I had a really great response to my first chapter; thank you to everyone who reviewed and added the story to your alerts & favorites. You make my little heart go pitter-patter! Hope you enjoy chapter two.

Disclaimer: I don't own Edward or Jasper, or anything Twilight-related. Only Stephenie Meyer does. I, however, sit them in a stylist's chair for hours and play with their beautiful hair.

-o-

There's no way he could have mistaken me for a bottom – I came on to him and made it clear that I intended to fuck him. And yet he came home with me; he must have known that I, like most tops, would reject attempts to get near my ass. It doesn't make sense. What the fuck kind of game is he playing with me?

"So you're just a model homo citizen doing a good deed," I sneer. "And this is entirely for my benefit." Sure it is.

"I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do," he intones softly. "But don't short-change yourself because you're scared."

Jesus Christ – who did I bring home, a fucking sex therapist? I bristle, and my words are laced with venom. "Thanks for your expert opinion, Doctor. You've managed to flawlessly dissect my psyche after we've exchanged fewer than fifty words. Your powers of analysis are truly dazzling." His expression hardens a bit at this and he starts to speak, but I continue, "It's admirable that you're so concerned with my experience, Jazz," I stress his name mockingly. "But it doesn't seem fair that this 'intense physical experience' should be mine alone, does it? I couldn't let you make that sacrifice." I'm being every bit as insincere as I believe he is; and I feel confident that I've called his bluff now.

His beautiful face, which earlier tonight was so entirely devoid of emotion, has flashed at least three different emotions at me in just a few seconds. First persuasion; then annoyance as I mocked his intentions; and now, infuriatingly, he actually looks amused. His voice is even and deliberate as he says, "You give me credit for more selflessness than I deserve, Edward. I have no intention of missing out, believe me. I promise, you'll have the same pleasure – or rather, you'll be giving me the pleasure. Tonight." With those words, he sits back on his heels and resumes slowly caressing the length of his cock, his eyes never leaving mine.

Unbelievably, I find myself actually considering his words. It's true that I've been afraid to bottom – not just because of the physical pain of my first experiences, but because of how the experiences impacted me emotionally. The men I'd been with were the kind who would never be able to admit openly that they were gay. They were the kind who tucked their wedding bands into their pocket as they came through the door of the gay bars, trolling for a receptacle so they could get off before they headed back to their nice houses in the suburbs. They were ashamed of themselves, and projected their shame onto me – treating me as though what I was doing made me weak and disgraceful.

Those first few times had scarred me more than I had ever admitted to anyone. It took me a long time to get over it. I'd been horrified by them; I was angry that I allowed myself to be used by nameless men who didn't even have balls enough to admit their sexuality. I promised myself I would never again allow anyone to put me into that submissive role. I've been absolutely unwavering in my decision, and never have I had reason to suspect that I might be wrong. I'm Edward fucking Cullen, for god's sake. I'm the boy everybody wants to blow, who everyone wants to get fucked by.

And now this beautiful, enigmatic boy is kneeling in front of me, with his green eyes and his curls and his sweet mouth; and he's telling me that the rules I've put in place are restricting me instead of protecting me. And I'm considering his words. And he's stroking his cock, and god, it's such a beautiful fucking cock; and I'm getting hard again at the memory of his fingers in my ass; and fuck, I actually miss having them inside me.

The blood is pounding in my ears as I sit up to bring my eyes to his level. I know what I'm going to do, and I'm absolutely fucking terrified. But I know what I'm going to do. I slide my ass closer to him, between his knees which are still pressing into the surface of the bed. I bring my legs up so that they're on either side of his body, my thighs resting on his thighs, my feet resting on his behind him. I look at the bedspread beside him, where the condom he'd held is lying. My hands are shaking as I pick it up, tear the packet and pull it out. My eyes return to his, and I know what I'm going to do.

He's smiling now, not the wide grins he has flashed me before, but a soft, warm smile that illuminates his entire face. I place one hand on top of his on his cock, and squeeze gently as we stroke together. Even over top of his hand I realize that he's exceptionally well-endowed, not only in length but in girth as well. The realization strikes a brief pang of fear into the pit of my stomach, and I shudder lightly with anticipation and arousal. With my other hand I place the condom over the head of his penis. He brings his free hand to my face and gently, gently, he strokes my cheek, looking into my eyes. He whispers soft words of encouragement to me as I unroll the condom down to the base of his cock.

This night has become nothing like I've ever encountered, and when I approached this beautiful boy at the club, I could never have imagined what would unfold for me. I don't love – I fuck. Unequivocally. I have never apologized or regretted the life I have. I have never experienced, nor have I sought, tenderness in my liaisons.

But this boy, this nymph, has somehow cast a spell over me, with his hair and his eyes and his lips…but most of all, with his words. He's broken through the walls I have so carefully crafted for myself. I can't explain how – I'm bewildered to fathom it. I find that I have not only considered his suggestion, but I actually desire it. I want him to possess me in a way that, an hour ago, I'd have considered an unspeakable violation. Somehow, in the midst of the hazy confusion of my brain, I know unmistakably that this act will not be one of humiliation or domination. He is going to delight as much in sharing my pleasure as in receiving his own.

He gently pushes me back to lie down on the bed, and lifts both my legs up beside his head, to rest on his shoulders. He again retrieves my bottle of lube, and generously coats the condom. He places one hand on my shoulder and the other on the front of my thigh, hugging my leg to his chest. His cock is pressing gently against my opening, and my breath catches as I realize afresh what's about to happen. Sensing my apprehension, his hand moves again to gently stroke my cheek. Softly he whispers, "Is this okay?" And the fact that he's asking is the sexiest fucking thing.

I smile and nod, and he says, "Okay, beautiful. A little bit of pain now; it'll only hurt for a minute." And he pushes just the head of his cock into my ass. He's right, it does hurt for a moment; but the pain is nothing compared to the horrible experiences of my youth. He remains motionless to allow my body to adjust to accommodate the foreign body; and as he waits, his hand drifts down from my thigh to gently trace around the rim of my cock head with his fingertip. The feeling is absolutely sublime, and very soon I find myself sliding my body marginally downwards, pressing him a bit deeper into me.

He's big, and the pressure is intense as he slowly slides his cock in. Gradually, deliberately, he presses deeper and deeper, until he is seated fully inside me and his groin is pressing against my skin. I groan as he presses his body into mine, holding his position; my entire body feels like it's on fire. I'm panting and sweating from the combination of pressure, arousal and anticipation. "Still okay?" he checks in, and I can only acknowledge his question with a nod and another groan. "A convert," he chuckles softly. "Good."

Slowly, he starts to rock his hips back and forward, gradually expanding the arc of his movements until he's withdrawing as far as the head of his cock, then descending again to sheath himself fully inside me. Now that he knows I'm okay, he relaxes into his own experience; and his pleasure is evident as his eyes close and his head lolls back. I watch as his lips part and soft moans escape. His body is lithe, graceful even in this most basic and instinctual of acts. He increases the pace bit, and I'm no longer able to think about his graceful body. The only thing that exists in my world is our mutual pleasure, and the organs and orifices involved.

My hand goes down to my cock, rock-hard from the anticipation and the luscious sensations. I palm the underside of my shaft, stroking slowly up and down. It's so sensitive that the contact of my own hand sends shocks throughout me, and my entire body twitches in response.

Jazz pauses his smooth rocking motion, and lifts my legs down from his shoulders, guiding them around his hips. I hook my ankles together and pull him towards me. He allows his body to fall forward, catching himself with his palms on the bed, on either side of my shoulders. His head dips to my chest and he sucks one of my nipples into his mouth. My hands move to his head and I bury my fingers in his soft curls, stroking and riding out the movements of his head. His lips leave my nipples and travel up my pecs, leaving a trail of wet, sucking kisses up across my collarbone, up my neck and finally finding my mouth. His tongue traces my lips, and I suck it into my mouth, caressing it with my own tongue.

Finally, I can no longer stand to let him remain still, and I rock my hips against his, grinding, wordlessly begging for him to keep fucking me. He understands and quickly obliges. One of my hands goes down to rest on his muscular ass, feeling it flex as he pumps in and out of me; the other hand remains in his beautiful curly hair, stroking and fisting as the excitement of our coupling builds. His chest is pressed against mine, his elbows resting on the bed and his hands hooked up over my shoulders, pulling me closer as he pushes deep into me. Everything is breathing and cursing and moaning, sweat-slicked bodies and pressure and intense pleasure. My cock is bursting, captured between my abs and his as our whole selves press tightly against each other, seeking every possible point of contact.

The intensity is reaching a breaking point, and I'm very close to my climax. As though reading my mind, he pulls his face back from mine slightly and hoarsely whispers, "Fuck, you're so beautiful. I want to watch you come." He looks deep into my eyes, and it's all too much. The realization hits me afresh – he's fucking me, and it's simply the best thing I've ever done. My body tenses, I dig my heels into his ass to draw him as deeply inside me as possible, and I shatter. My body thrashes and twists in the intensity of my orgasm. I'm flying, soaring on another plane, a level of pleasure I've never known. I want it like I want a drug.

The uncontrollable spasms of my climax around his cock bring him over the edge, and finally, his careful control is abandoned. His eyes roll back and he roars his exhilaration. The knowledge that he's lost control because of me, is an accelerant on the flame of my orgasm. We ride the waves of ecstasy together, for an impossibly long time. This boy has brought me here, and it's a drug. It seems as though it'll never end, and I don't want it to.

Of course, eventually it does, gradually subsiding, and finally my mind and body are able to re-converge to their rightful place in the here and now. We're gasping deeply for breath, each unwilling to release our grasp on the other. Jazz lays his head on my shoulder, his face nuzzling into the base of my neck. We relish the feel of our bodies still pressed so tightly together, as our breathing slows and our heartbeats return to normal.

Finally, he lifts his face to mine, kisses me gently on the nose, and then, grasping the base of the condom, pulls out. I'm loath to let him, but I know he has to, or risk the condom slipping off his softening cock. He disposes of the condom and then returns to my side, tucking himself under my outstretched arm and lying on his side with his long, muscular arm stretched across my chest. I hold him close to me, burying my face in his deep curls. I inhale deeply and his hair smells like musk and chai spice. I stroke the arm that rests on my chest, feeling the definition of his forearms and cupping my hands around the sinuous bicep.

I'm afraid to speak; I don't know what to say, having been proved so completely wrong. It's not my habit to concede a point, but I'm breaking all the rules now. I sense that any future with Jazz will depend on my actions in this moment; and this singular boy has made me want that option. I want him in my future. I have to tell him he was right; admit to him that, somehow, he saw me more clearly than I saw myself.

"Thank you," I say simply, figuring it's the best place to start. He raises himself onto his elbow, resting his cheek in his hand, and grins at me. His smooth cheeks have a pink flush from our pleasure and exertion, and the stain of color makes his sparkling green eyes brighter.

"So…I guess it went better than you expected," he teases softly.

"I don't have words for how amazing that was," I whisper. "It was…miraculous."

"That's a very good word," he concurs. "I completely agree."

"Yeah?" I'm not used to asking a boy if it was 'good for him' – honestly, I'm not used to caring about it – but I'm a bit out of my depth here, and somehow I want him to say the words, to assure me that he enjoyed it too.

"Well, yeah!" he chuckles. "I would think that was apparent."

We gaze at each other in silence for a moment, until he quirks his head to one side and says, "Penny for your thoughts."

I shake my head as I search for the right words to convey what I'm feeling. "I'm not sure if I can even articulate them yet. There are a lot of thoughts turning over in my head that would have seemed absurd to me a few hours ago. You," I poke my finger gently in his chest, "are a dangerous, subversive boy, Jazz."

At this, he tosses his head back and laughs heartily. His laugh rings throughout my loft like bells, and I find myself joining him. I feel as though I've successfully navigated the post-coital conversation, and I'm feeling giddy with relief. Edward Cullen giddy?

After the echoes of our laughter have died, he brings his free hand up to smooth my messy bronze mop away from my damp forehead. He looks into my eyes, deliberating, as though there's something he wants to say. After a moment, his decision is apparently made. "Good to see some things never change."

I'm utterly confused by his cryptic remark, and I wait for him to clarify. When he doesn't, I ask, "Sorry?"

"Your sense of humor hasn't gone anywhere. You always cracked me up, Edward Cullen."

-o-

What on earth could Jazz mean by such a cryptic statement? And how does he know Edward's last name?

Please, please review and let me know if you enjoyed this chapter. Reviews make Jazz explain cryptic statements!