I am placing a moratorium on cold showers, bbs. Thou shalt not get hot and bothered, and waste a perfectly good lemon on a cold shower. Must I elaborate? You know who you are. Seriously – by yourself, or with a friend. Don't make me come down there.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the good sense to know what to do when stories hand me lemons.

-o-

Jasper

Angel.

I never realized what a beautiful word it is. And I definitely never thought of myself as one. But this morning, I feel like I could sing it. Loudly, swinging my arms and dancing as though I were in the big number of a Broadway musical. He calls me angel, he calls me angel! I'm in love with a man who calls me angel! He cooked me dinner and he calls me angel! Watch out, Stephen Sondheim. And tell Twyla Tharp I'll have to call her back.

I turn and stretch in bed after my musical number plays out in my head, rolling onto my side and propping my head in my hand to peer at the tousled head beside me. My face feels as though it's fixed in a permanent grin. This boy…oh, this boy. He makes my body tremble like a leaf, all the way to my toes. I've had a good deal of sex in my life; but I have never met anyone who makes me feel like he does. Even in the several years I was with Jacob, the sex never once compared to what this week with Edward has been.

I should be feeling mellow after having been so well-fucked last night; but instead I feel like my body wants to go a mile a minute. I slide out of bed and silently throw on what I normally wear to run, and then I head to my den to hit the treadmill.

Several miles and a damn good sweat later, I turn off the treadmill, the majority of my nervous energy burned off. Time to head to the shower. I tiptoe back into my room but stop short when I realize the bed is empty. Looking around, the bathroom light is on.

"Edward?" I ask, not wanting to invade his privacy if he's indisposed.

"Good morning," he replies, appearing in the bathroom door, wearing nothing but a smile.

"Hey, beautiful!" I greet him, crossing the room to give him a kiss. "I didn't think you were awake yet."

After he returns the kiss, he replies, "I woke up a few minutes ago. I knew you'd be all hot and sweaty after your run, so I thought…" Here he trails off and takes my hand, leading me into the bathroom.

My huge old clawfoot tub is filled with a steaming bubble bath. "Wow," I grin, "that was very thoughtful of you."

"Well, I may have had an ulterior motive," he winks as he grabs the hem of my shirt. I lift my arms so he can pull it off over my head. "I couldn't help noticing yesterday, how well-suited this tub is for sharing."

I shed my pants and socks quickly, and pull him to me. I wonder whether he'll be at all turned off by my sweaty body, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"And you call me devious!" I chuckle, shaking my head at him.

"No, I call you subversive," he corrects, stepping into the hot, bubbly water. "This is clearly not the same thing."

"Point taken," I concede, taking the hand he has extended to me. I step into the tub and he sits at one end, indicating that I should sit in front of him. I do, and my back rests against his smooth chest. "Wow, I can't remember the last time I had a bubble bath. And I definitely don't remember packing – or unpacking – any bubble stuff when I moved."

"Yeah, I picked it up yesterday," Edward admits, soaking a washcloth in the water and wringing it out over my shoulders.

"Mmm, I never would have pegged you for a bubble bath kind of guy," I sigh as the delightfully hot water streams down my chest and back, and my head leans back on his shoulder. "Here I thought you were all about the shower."

"Man cannot live on showers alone," he murmurs, his lips brushing gently against my earlobe. He soaks the washcloth again and squeezes it across my pecs; then drags the rough terry cloth over my nipples. They harden delightfully, in spite of the hot water, and I stretch my torso, arching my back into the sensation. Edward immerses the cloth, gently swishing it back and forth across my stomach, moving lower and lower with each pass. Finally he reaches my cock, which is standing at full attention, teased by the water gently wafting around it. He abandons the cloth and swipes one finger up the underside of my cock, from the base to the tip; then grasps the head between his thumb and middle finger, slowly rubbing just the frenulum, again and again until I feel like I'm about to lose my mind.

"Edward," I moan. "It's not nice to tease."

"How about this then?" he growls, and grasps my shaft in firmly one hand, his other hand circling the base of my sac and pulling gently away from my body. I cry out at the suddenness of the sensation. His hand moves slowly but firmly up and down the length of my cock, stroking me into a frenzy as he tugs on my balls. Soon I place my hand over his on my cock and ask him to stop for a moment. I brace my arms against the sides of the tub and lift my body slightly, so that my ass is resting on his pelvis rather than between his legs. Then I begin to grind my hips back into him, trapping his cock between my ass and his stomach, and he grunts, thrusting his hips towards me. The water is deep enough that I have a bit of buoyancy, and I slide the crack of my ass up and down the length of his rock-hard cock. Over and over we rub against each other, slick with the hot soapy water, our desire escalating to a near fever-pitch.

"Edward," I gasp, teetering on the edge of oblivion, "you're going to make me come."

"Then come for me, angel," he whispers hoarsely. Hearing him say it – it's a charge of gunpowder thrown onto a smoldering fire. My orgasm explodes, loud, hot and bright; and his limit is incinerated by the blaze. He cries out loudly behind me, and the warm bath water can't disguise the unmistakable feel of his hot cum painting my ass and my lower back. He grinds into me, seeking as much purchase as he can find there, to sustain his peak.

Finally, gasping for breath, our hearts pounding together through our ribs, he wraps his legs around my hips and his arms around my chest and shoulders, pulling me as tightly to him as he possibly can. He buries his face in my neck. Minutes pass as we remain there, my arms covering his and my head against his shoulder.

Finally, I pat his arm and whisper, "Hey, you awake back there?"

His voice is muffled as he speaks into my neck. "Don't want to let you go."

"I know, it's lucky the tub is so generously-sized," I reply. "It's comfortable for both of us."

"Don't want to let you go," he repeats; and then mumbles something else in a voice that's so soft I can't understand him.

"I didn't catch that, beautiful," I murmur, shifting to try to dislodge his face a bit from my neck.

He pulls away just enough so he can whisper unobstructed. "I said, I don't want to let you go…ever."

My heart. He isn't talking about letting me go physically. Oh, my god, my heart. It feels like it's going to jump right out of my chest. I unwrap his arms and his legs from me, and turn so I can kneel in front of him in the water. What this implies…it's what I've waited and wished for since I was fourteen years old. I'm going to take it as a declaration. And it's time to make a declaration of my own.

I take his face gently in my hands, lifting it to mine. His green eyes seem dark, almost distraught. "Edward…beautiful Edward…I have to tell you something. And it doesn't matter if you can't say it to me, or don't want to say it to me." I feel a sense of desperation as the bubbles of truth are finally about to break the surface. "I can't keep it to myself any longer. I...I love you." The dam breached, I'm no longer in control of what spills out now. "I'm falling in love with you. I know it's only been a week. I don't care." I punctuate each sentence with a soft kiss on his lips, kisses he gently returns. "I know you've been alone a long time. I'll wait as long as you need me to – I've already waited forever. I love you."

I'm breathing heavily, swept up in the force of my vehement confessions; and I feel tears starting to gather. I close my eyes, hoping to stem them; and Edward gathers me close to him, gently shushing me and pulling my head to his chest. I wrap my arms around his waist and try to swallow the lump that has arisen in my throat.

"Kas…you are my angel…" he whispers into my hair. And it's enough. Right now, it's enough. Hell, this is Edward – I'm not only satisfied, I'm profoundly relieved and grateful. Relieved that he isn't going to bolt from my admission; and grateful for the emotion he expresses, in what ways he's able to.

We remain in the tub, clinging tightly to each other, until the water cools to lukewarm. Finally Edward whispers, "Hey, you." I lift my face to him and he places a kisses on the end of my nose. "What do you say to some breakfast?"

"Sounds great," I answer, and untangle myself from him. Grabbing the sides of the tub, I push myself up and step out onto the floor, then grab Edward's hand to pull him up as well.

As we towel off, he muses, "I was thinking of bacon and eggs this morning."

I frown a bit and reply, "Okay. We'll have to go out, though. I don't have any bacon."

He grins at me. "Sure you do. I bought some yesterday."

"Jeez - steaks, asparagus, bubble bath, bacon…did you make a list before you left the apartment yesterday?" I tease.

"Um…no?" he answers sheepishly.

"Oh my god, you did! You made a list!" I can't help snickering at him.

"It was a mental list," he stresses. "It's not like I was walking through the store with my list and pen in hand."

"And your purse slung over your arm…" I gasp, before dissolving into gales of laughter.

"Yeah, laugh it up," he grimaces.

And I do, for a good few minutes. By the time we're both dressed and standing in the kitchen, I'm still snickering, and he's still sulking, his brow set in a scowl. Once I've got the coffee brewing, I walk over and stand behind him where he's putting the bacon into the pan, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my chin on his shoulder. He ignores me, his bottom lip sticking out slightly in a little pout. I place a couple of kisses on his neck, and he ignores me still. He wraps up the rest of the bacon in the package and I have to step back to let him put it in the fridge; and he washes his hands. Then he leans back against the counter, crosses his arms and stares at the floor. Still he says nothing.

Finally, I plant myself in front of him, my hands on his hips. "Edward," I say softly, getting no reaction from him. "Beautiful, why are you upset? I'm just having some fun."

His scowl deepens a bit, and finally he sighs, "If you must know, I just wanted to make sure we had everything we'd need, so we wouldn't have to go out this weekend. Because I wanted to stay here with you the whole weekend. I didn't realize that was so hilarious." His eyes are still downcast.

My heart expands a bit at his admission, and I feel a tiny bit guilty. But only a little. It's clear he's not used to being teased, and honestly, I need to feel comfortable joking and laughing around him. Sometimes that includes laughing at him, and for that matter, at myself. And he is going to need to get used to that. "Aw, beautiful, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." I raise my hand to his chin, lifting his face to mine, and he finally makes eye contact with me. He tries to look defiant, but he honestly looks hurt. Last week he was made of steel; suddenly he seems so sensitive. "Edward, I appreciate the thought you put into it. I wasn't laughing at you for doing it. It was just a moment of…I don't know…silliness. It was a mental image - it made me laugh. I wish you wouldn't be angry with me."

My hand glides from his chin to his cheek, and my thumb strokes his cheekbone gently a few times. I can see that his resolve is wavering, and so in a whisper I add, "I'm so glad we can stay here, just the two of us, the whole weekend. I don't want to see anyone else but you, love." The last bit of resistance falls away. He uncrosses his arms from his chest and throws them around my neck. My arms slide around his waist and I hold him tightly to me. Apologies are whispered, bolstered by soft kisses; and there we remain, wrapped around each other, until the smell of the bacon invades our cocoon.

-o-

Saturday afternoon, Edward puts on some music, something we'd likely hear at Spin or one of the other clubs in the Capitol Hill district; and we dance. Not slow and sweet like before. This is hands in the air, heads tossing with the beat, hips churning, bare feet slapping on the floor. We start with Barry Harris' irresistible "Dive in the Pool"; continue through Robert Miles' "Children", a rave classic from before either of us knew what a rave was; and by the time we get to the Illicit Club Mix of "Miss You" by Etta James, we're moving as one body, grinding out the throbbing beat together.

Edward is an amazing dancer, seeming to lose himself in the music. The only other times I've seen him so completely caught up in the moment are the times when we make love; but now I can actually concentrate on watching him. I marvel at his easy grace as he gambols about my living room. I enjoy dancing, and I do it well enough; but I'm a little intimidated by his ability.

Eventually he says to me, as his hands ride the roll of my hips, "You know, one of these nights, we'll have to return to the scene of the crime, and do this. I never did get to dance that night."

"Oh, really? Is that a complaint I hear?" I tease, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Fuck, no!" he grins, grabbing my waist and effortlessly spinning me around the room.

-o-

Saturday night, after a dinner of tuna steaks and risotto that we make together, we watch a movie. Well, I watch the movie; every time I look at him, he's gazing thoughtfully at me. I offer several times to change the movie if he's not enjoying it. Each time, "Don't change a thing," is his only reply; and so each time I return my attention to Death at a Funeral, only to look back at him a few minutes later to find him observing me once more. I try to draw his attention back to the movie, commenting on Alan Tudyk's naked backside; but it's fruitless. He literally only has eyes for me.

When the movie ends, he slides closer to me on the couch and starts to kiss up my neck, his long fingers stroking my curls. Finally he owns up to the reason he spent the entire movie watching me. "You're so fucking hot when you laugh," he murmurs between kisses. "The way you throw your head back…your neck is so lithe. You should be a model, Kas."

"I'll be happy to model for you," I offer, starting to unbutton my shirt, and his eyes widen a bit, his tongue darting out to moisten his upper lip as he watches me. "You know, I think my room has the best light…" I jump up, grabbing his hand and pulling him quickly to the bedroom.

-o-

We actually do leave my apartment for a couple of hours on Sunday morning after breakfast, to take a walk around my new neighborhood. Edward takes me up on my offer to model for him, and brings his dSLR camera, walking several paces away from me, reminding me over and over not to look at him. "I'm afraid you're going to walk into something," I finally tell him as we stroll through Fremont Canal Park. "You aren't watching where you're going."

"Pfft," he scoffs; and he's right, of course. He seems to have a sixth sense about what surrounds him, even when he isn't looking. Just another facet of his physical grace, I suppose; and the observance that comes with being a photographer.

"Beautiful…nice…good…," he murmurs to himself almost continuously, as he captures one shot after another, though he refuses to show me any of them. "Not yet," he insists, shaking his head. "Wait till I have a chance to work on them first." I love seeing this side of him – he is completely confident in his ability, just like that first night at Spin. Of course I love his vulnerable moments as well; but here he is entirely in his element. It makes me feel strangely proud of him.

Before I know it, it's Sunday evening and I'm preparing for work the next day. I feel completely content, even as I wonder how the hell forty-eight hours have disappeared so quickly.

As Edward watches me set out my clothes for Monday morning, he says, "You know, I could go home tonight. Tomorrow is," he grimaces, "back to reality. I don't want to interrupt your morning routine."

Now it's my turn to scoff. "As if you're interrupting," I roll my eyes. "If you have stuff you need to look after at your place, please go ahead; but don't you dare leave because you think I want you to."

"So that's a no, then," he grins, looking relieved and happy. "In that case, I'll go home tomorrow morning after you leave. Make sure you wake me up tomorrow though, okay? I want to see you off."

"Absolutely," I promise, and seal it with a kiss.

-o-

Monday morning, I feel so light and happy that I almost float up the stairs to my office on the fourth floor. Edward is going home to get some work done – I hope he'll include in that work, some of the photos he took of me yesterday – but we have a date to go to Spin tomorrow night. And I'm sure I'll spend a good portion of this evening on the phone with him. I pause on the third-floor landing, listening for a moment for anyone else who might be using the stairwell; and when I'm sure I'm alone, I softly sing my personal Broadway tune, throwing in jazz hands – that is, Jazz hands – for good measure. He calls me angel, he calls me angel! I'm in love with a man who calls me angel!

It burns off a bit of my nervous energy, but the grin on my face is going nowhere as I finally emerge from the stairwell into the fourth-floor hallway. "Good morning, Kathleen!" I almost sing as I pass her desk.

"Jasper!" Kathleen gazes at me, looking hugely amused. "Look at you – you look like you're walking on air. Wouldn't have anything to do with a certain guy you're seeing, would it?"

Playing along, I reply, "I can neither confirm nor deny that I had the best weekend of my life due that very same boy."

"Lucky you!" she grins. "Back to reality, though, loverboy. You're meeting with department heads this week, remember?"

"Of course I remember. I'm all set to meet with the head of paeds," I reply confidently.

"There's been a change in the schedule – the chief of surgery is going to be out of town on Thursday, so his appointment got switched to today," she advises, holding out a file folder to me.

Her words stop me cold. "The chief of surgery?"

From behind me, inside the door of my own office, I hear a deep, masculine voice say my name. I turn and find myself face to face with green eyes I would recognize anywhere. They gaze steadily at me from a face that would rival any movie star in his early fifties, complete with thick, wavy blonde hair. I swallow hard and say, "Yes, sir?"

"It's my pleasure to meet you, Jasper," he says, holding out a hand to shake mine. "Carlisle Cullen."

-o-

Oh! Dr. Cullen is in Jasper's office. Well…this should be verrrry interesting!

Check out my blog, bbs, for some news about OTT mentions in the fandom; as well as recommendations on some kickass new stories! starfish422(dot)blogspot(dot)dom

As always - please, please review!