts, either is Edward.
We talk for hours; it's something we're always going to be phenomenally good at. Edward winds me up, because he's even better at that, and we argue and banter, and kiss, and kiss even more, well into the early morning.
Edward falls asleep before I do, snoring softly against the nape of my neck as he spoons me to him. It takes me awhile longer. I spend the final hour trying to remember the trauma behind why he can't say I love you, but I can't. It's completely lost on me, in my memories. Memories of Edward and Alice that have long since began to blur together.
Edward's confident that it'll eventually come to me, and keeping faith that he knows me a lot more than I ever realised, I turn and curl myself against his chest. He tightens his arms further around me, and softly murmurs snotface in his sleep.
Snotface; it's something that lies at the heart of both of us, even if he really does stop calling me it. I'm not sure he can, though, and I'm okay with that.
A/N: thanks for reading.