When last we saw our boys, they were about to flee the club so they could get home to "the good stuff'. I shan't keep you from it any longer.
Disclaimer: I don't own Edward or Jasper. I do own a kickass thesaurus. To Roget be the glory.
-o-
Edward
Grasping Jasper's hand, I pull him through the crowd. I see the twinks from earlier; the one who was rude to Jasper scowls at him as we pass. I look to Jasper just in time to see him give the boy a smug look, and I squeeze his hand, managing to suppress the chuckle that threatens to bubble up. My angel is possessive, just like I was earlier this evening.
In my haste to get him home and into my bed, I'm almost to the door before I hear him hiss, "Coats!"
"Shit!" I skid to a stop and dash back to the coat check, throwing the tickets at the attendant. I tap my fingers noisily on the counter until he returns with my black leather jacket and Jasper's wool coat. I grab them both, and again grab Jasper's hand and drag him to the door.
We're halfway down the street to my car before Jasper says, "Fuck, I'm freezing! Can I have my coat?"
Jesus. I'm such a fucking horny bastard that I'm dragging him down the street in February, him with bare arms, me holding his coat hostage. Again I halt, hold his coat up for him to slip his arms into, and then throw mine on as well. He starts to close his up, but I slide my hands around his waist inside the coat, and I growl, "Don't you dare! I can see everything through that sweater, especially in this cold!"
He wraps his arms around my shoulders and laughs, pulling me close to his chest. "That's fine, beautiful; but I'm a little worried they'll freeze off before we get back to your place!"
"Then run!" I urge, and we take off again down the street to my car. I hit the remote keyless entry and we both jump in. I start the car and sit for a moment, waiting for it to warm up. Jasper leans over to me and starts to run his hand up the inside of my thigh. I groan and let my legs relax open. Then I feel his tongue and lips start to work their way up my neck. I shudder away from him and say, "You better fasten your seatbelt, angel." The tires spin on the damp pavement as I punch the gas and pop the clutch.
For a second time, I'm glad for the short drive from Spin to my apartment, because he is doing the filthiest things to me as I drive, almost driving me to distraction. I park in front of my building instead of in the parking lot, choosing the shortest route to my apartment. Rather than take the stairs this time, we step into the waiting elevator. As the doors close, I push him into the corner, attacking his mouth with mine. Our tongues probe and swirl and taste, hips pushing against each other, moans and gasps sounding out desperately in the small space.
When the door opens on my floor, we finally break our kiss, and this time he is the one to grab my hand and drag me down the hall to my front door. I manage to get the door unlocked – no easy feat with him sucking on my neck just under my ear. Finally the door falls open and we stumble inside, kissing frantically. After the door slams, we start pulling clothes off, stripping coats and shirts and pants. Down to our underwear, he again takes my hand and pulls me to the bedroom; then spins to face me and picks me up in his arms. The way he gracefully lifts and tosses me onto the bed, it's as though there is no effort whatsoever for him in it – as if I weigh next to nothing.
He guides me to lie on my back, and hovers over me, one hand on either side of my shoulders, supporting his weight with his beautifully sculpted arms and shoulders. I run my fingers over them, feeling the smoothness of his skin and the hard muscle underneath; then my fingers trail down across his pecs, and find his nipples. He gasps softly when I roll them between my fingers, his eyes closing and his head coming down to rest on my shoulder. He shifts so that his weight rests on one elbow, and his other hand slides down my chest, down my stomach to the trail of hair that disappears into my boxer briefs. One finger slides under the waistband, and makes a few passes back and forth beneath the elastic, teasing me.
He moves lower then, outside the fabric, to fondle my balls, rolling them back and forth between his fingers. I moan at his soft touch, thrusting slightly. Abruptly he pulls away, moving back onto his knees; grasping the waistband of my briefs, he tugs them free of my body with one smooth motion. My engorged cock springs up, pointing directly at the angel who has brought it to life. He smiles as he takes in the sight, and gently whispers, "Mmm, hello again." He bends to nuzzle my balls with his nose, then slides just the tip of his tongue up the underside of my shaft, pausing to gently sweep around the frenulum.
Then he moves away slightly, and his eyes are burning as he slides his tongue over his lips until they glisten. All at once, he takes my entire length down his throat, pressing his lips against the dark curls that cover my pubic bone. It's so sudden and so exquisite that I can't help crying his name. I feel his lips smile against me, and he pulls back enough that he can suck just the head, creating a seal of the most excruciatingly sweet pressure, and I cry out again. My body is in a state of hyper-sensitivity – every touch, every sensation is poignant; and I crave even more.
I reach up to my night table to grab a condom, and he smiles, taking it from me and quickly situating it. He leans across me, gets the bottle of lube and slathers it over the condom; then, propping one knee in the air, he applies it to himself, preparing for me. He takes a moment to slide his own fingers inside himself, and he looks so fucking beautiful as he moans softly, his lips parted and his eyes half-closed. I prop myself up briefly to suck on his nipples, and he twitches, his hips thrusting towards me. Then he closes the lube, placing it back in its place, and gently pushes me down once more.
He positions my hips where he wants them to be on the bed, then straddles them and positions himself directly over my cock, pressing the head at the tight gathering of flesh. He holds my gaze for an interminable moment, then firmly, smoothly, pushes himself down, impaling his body on my aching cock. The sensation is so intense that we both cry out – mine sounding like a growl, his like a wail. He relaxes his legs so that I am completely buried inside him; and I grasp his hips and flex my hips upwards, reaching as deep as I can. He wails again, bracing his hands against my chest for support. I lift his ass up a bit and he holds his weight on his knees; then, lifting my ass into the air, I slide in and out, burying myself in him over and over again.
They say the person who penetrates, possesses the other; but now I know – they're wrong. I'm residing within him - he possesses me. I live in his soul and right now, I live in his body.
I rest my ass on the bed again, pulling his hips down with me and he relaxes down onto me, keeping me deep inside him for a moment; then he returns to his previous action of riding my cock, up and down my length. I reach for the lube he left on the night table and squeeze some into my hand. I let it run from my fingers onto his turgid cock that is dancing over my belly; then slowly, teasingly, I grasp the head and slide my hand down, holding tight, over the length of his beautiful shaft. He groans, and leans back enough to support his palms on the fronts of my thighs, closing his eyes. The angle pushes me, impossibly, even deeper, and we moan together.
I move my free hand to the head of his cock and start to rub the frenulum and the glans as I keep a slow, art rhythm with my other hand. He twitches and flexes the muscles of his ass, massaging my cock while barely moving. My hand's work increases in speed, and Jasper's vocalizations with it. He is moaning, unintelligible syllables interspersed with "beautiful" and "Edward" and hoarsely-whispered oaths. I fucking love how vocal he is – it's the sexiest fucking thing to watch him let go, lose himself in the sensations and not be the least bit self-conscious.
Finally he gasps and his body tenses. I urge him, "Please give me your cum, Kas – cover me with it." He raises his arms up over his head, as though to grasp the sky. I give a hard deep thrust with my hips and he shouts his release. He spasms around me, calling out repeatedly as my body slams into his and my hand milks every drop from him. Thick ropes of his cum land on my chest, searing my skin with the heat from his body.
When his orgasm has passed, he falls to my chest, whispering, "Thank you, thank you, beautiful."
I hug him to me as he has his moment. I kiss the top of his head, and then I say, "Sit up for a sec." He does, and I raise my upper half as well, then slide back so my back is resting against the headboard. "Ride me, please," I urge him, and immediately he complies, raising himself up and then allowing his body to fall, plunging himself down around my throbbing cock. Over and over he repeats this action, looking deep into my eyes; possessing me physically and spiritually at once. His lips are constantly in motion, whispering dirty things to me as I approach my climax. He's so hot; his body just feels so good and he is so right there – I can't hold out any longer. Realizing I'm on the edge, he tells me, "I love you, beautiful; come for me, please!"
And I come for him. I never look away from him, and I can almost see myself mirrored in his eyes as I moan and thrash and wail my orgasm in him. Possessed by him. Loved by him. Happy in him.
Eventually I return to earth, falling softly into the arms of my angel. He kisses me slowly and deeply, his soft tongue caressing mine. Then he pulls off of me, removing the condom from me and disposing of it. I reach into the bottom drawer of my night table and pull out two clean, white, folded towels – one for each of us to clean up with. That completed, he stands beside the bed, encouraging me to lift my hips so he can pull back the covers. I slide down into my bed, resting my head on the pillow. He slides in beside me and his head comes to rest on my shoulder, his arm stretched across my chest. For several moments we lay in silence and then he lifts his head and whispers, "Good night, beautiful. I love you."
I pull him tighter and whisper, "Good night, angel." Very soon his breathing regulates, becoming slow and steady – the deep slumber of one completely at rest. For a long time after, I lay awake, holding his sleeping form in my arms; occasionally running my fingers down his bare, smooth back, or through his soft curls.
It has started to rain heavily. As I listen to it tap on the window, my mind is filled with Jasper's declarations of his love for me. He has said it to me three times now. I'm still not ready to say it. And yet – this is Jasper. He has given me so much. Doesn't he deserve to hear it back? For a few seconds I consider it; but I discard it almost as quickly when I realize – this is Jasper. Jasper doesn't want an empty statement. I know him well enough to know that he values complete honesty. He has been so open with me, and I owe him nothing less in return.
So I will wait. I will have faith in Jasper that he'll wait until I mean it. I'll have faith in myself that someday I will progress past "completely fucked up" into "partially fucked up with ability to love"; and I will give it to him when I have it to give. But between now and then, I can start to tell him the things I've learned since he came into my life – the things he has taught me. About giving a gift to someone who's worth it; about the empty balloon in my chest; about closing my eyes. About how I've started thinking how much I'd love to be there waiting for him every night when he comes home from work; or if I returned from a trip to our home.
Jasper stirs slightly in his sleep, and I hug him to me again, brushing my lips across his forehead. He sighs and relaxes again. He's taking me to dinner Friday night. I make up my mind – I am going to tell him what he means to me, and I'm going to start on Friday night. That decision made, my body and mind finally calm, and I drift off to sleep, holding my angel in my arms.
-o-
The morning dawns grey, dismal and dreary – outside my apartment. Inside, I'm sitting on the sun. I'm having breakfast with my Kas, laughing over the comics in the newspaper as we finish the last of our coffee.
He stretches deeply and says, "I need to go have a shower. Want to join me?"
"Mmm, very tempting," I reply, but shake my head. "You go ahead."
He raises one eyebrow skeptically. "Well, okay," he says dubiously, and turns to go to the bathroom. Once I hear the water start, I grab my keys out of my coat pocket and cross the living room to my desk, which sits outside my workroom. Unlocking the drawer, I remove a wrapped gift. I have a special present to give to my angel. Now I have to wait till he finishes his shower and gets dressed. I stand in the middle of the room, the gift behind my back. In my limited gift-giving experience, I could never have imagined the anticipation I would feel. My body is nearly trembling with the prospect of seeing his face when he opens it.
After a seemingly-endless wait, he finally comes out of my room, looking devastatingly handsome in his pinstriped suit pants, white shirt and solid black tie. His blonde hair, still damp from the shower, curls alluringly around his face. He is tying his tie as he slowly comes into the living room; finally he finishes and looks up. He sees me watching him, and observing what I'm sure must be my gaping stare, he grins broadly at me.
"I assume that means I look okay?" he teases.
"Sorry, can't answer you till I've cleaned up this puddle of drool I'm standing in," I answer. "At least, I think it's drool..." I make a show of inspecting the floor at my feet.
"Really? I know I clean up nice, but spontaneous-orgasm nice?" He grins as he crosses the room towards me. He starts to wrap his arms around my waist. I'm still holding the gift behind my back, and, feeling the box, he leans around my shoulder to look.
His eyes widen when he spies what I have behind my back; and I turn a bit, playing at hiding it from him. He does that wonderfully wicked eyebrow quirk, smirks at me and nods his head; then he says, "That's a nice package you have there."
I can't keep up the banter any longer – the anticipation is fucking killing me. "It's for you," I burst, thrusting it at him.
"Wow." He beams his megawatt smile at me as he takes the broad, flat package from my hands. "Beautifully wrapped and everything." He unties the ribbon and drapes the length across the back of my neck, then unwraps the paper. He removes the lid of the white box inside, and lifts the tissue paper that holds the first item in the box: a framed photo. The black frame and white matte hold a photo of my angel, glancing out over the Lake Washington Ship Canal, as he strolls through Fremont Canal Park. I have manipulated the photo so that almost everything in it is black and white – except Jasper. His golden hair, the dark blue denim of his jeans, the soft fawn color of his wool coat and the Burberry plaid scarf he wears – they all pop against the cityscape. He brings light and color to the dreariness that was my life.
The second item in the box is another framed photo. This one is me, taken yesterday afternoon in approximately the same spot in the Park. I made a trip down there with my tripod and my remote, flashing photos of myself sitting on one of the benches that overlook the Canal. My photo is entirely black and white, the frame and matte matching the first. The photos represent me waiting for him to stroll into my life.
Aside from a small gasp when he looked at the first photo, Jasper has been silent as he examines them. Setting aside the wrapping paper and the box, he holds one in each hand out in front of him, at arm's length, examining them one after another. He slowly walks to the end table, gradually setting them down, but still gazing intently at them. I follow him, somewhat aimlessly – waiting for a reaction from him. Standing behind him, I finally see his head fall down toward his chest for a moment; then he abruptly turns, flinging himself into my arms and burying his face in my neck.
He is obviously weeping, and even as emotionally stunted as I am, I know I've knocked this one out of the park. He raises his face to mine, his eyes brimming before each small tear spills over onto his cheek. I catch one of his tears on my finger tip, then gently kiss each of his eyes before pulling his forehead to mine. I love how freely he expresses his emotions. I've never been one who cries easily; but this trait in him doesn't emasculate him in the least. He is completely masculine – a fact to which I can easily attest.
When he is at last able to speak, he whispers, "Thank you; thank you," again and again, punctuating each expression with a soft kiss.
"You're welcome," I answer when I'm able. "It's my pleasure."
Eventually he pulls away, turning back to gaze at the photos again. I hold his hand, stroking his damp hair as he examines them. "They're so lovely," he murmurs.
"Later this week, I'll make you some copies for your desk at work," I promise, "but these are for your apartment." I have another trick up my sleeve – a manipulation of the individual photos of us, into a single collage. I've already put hours into it and I have more ahead; I plan to give it to him at dinner on Friday night.
"I only wish we had one of the two of us," he says, picking up the frames and putting them into his briefcase.
"Where's your cell phone?" I ask, hiding my smile so I won't arouse his suspicions. I cross the room to my desk to get my own cell.
"My cell phone?" he repeats.
"Yeah – I mean, it's not going to be Ansel Adams or anything – but you can carry it with you. I have one of you on mine already," I hold up the phone, showing him the message he sent me with the photos of him holding his flowers.
So we put our heads together, smiling – he with slightly red-rimmed eyes, me with sex hair and no shirt – and we each take a photo of the two of us, with our respective cell phone cameras. Comparing them, we both look as happy as any two people in a relationship can be.
At last he must say goodbye, and he kisses me deeply, passionately, before he puts on his wool coat and picks up his briefcase with its precious cargo. "I guess I won't see you until Friday now," he murmurs, stroking my cheek with his free hand.
"I could come by the office and take you to lunch tomorrow," I suggest.
Something indefinable colors his face for an instant; then disappears as he shakes his head. "This week won't work for lunch," he says.
"Okay, so we'll meet at the restaurant, then, on Friday night." I lean in to him and brush my lips gently against his.
"Seven o'clock," he confirms.
"I'll be there." With gift and heart in hand.
"Bye, beautiful," he whispers with one last smile, and disappears out the door, closing it behind him.
After he leaves, I immediately return to my desk, where I'd hidden his gift. Lying in the still-open drawer is another framed photo of Jasper. In this one he stands, body facing the camera, eyes looking past me, gazing out over the Canal. A lock of his blonde hair plays off his cheek, partially obscuring one green eye. He stands upright, confident, as he always does; but his eyes have a dreamy, far-away expression. His lips are slightly parted as a little smile plays upon them. It's my favorite of the many photos I took of him that day.
Clutching the frame, I turn and glance about the room, wondering where I should put it. On the desk? On the bookshelf? No - neither. I know exactly where it should go. I stride quickly to my bedroom, and gently set it in its new place of honor, on my night table. It's the perfect spot. Now when my angel isn't here, I can look at him every night when I go to sleep, and every morning when I awake.
-o-
The rest of the week passes with text messages and evening phone calls and working on photos of an angel and flipping my cell phone open way too many times to look at the picture of the two of us.
At long last, Friday night arrives. I'm meeting Jasper at Anthony's Pier 66, overlooking Elliott Bay. I'm driving my car – Jasper's taking a cab and I'll drive us home afterward.
As I leave my car and trek up Alaskan Way, I am uncharacteristically nervous. I know – essentially – what I want to say to Jasper; I just hope I can manage to express what I'm feeling and what I've been thinking...without putting my foot in my mouth or stumbling through it too badly. Just outside the restaurant, I pause for a long moment and stand on the sidewalk, taking deep breaths and trying to steady my nerves.
When I'm ready, I ascend the two steps and grasp the handle of the bright yellow door. My future is behind that door, and it's time for me to face it.
-o-
Hope you enjoyed the après club activities! Next chapter – the long-awaited dinner date.
Couple of questions were posed by readers after last chapter: No, Bella is not going to be in this story. No, I'm not spelling "Jas" incorrectly - Kas is the spelling I intend. A re-read of Chapter 12 may shed further light on that for you, bb. :)
Reviews make me fly. High! xoxo