We're now on chapter 6 of a story that I originally intended to write as a one-shot smutfest. I have a few comments to make about this. It warms my heart that I have 183 (as of now) reviews, each one affirming that many of us agree that love between consenting adults is natural and healthy; not an aberrant or hateful behaviour. One review in particular, I have to repost here, because it's possibly the best thing I've ever read on the subject of advocacy and being an ally: I will gladly be gay by association for the rest of my life if that mean I can be someone's solace and their shoulder to lean on. Amen, sister.
My other comment is that I understand, now, what SMeyer said when she talked about how Jacob refused to remain a peripheral character. Jasper whispered to me that in this story, there were things to say, and a single lemonsplosion just wouldn't suffice.
Disclaimer: I don't own Edward or Jasper, or anything Twilight-related. Only Stephenie Meyer does. But Jasper has my number and when he calls me to chat, I am unable to say no.
-o-
Jasper
I shift in my seat, to the direction of Edward's voice. He is standing in his bedroom doorway, leaning against the frame, arms folded across his chest. His bronze hair is, of course, going in every direction, giving him a boyish look. He's wearing a pair of sleep pants and nothing else. His smooth chest isn't as broad as mine; but it's defined and masculine. His eyes still look a bit sleepy, but he's sporting a little grin as he watches me on the couch.
"You stayed," he says quietly.
"I stayed," I reply, remaining in my place on the couch. "I hope that's okay."
He nods gently and says, "It is. I thought maybe you had left, when I woke up and you weren't there; it was so quiet out here. But I smelled coffee; and well, since I'm not on the coffee fairy's route…"
I chuckle, and reply, "Yes, I scrounged around a bit in your kitchen; sorry for that. I had to have my morning nectar."
"No, it's fine," he smiles. "I'm glad you found what you needed."
He has stepped down the two steps from the bedroom and stands at the end of the couch, looking a bit awkward. This is obviously not a situation in which he often finds himself. I don't say anything for a few moments, letting him take control of the situation. I find myself comparing the situation to trying to tempt a chickadee to land in my hand to take a seed. It's important not to make any sudden movements or make him feel threatened.
"So," he begins, "are you hungry?"
"Getting there, yeah," I admit. He strolls off towards the kitchen, and I get up from the couch and follow him.
He stands in front of the open fridge, perusing the contents. "Hmmm – I don't have a great deal; I wasn't expecting company. I usually have a protein shake for breakfast; but on Sunday mornings I actually allow myself to eat carbs. We always did Sunday brunch when I lived at…when I was young."
"Maybe we could go out and get something," I suggest. It's still a bit early; the finer restaurants won't be serving their Sunday brunch yet. "Is there a diner in the neighborhood? Maybe they have a breakfast special?"
"Actually, yeah; there's a little greasy spoon down the block that's open 24 hours. I've been there when I was working late in the dark room and didn't get to bed. It isn't fine dining," he smirks, "but it's good food, and plenty of it. Good for," here he pauses and quirks an eyebrow mischievously at me, "rebuilding your strength."
My heartbeat skips a bit at the playfulness that has reappeared in his demeanor. He's okay; he's not freaking out about last night, he doesn't seem to regret what happened between us. "Sounds great," I reply, working to keep my voice even. "First though, maybe we should…shower?" I step closer and run my fingers through his locks. "Your shower has some interesting features and I don't think the five-cent tour did them justice."
"Oh," he says, grinning as he enters into the spirit of the conversation. "The five-cent tour is for sight-seers. For the real behind-the-scenes tour, you have to bribe the doorman."
"Really…hmmm...well, I'm not above bribery," I murmur. "If only I knew what the doorman might like…maybe this would do it?" I kiss his neck down from his jaw to his collarbone, and returning up to behind his ear. He relaxes back against the counter and exhales softly, enjoying the soft attentions.
"I don't know…the doorman is a greedy bastard…" he sighs.
"Well, okay," I say, scowling slightly, "but I hope you know that I don't condone extortion. I'm compromising my principles."
"Ungh, it's a dirty world…" His voice cuts off as my mouth makes contact with his nipples. He moans as my tongue swirls around the hardening nubs; then gasps when my teeth gently nip at him.
"Okay, you convinced me," he says and, pulling away abruptly, grabs my hand and dashes to his room, pulling me behind him. Our pants are stripped off before we hit the bathroom door. He stands at the door of the shower with his hand in the spray, waiting for it to warm. I stand behind him, my hands around his waist and my lips and tongue adoring his neck and shoulder. He reaches down to my hands and steps into the shower, pulling me with him. He turns around to face me and navigates me slowly backward, backing me up towards the wall. I take one step back, and then another, till I touch the tile wall. The edge of the deep ledge presses into the back of my thigh, and I get a shiver up my back, realizing that my hopes with respect to this ledge are going to come true.
As it becomes apparent that I can't move back any further, Edward's hands go down to my hips and he whispers, "Mmm, is that one of the details you're interested in?"
In reply, I pull myself up to sit on the ledge and open my knees, wide enough that I can grab Edward's ass and pull him roughly toward me, his groin pressing at the crux between my thighs. His mouth hungrily attacks mine and we both know neither of us is looking for slow, sweet seduction now. This is urgency, an agony of the void inside me that only he can soothe. There are no words and no foreplay; he grabs a condom from the shelf just outside the shower door and quickly sheaths his cock, and then, lifting my calves up onto his shoulders, pushes into my already-wet ass, not stopping until he is fully seated inside me. I am seized by the exquisite blending of thrust and prurience, and I cannot help but cry out as the sensation explodes upwards throughout my chest. Edward pauses briefly, seeking my eyes to ensure that my cry is one of enjoyment. My hands instinctively reach out to brace myself against the tile walls that surround me, and I push harder against him. His concern erased, he immediately begins to plunge deep inside me, over and over, knowing we both need this physical act to be one of strength against strength, fire against fire.
His groin presses hard against my ass as he fills me completely, again and again. I haven't moved my hands from their brace on the tile walls, and I know I won't need to touch my own cock. He fits me perfectly, and his rigid cock caresses that spot deep inside, the one that will make me explode into a thousand pieces very soon. He knows I'm on the edge, and he guides my legs down off his shoulders and around his waist, then grabs my hips and pulls me closer than I thought possible. I'm moaning and panting, my head leaning back against the wall and rocking from side to side; and I feel his teeth against my shoulder. My body stills and tenses, so close to my release.
"Come for me," he whispers hoarsely, just before he bites down and tosses my soul into oblivion. I shout as each paroxysm sucks me into a vortex of dancing lights and sizzling raindrops. My body explodes with my soul, and thick ropes of cum erupt from me, decorating my chest and Edward's. The intensity of my orgasm quickly brings Edward to his release, and he groans loudly with each powerful thrust inside me. Our bodies heave and grind against each other, sustaining our pleasure in ourselves and each other as long as we can.
When the tidal wave has ebbed, we are left trembling, weak, clinging desperately to each other to maintain both our physical and emotional connection. For several long moments there are no words and no great movements, just silent commune. Edward's head rests on my chest, his arms around my lower back; my arms around his neck and shoulders, my cheek against the top of his head. The only sound is the water falling on and around us.
Eventually, Edward lifts his head and softly, sweetly, places a kiss on my cheek. I release my hold on his shoulders and he pulls out, disposing quickly of the condom. He returns to me and helps me off the ledge, though my legs are long enough to touch the floor on my tiptoes. He reaches up to one of the showerheads and, flipping a lever, changes the spray to a more concentrated massaging spray. Wordlessly, he directs it at my lower back and gently massages away the tension that has settled there as a result of my seating arrangements on the ledge.
When he has completed his task, he turns me to face him and, taking my face in both hands, he whispers, "Thank you."
"Shouldn't I be thanking you?" I softly reply. "The massage felt really nice."
"I need to thank you," he insists gently. "I need to thank you for…your gift."
"My gift?" I question, not following.
He casts his eyes downward slightly, as though he's feeling embarrassed or sheepish. "It's okay," I say, drawing his face upward again towards mine. "You can say whatever you want to me."
"I want…I want to tell you…" He's searching for the right words, and I wait patiently. I will wait forever to hear whatever he has to tell me. "I need to tell you that I understand." Another long pause. "I get what you said. That it doesn't have to be shameful to bottom. You don't feel ashamed when you do it."
"No, I don't," I acknowledge, shaking my head. "It's an enjoyable part of my sex life that I don't want to give up. Like I said – it's freeing to relinquish control."
"You did say that. But, I also think…" and he pauses again. He's struggling, and I sense that this is the most soul-baring he has done in a long time, perhaps in his life. "I also think that when you allow me to top you…you're giving me a gift. Letting me be in control of you – it's freeing for you, but it's a gift you're giving to me." He shrugs, his eyes looking downward again. "And I'm…grateful."
If I thought I knew what he might be trying to say, I honestly wouldn't have expected this. I know that many boys in general often have trouble expressing their emotions; and from this one in particular, having a sense of the scarring his soul has taken, I am utterly floored by his acknowledgement. He understands the sacrifice made by the one who sits on the ledge – not just in the realm of physical consequences, but the greater implication.
It's clearly difficult for him to make this admission. Though I don't yet fully understand, I can guess what saying these words has cost him, and I silently promise myself that I will do everything I can to make sure he never regrets it – never regrets placing his body in my care and his emotions in my trust.
"You're welcome," I reply fervently, holding his face in my hands and pressing my lips firmly against his for a long moment. When we break our kiss, I continue, "And you should know that I'm grateful, too, for the gift you gave me last night."
"I know," he nods gently, a small smile upon his lips. "I knew then. You were careful and…you respected me, even when you were about to…" he trails off.
"Violate you?" I supply, grinning. I figure it's time to lighten the mood a bit.
"Yes," he chuckles, "exactly." He leans in to kiss me again, and then says, "Okay, now I'm absolutely famished. Let's wash up and hit the diner before I fade away."
We make quick work of cleaning up, and then dry off and dress quickly. I wear only my own jeans, borrowing clean underwear, socks and a black button-down shirt from him. Soon we are walking to the diner, a comfortable silence between us as we enjoy the Sunday morning near-desertion of the city street. The morning is still chilly and damp, despite the sunshine that floods the street. Dampness is pervasive here, even in the city. Another facet of Washington State life that I'll have to get used to again.
We reach the diner, a storefront hole-in-the-wall. It's a narrow room, but deep, with a column of booths down one wall, interrupted halfway by a counter; and on the other wall, a column of four-top tables. It's simply decorated; but clean, warm and comfortable. We choose a booth, sliding into opposite sides of the table. A waitress comes by to give us menus, and pours us each a cup of coffee. "So you start work tomorrow at Northwest?" he asks conversationally, as we look over the menus.
"Yep," I reply. A little anxiety grips my stomach. I'm not truly worried; I've already done this job, and I did it well. Still, the thought of getting used to a new environment, meeting new colleagues - it's a bit nerve-wracking.
He senses the shift in my mood. "Nervous?" he asks softly; and his hand reaches out to cover mine. His fingertips caress the back of my hand gently. My heart flutters at the simple gesture. I'm truly touched, and I smile warmly at him over the top of my menu.
"First-day jitters," I concede, "but otherwise, just kind of anxious to get there and meet the staff, that sort of thing." He smiles in understanding.
The waitress comes back to take our orders. I choose something called a Homestyle Scramble, a concoction of scrambled eggs, home fries, sausage and gravy, with biscuits on the side. Sounds heavy and greasy – and fucking delicious. It sounds similar to breakfasts I had when living in Texas. These days I don't often make such fatty choices; but I make a concession this morning, considering the calories I've burned in the last ten hours or so.
Edward places his order as well, and the waitress leaves. There is one other couple in the restaurant, a senior man and woman. The woman notices Edward's hand resting still on mine, and gives me a motherly smile. I smile back, silently grateful that she doesn't seem to be judging us.
Edward and I sit in silence while we wait for our orders. They arrive quickly, steaming hot and smelling like heaven. The waitress refills our coffees and then leaves us alone. We dig in and after stuffing our faces for several moments, I decide I'm feeling secure enough now to ask Edward a few questions.
"So," I ask, "how are you feeling this morning?"
"How am I feeling?" he returns, as though he's not entirely sure exactly what I'm asking.
"Last night was kind of intense," I clarify. "I know we talked a bit about it in the shower this morning, but I guess…I want to check in to see how you're feeling about the other stuff I told you last night."
"For instance?" he asks, decorating his eggs-over-easy with a generous helping of ketchup.
"For instance…" I hesitate and I can feel my cheeks flush in anticipation of what I'm going to say, "my rather mortifying admission that I was essentially a teenage stalker."
"Ah…yeah. Well, all things considered, I think that was pretty innocent. You were observing. In a way, I guess I'm kind of lucky that you were around, keeping an eye on me, right? In that way, it's actually a little comforting. It does bring up another question, though…" and now he is the one that hesitates.
"Uh-oh," I grimace. "Okay, let me have it."
He laughs out loud and says, "You're not on your way to the guillotine, Jasper. You don't need to look so grim." I sigh and gesture for him to continue. "My question is - how did you find me? I mean, you knew I was here in Seattle; but at Spin…?"
The question I've been dreading the most. Not because I've done anything nefarious, but because the explanation is almost too simple. A random twist of fate, really; and I'm worried that it's so simple that he won't believe it. But the truth is that he has placed a lot of trust in me in a short period of time, and I have to trust him now.
"I got on Facebook when I was in college; back when it was only for college students," I begin. "Last year I got a friend request from a guy I used to see at Mathlete meets here in Washington; he went to a different school. He recognized my name and remembered me from then, so he added me." I'm babbling, trying to get it all out in a rush so he has the whole picture sooner rather than later. "We were catching up, comparing lives and as it turns out, he's gay too. Anyways, I was going through his photos on his profile one night and one of the albums was titled, 'Me and the boys at Spin,' or something to that effect. And I was tabbing through the pictures, and there was a guy in the background of a couple of them…it was clear enough that I was absolutely certain it was you." I'm nearing the end of my story now and throughout, I've kept my eyes on the table, afraid to look up to see skepticism in his eyes. "So I went there the second night I was in Seattle; that was Thursday, and then I went back the next night, and you were nowhere to be seen."
"I was in New York," he interrupts, and I finally look up to meet his gaze, "on business. A shoot, at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I got back late Friday night."
"Ah. Well, I figured since I'd waited ten years, I could stand around a club full of hot guys for a few nights more at least. And last night, fortunately for me, there you were. Better than my best memories," I end simply.
Our empty breakfast dishes have been pushed to the side of the table, and he plays with his coffee cup. The seconds tick by in silence, each one seemingly an eternity, as he holds my future – my heart – in his hands. I can only hope that my honesty up till now, my attempt to be as gentle and as tender as I can possibly be, has been enough to convince him of my genuine intentions where he is concerned.
Finally, he takes a deep breath, and raising his eyes to mine, begins to speak.
-o-
Sadistic creature that I am, I'm going to hold it there, for this chapter. I hope you're enjoying the odyssey of these boys.
One more note – I am all about the safe sex, girls and boys; so my scenes between non-monogamous partners are always going to include the mention of a condom. Because that's how we roll.
As always, please, please review.