So. Much. Love. I need a new word for "thank you" (and I'm the Evil Queen of Words – believe me, I've looked). In the meantime, I will rely on the banal: I love you all.

The chapters are going to be less frequent for the foreseeable future. Much like Jazzy, I started a new job this past Monday. Believe me, I'd much rather be writing about these lovely boys, than editing reports for the engineering department of a municipality (as much as I love the job, the subject matter leaves much to be desired). NB to waste engineers: You can pretty it up with fancy words like "biosolids". Dude, it's still poop water.

Soooo, on that happy note, the usual disclaimer: I own nothing. Stephenie Meyer owns them. I happily play with them in a world where waste activated sludge doesn't exist.

-o-

Edward

One thing I've always loved about my job is the travel. I'm certainly not what anyone would consider a homebody. I love seeing new cities, new countries; I love filling up my passport. I even love flying. I have never minded hotels. And of course, the best part of frequent travel: new clubs and new guys. An almost limitless supply of untested waters. When I get to a city I've never visited before, the first thing I do is find out where the local gay nightlife is. Having been to Vancouver many times, I know that at Pulse or Numbers, in less than ten minutes I could pick up a hot trick to bring back to my hotel room.

So where has the Club King been spending his evenings this trip? Other than the location studio, I've spent every night in my hotel room. Watching TV. Ordering room service. Alone, mind you; I haven't been with anyone since my Sunday morning shower fuck with Jasper. I haven't gone this long without sex since college, and rubbing one out before bed just isn't the same.

For three nights in a row, I've gone to bed at a reasonable hour - a concept entirely foreign to me - but my sleep is broken. Every time I drift off, an angel comes to me, his halo of soft blonde curls illuminated by some ethereal light. The angel's face has sparkling green eyes that shine as he looks at me with a face full of adoration and acceptance. He whispers softly to me – the words are unintelligible, but the intent is unmistakable: love. The feeling is sweet and pure, and in my dream I feel like I am wrapped in a cocoon of warmth.

But then I wake up, and the warmth is ripped away. My chest cavity aches with emptiness and cold; my arms reach out but find nothing. I have an intense physical need for him; but even more, my heart misses him.

My heart. For so long it's been lifeless, like a paralyzed limb that hangs useless. I have worked hard to deaden the inconvenient pangs that used to seize me when I thought about my parents and my sister; killed the memories of the happy family we were before I destroyed us by coming out. Not even that guilt can affect me any longer. I have been wont to consider myself successfully self-sufficient. No need for love – no desire for love.

Until the angel's human counterpart tore the fabric of my life just a few short days ago.

Now – I have desires. I want to feel him inside me. I want to stroke his dimples with his thumbs while I fuck his beautiful mouth. And I want to feel that balloon expand again in my chest until I feel it'll rip me apart. I want to lay my head on his chest while he wraps his arms around me and holds me tight to him. I want his soft whispers.

I check the clock. It's 5 a.m. on Wednesday. Four more hours. In four hours he'll get to work and he'll receive the flowers I've arranged to have delivered to him. I have never, in my life, bought flowers; let alone sent them to anyone. I stretch out and run my hand through my hair, second-guessing my attempt at a thoughtful gesture. I am entirely out of my depth. Is it too banal? All I can hope is that he will see the token for what it is – a small souvenir to let him know that I've been thinking about him while I'm away.

I wonder whether he'll understand why I haven't called him. After everything that happened Saturday night and Sunday morning, I found myself in desperate need of some distance, an opportunity to get perspective on the things that happened between us and that happened in me. The time we spent together…was it truly only a few hours? The ardency, the physical intensity and the raw, bleeding emotion he left as he excised the dead parts of my soul – it doesn't seem possible that it all took place in less than twelve hours.

In my alone time I have contemplated my future. Until now, my life has been satisfactory, if not happy. My work, my playtime, and my alone time. It's straightforward, free from the concerns of having to factor in someone else's feelings. It may not be the life everyone wants, but I haven't felt that anything was missing. I haven't wanted what I didn't have.

Now, I go to work and find my mind wandering. I think about Jasper. I wonder what he's doing; I wonder if he has plans for the upcoming weekend. I wonder what his favorite food is; and his musical tastes. And I know I won't be satisfied with just idle musings – I truly want to learn these things about him. I want to take the time to discover him, like gently peeling back the leaves of an artichoke to find the brilliant scarlet heart inside. His heart. It must be so luminous – it radiates joy and love throughout him, and those lucky enough to be near him, the happy recipients of his gentle, beaming smile, can't help but feel it. Even a cold, dead bastard like me. The sunshine of your love.

Jesus Christ. I'm thinking in superlatives and quoting song lyrics to myself.

I shake my head. There's no point in sitting here any longer; I won't be able to go back to sleep. I decide to get a head-start on the day. I get up and shower, then order some breakfast. As I've done the past two mornings, I linger over my breakfast, wishing I wasn't eating alone.

Finally, I tell myself get a grip, focus on the matters at hand. It's time to head to the location studio to render some image effects before the shoot. As I commute to the site, I reflect on how well the shoot has gone so far; if things continue today as they have been, I'll be on a plane back to Seattle tonight.

I get to work and head into the studio. Time slips away and before I know it, the shoot location manager is knocking on the door, reminding me that it's time to get underway.

"Be there in two seconds," I reply. As I finish up what I'm working on, my cell phone buzzes, notifying me of a text message. I open it up and on the screen pops up a photo. It's the angel from my dreams, his beaming smile warm even through a grainy cell phone photo. He's holding a bouquet of deep purple and white blossoms. He got them. Below the image is a simple caption.

Almost as beautiful as you. Thank you.

Miss you,

Jasper

The image and the caption are so welcome; and yet the feeling they bring me is so sudden, so unexpected that for a moment I must stop and clutch the worktable for support. I feel as though a hand has reached into my chest cavity, and is squeezing my black heart, attempting to force it to beat as a human heart should. It's an odd mix of exquisite pleasure and gripping pain.

I breathe deeply for a moment or two, attempting steady my heart and my legs. When I feel well enough, I leave the studio and head to the location. When I arrive there, the location manager looks at me and then does a double-take.

"Jesus, Edward – are you okay?" he asks uneasily. "You look like shit."

"Thanks so much, Mike," I return acerbically. "You always know just what to say."

"Are you going to be able to do the shoot, or not?" he demands. He's not the least bit concerned about me, except where it interferes with his timetable. I suppose I deserve that, since I've never been concerned about him either.

"I'm fine," I mutter, eyeing him with annoyance. "Let's do this thing."

"Okay, people…" he begins, and he's off, running through the scenario for the first scene of the morning.

As I hoped, the day passes quickly, with only a few minor hold-ups. By the time we're finished, it's after 6 pm. I check flight schedules; there's a flight back tonight, leaving at 9 pm; or one tomorrow morning at 9:30. After debating the merits of the two options, I decide to stay in Vancouver one more night and fly back tomorrow. I'm hungry and worn out, and I might as well get a good sleep before returning to Seattle.

I decide to take myself out to dinner, since I no longer have to rush to catch a flight. I head to the best Thai food restaurant I've ever been to, silently thanking the food gods for Vancouver's large Asian community. After an amazing dinner of chicken, peppers and bamboo shoots in a spicy coconut milk and green curry sauce, I'm stuffed.

Back at my hotel, I flip open my phone and, for the hundredth time today, gaze at my angel's face. I flop into a chair and groan; the clutching at my heart is back, and I miss him desperately. Earlier today, I was glad that he didn't call to thank me for the flowers; he is giving me the space he knows I need. But now, the need to hear his voice is overpowering. Before I know what I'm doing, I have dialed his cell phone number and I'm listening to it ring. Once, twice; and on the third ring he picks up.

"Hello?" he answers, and the sound of his voice makes my heart spasm. The sensation is so foreign that I can't identify it as either pain or pleasure.

"Jasper," I manage to whisper.

"Hello, beautiful," he replies softly, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "I'm glad you called. How are you? How's Vancouver?"

"Lonely," I admit, knowing I'm answering both questions at once.

"I'm sorry to hear that." He sounds genuinely saddened.

"I finished the shoot this afternoon; but I'm just too tired to fly back tonight. I'm coming home tomorrow morning," I promise.

"What time does your flight get in?" he asks.

"Around 10:30," I reply.

"Hmmm…fourteen hours," he muses.

I chuckle at him. "Does that mean you're counting the minutes?"

"Trying not to, but…yeah. When I'm home it's pretty hard to think of anything else," he admits.

"Oh, hey – how's the job going?" I ask, suddenly remembering that he's got some changes to adjust to as well.

"Um…" he hesitates, "it's fine."

"Well, that was convincing," I reply dubiously.

"No, really," and he sounds as though he's making an effort to sound more positive. "It's a bit overwhelming, getting use to an entirely new system of workflows. But everyone is great – very nice. My assistant is hilarious. She was very excited about my flowers," he chuckles.

"I'm glad it's going well." I have no doubt that Jasper has no difficulty making friendships wherever he goes. His easy good humor would ensure that.

There is a pause; for several moments neither of us says anything. There is so much I want to say, but not on the phone. I need to see his face, gauge his reaction…be close to his warm embrace.

Finally he breaks the silence. "I'm…I'm really glad you called. I missed hearing your voice," he murmurs.

I sigh. I feel the same way, and it feels disingenuous not to tell him. So I do. "I miss you."

Another pause. "I'm looking at the flowers now. They're beautiful; thank you again. Getting them made my day."

"You brought them home?" Somehow I imagined them sitting on his desk at work.

"I may just carry them with me everywhere I go until you get back," he admits sheepishly.

"Good thing I come back tomorrow," I chuckle. "At this rate, the flowers will be shredded by the time I get back."

"Hurry," he says, a sudden urgency in his tone. Suddenly I desperately wish I had taken tonight's flight. It's too late now; there's no way I'll make it to the airport for the 9 pm flight. Briefly, I wonder if I could stay awake to make the two-and-a-half-hour drive back, if I rented a car. Of course, it's a foolish whim, quickly dismissed.

Instead I have to settle for more honesty. "I wish I was already there."

"What would you do if you were?" he whispers hoarsely.

I groan softly, knowing what he's asking for. It's the only acceptable substitute for what both of us really want. 140 miles apart – it'll have to do.

"The first thing I'd do is kiss your sweet lips, long and deep." I get up from the chair and relax onto my bed. "I'd taste your tongue, suck it into my mouth. I'd nibble your bottom lip." I hear his breathing catch. "I'd take your shirt off and I'd suck on your nipples until they turn to marbles under my tongue. I'd lick down your stomach, and I'd undo your zipper and slide your jeans down over your beautiful ass." I'm now sliding down my pants and boxer briefs over my ass, kicking them off. My hand strokes up the inside of one thigh and then the other; it cups my balls and I squeeze them gently, groaning at the delicious pleasure. "I'd kneel in front of you and I'd worship your beautiful cock with my mouth."

At the other end of the line I hear him groan, and I grasp my cock as I know he is too. "I'd take you deep in my throat, and then I'd tease you with my tongue, bring you to the edge over and over. And then, when you couldn't fucking stand it anymore, I'd lay you down on your back, and after I put a rubber on you, I'd sit on your cock. Uhh…it's so fucking hard." His groans become more urgent. "It's stretching me out, sliding deep in my ass..." I moan, imagining that Jasper's hands are stroking me as I rock up and down on his cock.

"Uhhh, beautiful, you're so tight," he gasps. "Fuck, I'm close…can't stop…" And I can no longer form the words to continue my fantasy. Jasper and I moan together as our orgasms take us. My climax brings pleasure, of course; but it's sharp, almost painful, to experience this release with him and not be able to touch him, not be able to watch his face transcend what should be all limits of human beauty.

When the orgasm subsides, I'm left feeling raw. I wished for the balloon to return to my chest; but now that it's there, I'm absolutely aware that the balloon, expanded and taut, is also empty – completely vacant. I have spent so much time by myself; yet I have never felt so utterly alone. How could I have wished for this?

Jasper, at the other end of the line, is ignorant to the fact that my soul is exposed and bleeding. He is murmuring endearments, thanking me; and I can't respond. I can barely get my breath. He pauses, clearly awaiting a reply; and after a moment he speaks again.

"Hey – did you pass out already?" he asks playfully.

I can only gasp out, "Jasper…"

Immediately Jasper's voice is alert. "Edward? What's happening? Are you okay?" I can't answer right away, and he persists. "Edward? Can you speak? Please tell me what's wrong! Are you sick?!" His voice is bordering on panic now, and I know I've got to get my shit together before he calls the entire fucking British Columbia Ambulance Service to my hotel room. Not that he even knows where I'm staying; but, after all, it is Jasper – who the fuck knows what connections he has to track me down.

I wage a swift battle for an ounce of composure and manage to say, "Jasper, I'm okay; I'm not sick. Please, calm down; just give me a minute."

"You're not sick? Are you sure?" He's still alarmed, not the least bit convinced.

"I'm not; I promise," I try to reassure him. "Just…stay on the phone with me for a while."

"Of course," he readily agrees, sounding marginally relieved.

We sit in silence on the phone as I attempt to breathe, trying to talk myself out of my loneliness. Less than 24 hours. Minus sleep time. Get a fucking grip. You didn't KNOW him five days ago. My internal dialogue, scolding me for my weakness, eventually grounds me; and the balloon deflates as I'm finally able to release a long breath.

"Okay," I say. "I think I'm okay now."

"Jesus, Edward…" he whispers, "what the fuck was that? You scared the shit out of me." He sniffs a bit, and I realize he's whispering so that I can't hear the tears in his voice.

"Jasper – shh. Please don't be upset," I plead softly. Hearing him be so affected by my anxieties is heartrending. "I had a moment of…I don't even know…loneliness, I guess."

"Loneliness?" he repeats slowly.

Time for honesty. "I miss you. So much." It's direct and it's incisive. But that's what my truth is. My truth is never poetic or pretty or sweet.

After a brief pause, he replies simply, "I miss you."

Suddenly, I'm tired. Exhausted beyond anything I've known. I sink into my pillow and pull the covers over my fatigued body, not even bothering to pull off my shirt. I desperately need to sleep; but I don't know if I have the strength to end this phone call.

"Stay on the phone with me until I go to sleep," I entreat him. "Or…fall asleep on the phone with me."

"Edward, I can stay awake to end the call; otherwise it'll cost you a fortune-"

"I don't care if it costs me a thousand fucking dollars! Please," I plead, "fall asleep with me."

"Okay, shhh; please don't get yourself upset again. We'll fall asleep together," he soothes.

I exhale, too relieved and worn out to even feel dismayed with myself for being so clingy. I roll onto my side, nestle my cell phone against my ear; and then I reach to the other side of the bed, the side on which the pillows have sat untouched for the last three nights. I pull one of them to my chest, and I hug it tightly. It's not the same – obviously it's not. But much like a stuffed animal was comforting in childhood even when you'd rather have had your parents, the pillow makes me feel secure.

"Goodnight, Jasper," I whisper. "See you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, beautiful Edward," he murmurs back. "Sweet dreams."

It is my last conscious remembrance before I fall asleep. Without him; but with him nonetheless.

-o-

Sigh. I'm shredded from this chapter, my darlings. And – hot off the presses – I have it on good authority that Bluetooth technology was developed – created by god, some would say – for this very purpose. Bluetooth is not paying me to say this. Personally, I think Bluetooth makes people look like they've been ass-laminated by the Borg, but whatevs - enabling hot phone sex covers a multitude of sins.

Please send me some love. xoxo