So...surprise again? LOL This OTT outtake (the last one ever, mind) was requested by the high bidder in my Fandom Gives Back auction, Angela aka BeCullen! Angela asked for a look at the boys/men in the future, and generously allowed the story to be shared with OTT fans in general. Enjoy!
-o-
Christmas 2010
Edward
"Have I told you how glad I am that we do this?" he murmurs contentedly.
"Do what, angel?" I ask. His comment is non-sequitur, following at least twenty minutes of silence. He could mean any number of things.
"Reserve Christmas Eve just for us," he replies. "No plans with anyone else. Just you and me, snuggled together, enjoying the quiet..."
"Yeah," I agree wholeheartedly, stroking his wheaten curls and placing a kiss on his head where it rests against my chest. We lie together, stretched out along the length of the leather sofa, listening to soft Christmas carols spill from the speakers of the iPod dock. The white lights on our Christmas tree provide the only illumination in the room, sparkling off the silver and dark blue decorations. At the foot of the tree are beautifully-wrapped parcels, a few for each other and the rest for our loved ones who will join us here tomorrow.
Though we were already engaged by last Christmas, this is our first year as a married couple. Sometime in the last month we got the crazy idea to host Christmas Day here. My in-laws have travelled to Washington for Christmas, since all of us from Seattle were just in Texas for the wedding two months ago. They're staying with Esme and Carlisle. Rosie and Em and the boys have taken a family suite at a hotel near my apartment. I'm tremendously grateful that they all made the trip so far, allowing Jasper and me to be in our own home on our first Christmas. When the whole group descends upon our apartment tomorrow in the late morning, I'm sure it'll be a bit of a mad scene here.
Tonight, though, is all ours, and it's our conscious decision not to accept invitations elsewhere for the night of December 24th. This night is our time to take a breath and relax together before the storm of activity on Christmas Day.
Jasper's hand slides up to rest on my thigh. The light from the tree catches the diamonds in his engagement ring. As I have done so many times in the last two months, I smile with contentment at seeing those two rings side-by-side. His wedding and engagement rings. My world feels complete with Jasper as my husband.
Which is why I reply, "I am glad, angel. There's nowhere else I want to be tonight; no one else I want to be with."
He twists slightly, turning his head so he can kiss me. "You're mine forever," he murmurs.
I return his kiss tenderly, and he stretches further toward me till he finally turns over to lie with his chest against mine. I hold his face between my hands, my tongue probing deep in his inviting mouth. His arms encircle my waist and he presses his hips into me, breathing a sigh full of yearning. Hearing the sound of his arousal lights a fire in me; tenderness gives way to need. Like an addict chasing his next fix, the urgency escalates with each second. Knowing it's this close, need becomes desperation.
"God, Jasper," I groan. "I can never get enough of you, angel." He chooses that moment to push away from me, leaving me gasping. He rises to his knees on the couch and slowly unbuttons his shirt. I watch his long slender fingers slip each button through the hole; watch him slide it smoothly off his shoulders, baring his upper body. Though I reach out for him, he stops me, extending my acute torture. He unbuttons his soft worn jeans and lets them drop from his waist to where his knees are pressed into the couch, betraying that he is wearing nothing under them. He stands to kick off his jeans, and takes advantage of that moment to unzip my own jeans and tug them from me. As he tosses them on a chair I quickly slip my t-shirt off.
He turns back and his lower lip juts out slightly. "Naughty boy," he murmurs. "No fair unwrapping my gift." He shakes his head with a tsk, tsk, under his breath. I lift my hips so he can slide off my briefs, but he pushes me back down, instead lying on his stomach on the generous leather couch, his head between my legs. Carefully he begins to suck and nibble on my painfully hard cock through my white low-rise briefs. I sink my hands deep into his hair, clutching handfuls of his voluminous waves and stroking his scalp. He takes more of me, dampening the fabric with his wet mouth, occasionally pulling away to cup my balls and slide his finger under the elastic of the legs, teasing the soft skin of my inner thigh. He uses his tongue there, too, driving me mad with anticipation.
When he finally relents and pulls my briefs off, my cock is weeping seminal fluid, desperate to feel skin and opening and inside. "Please," I implore. "Fuck – please suck me, Kas." Wordlessly he complies, rising to his knees and dropping his head back to my groin. He purses his moistened lips before pressing them to the head of my cock. They open to me just enough to make a tight passage through them into the waiting molten sanctuary of his mouth. He sucks hard, nearly overwhelming me at once with his touch on my hypersensitive cock, and I cry out wildly. Rather than releasing me, he brings one hand up to tug gently on my sac. When his other hand wraps around the base of my cock I'm done for. I come immediately, hard and embarrassingly fast in frantic spurts down his throat.
It happens so quickly that it relieves only the urgency, leaving me able to last much longer now. Jasper releases me, grinning as he takes in the thunderstruck expression on my face. He sits on the couch, opening the drawer under the coffee table to grab the bottle of lube we keep there. He turns it upside down, letting gravity carry little drizzles of the clear fluid onto his cock. I sit up to catch the drops, dragging my fingertips lightly over his rigid shaft. He puts his head back, closing his eyes while I massage until his cock glistens. I debate for a moment – facing him or facing away? I decide to start facing away, standing up and turning my back to him. He grasps his length in one hand, ready to penetrate me when I lower my body to him. His hard knob presses firmly against my opening. Pressure, but no pain as he breaches the tight knot. I press down and he fills me more fully until I hold all of him inside me.
"Fuck," he pants, "stop." I grind my ass against his groin a bit, teasing him, but he grabs my hips hard. Through gritted teeth he cautions, "Don't. Move."
While I wait for him to calm, I pick up the lube where it sits on the table, pouring a few drops into the palm of my hand. I tease the head of my cock with the slippery liquid, moaning softly as my fingertips ghost under the head and along the slit. I'm still as hard as a fucking poker, more so now that I'm sitting on Jasper's cock. One of his hands releases my hip and it comes around to meet my fingers, following them as they trace light paths over my length. "Fuuuuuuck," he moans lazily. "I love your cock."
"Can I move now?" I ask, becoming impatient to feel him move in me.
"It's just so good, doing it raw," he replies, his voice husky. Only two months have passed since we stopped using condoms, on our wedding night. It's still very new to us both, even more so to Jasper as he bottoms much more often. "Feels so good to be in you with nothing between us." He lifts gently on my hips and I take that as my cue. Slowly I rise and fall over him, letting my ass drop to feel his hands squeezing me each time I do. My hands hover around my cock, occasionally squeezing and caressing; and sometimes dropping down to where his balls are, below mine, so I can play with them as well.
When I sense he's starting that ascent to his orgasm I lift myself off him briefly, turn to face him and sink down onto him again. I never orgasm more intensely than I do in this position, the way his cock stimulates my prostate from the inside; the way he holds me close; how I can look directly into his eyes, watching every sensation portrayed so clearly on his exquisite features. Jasper is always vocal when we make love, but something about this position - whether it's the closeness or the intensity – causes him to become verbal as well. Maybe it's because my face is directly before his. Whatever the reason, he stares into my eyes, effusing chaste endearments among the most salacious desires. Hearing his voice tell me the impure things he wants to do to me is always my weakness; my arousal spikes and with it my temperature, sweat trickling down my chest as I struggle against my quickly approaching climax.
My undoing is when he moistens his thumb and forefinger in his mouth then grasps my nipple, rolling it around between them. "Hold me tight!" I bark and he immediately complies, his arms forming an iron vice around my waist and pulling me as close. I slam down hard, burying him deep inside me, and my body instantly goes to pieces, thrashing, shuddering, buffeted by waves of euphoria. Amid the crashing in my brain, I hear him cry my name. His body stiffens beneath me, his head tossing from side to side when he spills inside me. Our cries overlap until they fade away into heavy breaths. My head drops to his shoulder and I bury my face in his neck.
"I love you," he whispers into my hair. "I love you, I love you."
I lift my head and kiss his soft, wide mouth. "I love you too, angel," I whisper after I pull away. I lift myself gingerly off him and he stands beside me.
"Put your arm over my shoulders," he gently instructs, then sweeps his arm under my legs, picking me up and carrying me to our bed. "Back in a sec," he whispers. He disappears, and the lights go out on the Christmas tree in the living room. He moves quietly back through our room into the bathroom, and returns a moment later with a warm washcloth. My eyes are already beginning to close as he carefully cleans me. He vanishes again, and I hear the water running in the bathroom sink, where I assume he's doing the same thing for himself. Soon he's sliding into bed with me, gathering me into his arms in the dark. He lifts his head to look at the clock on the night table.
"Hey," he says softly, "it's after midnight. Merry Christmas, beautiful."
"Merry Christmas," I mumble sleepily, remembering to add my new favorite word, "husband."
Christmas 2015
Jasper
"Oh my god," he gasps and staggers into the room. "She's finally asleep. I thought she'd never drop off."
"She's excited you're home," I remind him.
"Hmph," he sniffs. "I think she said Santa more than Daddy today."
I laugh as he collapses next to me on the bed. "Annie's only repeating what we've been saying to her. She's not even two - she has no idea what we're talking about." I've just finished the last-minute wrapping and I've stretched out here waiting for him to give the all-clear. "I hate to say it," I nudge him, "but we're not done. We still have to put all the presents out."
He groans and pulls a pillow over his head. "Can't Santa do that?" he complains, his voice muffled.
"Come on," I urge, giving him a playful shove before pulling the pillow off his head. "Let's get this done and then we can have our private celebration."
He sighs and reaches his hand out to me. "Fine, but I don't have the energy to stand up. You'll have to get me up."
"I've never failed yet." I grin and despite his exhaustion, he grins back at the double entendre.
We pull the gifts out of the locked downstairs closet and arrange the brightly wrapped parcels under the tree. I fill the stockings while Edward decks the tree with candy canes. We each have a cookie and share the milk Annie left for Santa. Then we stand back and survey the scene.
It's beautiful. Our tree, chosen by Annie this year, isn't perfect. Its trunk is a bit crooked and there's a bald spot on one side (which we've faced toward the wall). Rather than all the delicate glass ornaments we bought for our first tree, this one holds sturdy plastic bulbs, little paper chains and some childish ornaments Annie made at daycare. There's a memory ornament from our first Christmas and a little silver rattle engraved with the date of Annie's first one. There are strings of popcorn and cranberries that we'll hang in our backyard for the birds after the holidays are over. No, it's not a picture out of a home décor magazine – but I wouldn't change a thing.
Edward stands behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, burying his face in my neck. I shiver as his breath tickles me. "I love you," I whisper.
He squeezes tighter and says with a contented sigh, "Love you too, angel."
"Come on," I tell him, gently removing his hands from my waist. I keep hold of one of his hands and lead him up the wood staircase, along the hallway lined with photos of our extended family, and into our bedroom. "Meet you there, beautiful." I push him gently toward the bed and head into the ensuite.
I'm in there for no more than five minutes before re-emerging into our room. Edward is stretched out in bed. The wrapping paper and tape I used earlier are still on the duvet. I pick them up and tuck them away in the bench at the end of the bed. "Don't want Annie to see those in the morning," I remark. There's no reply from Edward and I climb into bed to snuggle up with him.
What I find is my beautiful sexy husband, already fast asleep. I can't help an indulgent smile as I gaze at him. He got in late last night from three days in New York City and was woken at seven this morning by Annie jumping on him in her excitement to have him home. He kept up with her all day long, but was already dragging by the time he put her to bed. I can't blame him at all for crashing. I'm only the tiniest bit disappointed that we'll forgo our Christmas Eve lovemaking. I don't for one second consider waking him, despite knowing he'll chide me for it tomorrow. He needs to sleep and I'm going to let him. Tomorrow will be a long, busy day with Carlisle and Esme, Alice and her boyfriend Ian all spoiling Annie. In the morning we'll get on Skype for a Christmas morning video chat with my family in San Diego; my parents are spending Christmas there with Rosie and Em and the boys.
I settle onto my side, propping myself up on one elbow to gaze at him in the dim light of the small lamp on my dresser. He and Annie never look more alike than when they're asleep. The same innocence, the same look of contentment – the peace of having absolute faith that they are loved, cared for and more precious than diamonds. Tonight Edward's lips are parted slightly. The scruff of a couple days' worth of beard growth dusts his jaw. His hair is now a bit shorter than it was when we met, but it's still hopelessly tousled. Last week I noticed the very first silver threads in his temples.
I roll onto my back and relax into the soft, deep pillows. As I always am when he returns from a trip, I'm happy and relieved to have him home safely. I'm also glad he won't have to travel again for a few weeks. We both hated that this last trip came so close to Christmas but in this case it couldn't be helped. His client discovered that their lead competitor had moved up the release date for their new product, which threw everyone at the company into a panic to get their own product out first. Edward discussed it with me before going; the money was such an obscene amount we couldn't turn it down.
Edward took advantage of the trip to combine work with some Christmas shopping. He has some cool, creative toys for Annie that he bought at FAO Schwartz; and tonight when we were putting the presents under the tree, a small mysterious box came out of his locked desk drawer, wrapped with glittering silver paper and a blue bow. He flatly refused to answer any questions about it, other than that the tag has my name on it. It's been a few years since we bought surprise gifts for each other and I'm wildly curious about what it could be. I've bought him tickets for an Ansel Adams exhibit that's coming to Seattle – the man worships Ansel Adams so I'm guaranteed a hit.
My eyes are becoming heavy now and the light still burns on my dresser. I carefully get out of bed and cross the room to turn it out. Turning back to the bed, movement in the streetlight outside catches my eye. I do a double-take before walking slowly to the window to take in the scene.
Fat snowflakes drift silently to the ground, covering the houses, cars, lawns and street with a thick cloak of sparkling white. My first thought is of Annie, and how she'll be bewildered by the Christmas wonderland outside when she wakes up tomorrow. I'm glad Carlisle and Esme live only a few blocks away – if the roads are bad tomorrow morning they can walk over. And I'm sure Edward won't be able to resist the opportunity to get some pictures of us all outside in the snow.
As I slide back into bed I exhale a sigh of deep contentment. I know I'm incredibly lucky, and I'm always aware of that; but it's often only at times like this – Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthdays – that I slow down long enough to really contemplate it. Such a little thing, snow on Christmas Eve, is a reminder of all the little pleasures that combine to create my charmed life.
Christmas 2020
Jasper
"Daa!"
No. Too early.
"Daaaaaa!"
I groan and turn down the receiver of the baby monitor beside me. Not all the way down; just low enough that I can hear the talking and gurgling, hoping against hope that the little one making those sounds will give us a break and play quietly in the crib for another half hour or so.
Edward shifts beside me, his own groan echoing my sentiments. "How can any child exist on so little sleep?" he moans, slipping his arms around me to pull me close so he can spoon me.
"How can we exist on so little sleep?" I counter peevishly.
"Shhh, angel," Edward soothes. "You sleep; I'll get up before Annie wakes. At least the babe has no idea it's Christmas – if Annie gets up too you won't be able to stay in bed."
I could almost cry with gratitude for Edward's thoughtfulness, except I'm too tired to cry. He kisses my cheek and gets out of bed, closing the door behind him when he leaves. Just before I switch off the baby monitor I hear him singing a nursery rhyme.
Two hours later I'm awoken again, this time by a six-year-old sticking a landing beside me after she runs and leaps onto the bed. "Daddy, Daddy!" she shouts excitedly. "It's Christmas and Santa came!"
"Morning, Anniegirl," I reply with a grin. It's eight o'clock now, a much more reasonable hour, and the extra two hours of uninterrupted sleep has done me a world of good. "Merry Christmas, sweet pea."
"Merry Christmas!" Annie bounces a few times on the bed, earning her a gentle reminder that she's not allowed to jump on our bed. "Come on, Daddy, get up! Come downstairs! Come see what Santa did!"
"I'm getting up right now, baby girl," I tell her. "You go – I'll be down in five minutes."
"I'll tell Daddy you're coming," she shouts on her way out the door.
True to my word, five minutes later I'm downstairs receiving hugs and kisses from Edward, Annie, and from our son, Marco. This beautiful boy came into our lives fifteen months ago, and has had us on our toes since before he was born.
As planned, we chose not to go the surrogacy route again, instead applying to adopt a child. We never imagined we would be called as quickly as we were – a year after we applied, six months after all the home visits and background checks had been completed and the approval came through. Marco's situation was unique – or, sadly, perhaps not so unique – in that his birth mother Maria was young, afraid, living in poverty…and was HIV-positive. She didn't know she was pregnant until she was twenty-two weeks; she didn't know she was HIV-positive until she went to a free clinic for prenatal care where they did an HIV test. Maria couldn't afford a viral load test, but because of her economic status the state of California provided it for her; and when the viral load indicated that she should start antiretroviral therapy during her pregnancy rather than waiting till delivery, Medicaid covered the cost of her drugs.
When Sherri, the social worker from the adoption agency, called to let us know that there was a possible match for us, she was very honest about the chance that the baby could be HIV-positive as well; and that we wouldn't have a definitive answer for many months after birth. I was furious when I heard that Sherri had run into difficulties with other potential adoptive parents because of Maria's HIV status. I fumed to Edward, "Because a child with HIV doesn't deserve the same love that a typical child does?"
Edward had a much broader perspective on it. "For one thing, not everyone is educated about HIV," he reminded me. "For another, if they don't feel equal to the task of caring for someone with HIV, they definitely should not place themselves in that responsibility for anybody, much less a tiny human who will be their own child."
"What about a parent whose child is diagnosed with cancer?" I'd argued. "I'm sure they'd rather not have to learn about all the awful things cancer does to the body, watch their child suffer through chemotherapy and pain and illness…"
"The difference, Kas, is choice," he said. "Knowing beforehand that a child you don't know could be sick...I'm sorry but despite my personal feelings I just can't judge someone who decides against it." He could see how upset I was becoming and he took my face gently in his hands, bidding me to calm down. "If we adopt this baby and it turns out he or she is HIV-positive, we will deal with the consequences for the rest of our lives…for the rest of the child's life…and so will Annie." I winced and he nodded gently, knowing that I understood what he was saying. He softly continued, "I know ARVs have come a long way; but it's still not a typical or carefree life. And even if the baby is healthy, it'll be months before we know for sure." He took my face gently in his hands. "Are you prepared for everything this might entail? Are we?"
Of course he was right, and his thoughtful assessment was very sobering. I knew he wasn't nixing the idea but rather, as when we were considering the means by which Annie came into our lives, asking for circumspection.
I did suggest that we agree to meet Maria regardless, hoping it might help us with our decision. I also wanted Carlisle's opinion as a physician; and we got in touch with Dr. Matson in Seattle as well. Her assessment was pretty straightforward – that if we did go ahead, she believed we were going into it with open eyes. She did caution us about keeping communication open, and told us not to hesitate to seek preventative counseling. Carlisle's thoughts came not just as a doctor but as a concerned father and grandfather; he mentioned the possible stress to our marriage and to Annie's life. More than that, though, he stressed that he knew we would provide a loving, stable home to any child; that we had our priorities straight when it came to our family; and that he would certainly love to have another grandchild. This last part was added with tongue only partially in cheek; and it was such a Carlisle thing to say. Esme had been dropping not so subtle hints for a year at least; Alice had come right out and asked if we were going to have another. Carlisle, though, never said a word until we brought it up; and then he immediately lent his support.
The meeting with Maria came two days after our conversation with Carlisle. The two of us met her at the adoption agency office on a Wednesday afternoon. Maria was twenty-one and obviously very nervous about the meeting. She had made the decision to place her child for adoption because it was important to her that the baby have loving parents who would be able to provide financially for whatever contingencies may arise, and who could give him opportunities she couldn't. She was as concerned about finding the right parents for her child as we were about the impact this would have on our family, for the same reason: love.
We talked for several hours, her becoming more relaxed and open as the time went on. She was intelligent and well-spoken; she told us she'd done well in high school and wished she could have gone to college, but there was no way her parents could afford to send her. She'd qualified for a partial scholarship but it just wasn't enough. Instead she got a minimum-wage job right out of high school, contributing to the tiny income her family earned. She told us that it was in a moment of recklessness that she had unprotected sex with a stranger after a night at a club, and as a result not only conceived a child but contracted HIV as well.
Who were we to judge? It could just as easily have been one of us in our younger years. Neither of us could conceive, obviously, but even using a condom we were aware that it could only be considered "safer" – not safe by any means, not with a stranger. It was very sobering to see and speak to a living example of what could have happened as a result of the chances we all took.
At the end of our meeting with Maria she told us she would like it if we became the parents to the child she carried. We told her we would take a few more days to consider it and would let her know our decision by the end of that week. That night at home, after Annie was asleep, we talked about our options. We wouldn't have a complete picture of the baby's family genetic history as there was no way to know who the sperm donor was. This was only a minor concern for us, though, given the larger issues at hand.
We mulled it individually for twenty-four hours, or at least, we made a show of mulling. I know my mind was already decided, and though I've never asked Edward, I'm convinced his was as well. When we regrouped to discuss it, we found that our thoughts aligned exactly: we felt strongly that we were the right parents for this baby. He or she was ours.
When we called Sherri the next day to tell her our decision, she whooped with excitement and happiness. "Maria is going to be so thrilled and relieved," she told us. "On Wednesday after you left, she was completely convinced that you two were the ones."
That was in mid-June; she was six months pregnant then, with a due date of September 13, 2019 – a Friday, no less. The day before her due date she began having mild contractions, and seventeen hours later, in the wee hours of the morning, we held our son in our arms for the first time. Marco was tiny and perfect, with a very healthy set of lungs and – surprisingly – a shock of red hair. Maria was surprised as well; we had all assumed the baby would have her Hispanic features.
From day one, Marco has turned our lives upside down. He's extremely ambitious, climbs like a monkey and sprints like a cheetah. For the first three months of his life he never slept more than forty minutes at a stretch; we seriously thought we might lose our minds from sleep deprivation. Even now at fifteen months old he is up for the day at six a.m., unfailingly cheerful and raring to go. Between the early rising and the red hair that sticks straight up in the middle, he's earned the nickname Rooster. He naps briefly in the morning and for about an hour in the afternoon; and has never gone to sleep before eight o'clock in the evening.
Though he seems intent on setting a record for sleep deprivation, we've fortunately never had to worry about him starving himself. He has a healthy appetite and has never heard of picky; the only food the child has ever turned down is Brussels sprouts – not that I blame him (they were Edward's idea). He's bright and attentive, sweet, cuddly and lovable. He loves to be read to – reading and meals are the only things he sits still for.
Then, of course, there's the big question, the possibility of him having HIV. No words can express the relief we felt when we received the results that showed he was almost certainly HIV-negative. We had already celebrated his birth and his permanent place in our family, but now we felt free, released to celebrate life – his, ours…life in general. Our parents, family and friends shared our joy; and Annie, who we'd told in an age-appropriate way that Marco needed some special doctor visits, was also happy to know that he wouldn't have to have any extra needles (Annie being terribly afraid of needles, they were the greatest source of concern for her baby brother).
Now, our baby boy is fifteen months old and as healthy as any typically-developing child should be. He and Annie absolutely adore each other. Annie delights in making him laugh, and he is a most obliging audience, busting up into belly laughs when she makes faces or dances for him.
This morning, after kisses and hugs, they sprint to the living room where the tree waits, an abundance of presents beneath it. Edward places a cup of coffee in my hand and wraps his arm around my waist to guide me to the living room. He and I sit on the couch together. Marco toddles around the room chewing furiously on his thumb to ease the ache of his impending molar. Annie, who can read everyone's names for the second year in a row, is in charge of giving out the gifts. She gives us each one to open, also handing me one for Marco, and squeals with delight when she realizes the largest package is for her.
She goes first, tearing the paper from the box to find a three-story wooden dollhouse. The house is lavender with a pink roof and shutters. For a few seconds she's speechless, her mouth opening and closing with no sound, until she begins to jump up and down, screaming. Poor Marco is startled by the noise and plops down on his little backside, his lower lip quivering dangerously. She notices immediately and rushes to his side before Edward and I can even get up. "It's okay, Marco," she soothes, hugging him gently. "Annie's sorry, little Rooster." The tears that seemed ready to fall only seconds ago are forgotten and he's grinning again.
When the presents are opened and the kids are absorbed with their new toys – in Marco's case, absorbed with the boxes and bags – Edward puts his arm around my shoulder and I lean back into him. It's an absolutely blissful holiday scene. Edward and I haven't exchanged expensive gifts this year, choosing instead to invest in a remodel of the kitchen in our lovely home here in San Francisco. We've bought little things for each other, treats we like, that sort of thing.
As I watch the kids my hand goes automatically to the gift Edward gave me when Annie was just a little older than Marco, that mysterious box that came home from New York with him. It turned out to be a platinum necklace with a circle pendant. He had it engraved with two lines from a Philip Sidney poem. On one side, around the face of the pendant it reads, His heart in me keeps him and me in one; when it's turned over the other side reads, My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides. He also gave me a small card with the full text of the poem on it. Aside from my engagement and wedding rings, it's the best gift I've ever received from him. The chain had to be repaired when Marco was nine months old and gave it a sharp tug, but otherwise it's always with me.
It'll be a quiet day here today as we don't have any family coming in to spend Christmas with us this year. I should be sad, and I am, a little. But we'll be going to San Diego to spend New Year's with Rosie and Emmett, so the holidays won't be entirely without family.
Besides that, it's hard to feel too sorry for myself when I consider how fortunate I am to be spending the day with my partner and our beautiful children.
Merry Christmas to me.
Christmas2043
Edward
"They had a good day," he comments, his voice interrupting the sudden quiet. Compared to the chaotic noise that's filled our home all day, the peaceful quiet of our living room now feels foreign.
"They did," I agree with an indulgent smile, knowing how special Christmas is, how important it is to him to make the day magical for them.
He grins at my agreement and sits down on the couch beside me, then pivots his body to lean back into me. He sighs as he stretches his legs out along the length of the couch. "What a racket, though," he admits.
"Remember how your dad would have called it a 'joyful noise'," I add gently.
In my arms I feel him cringe slightly at the mention of his dad. This is our first Christmas without Harry, who passed away over the summer. Having lost both my parents in 2040, I understand how difficult this year has been for him. After his dad passed, though, he was adamant that he wanted me continue to talk about Harry, rather than avoiding mention to spare his feelings. I've mentioned several things that reminded me of him over the months since his death. Kas, being the tender heart he is, always responds with a smile when the happy memories surface – sometimes a tear or two. We're lucky that our parents have all had such happy lives. We can remember them with natural sadness but no regrets.
Anneliese is the only parent we have left now. She lives in San Diego where Rosie and Em still live. They spent Christmas there, though she's talked about flying up to see us at Easter. Their boys are now handsome, intelligent young men with families of their own. Brandon and his wife Katherine have eight-year-old twins, Joey & Caroline; Gabriel and his partner Luke are happily child-free and possibly the best uncles ever (aside from Jasper and me, naturally). They have all stayed in Southern California.
Jasper and I are back in Seattle, having returned to the scene of the crime, so to speak – the place where we met and fell in love. We moved back here after we retired, shortly before Carlisle passed away. We took care of him in the last several months of his life when he had trouble getting around. He passed away just nine months after Esme did – almost certainly of a broken heart. He was quite healthy at the time of her death, but afterward it was as though he gave up. As much as he loved his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, without Esme he was lost. He never developed cancer or any terminal illness – he simply failed. Losing both of them so close made it a heartbreaking year for our family, the most difficult we've ever had.
We moved into Carlisle and Esme's house when we were looking after Carlisle; and in the settlement of the estate inherited their home in the Queen Anne neighborhood of Seattle. They had taken great care of the house but it definitely needed some modernization; it seemed stuck in the year 2025. We spent the next year updating the kitchen, the bathrooms…making it into the home where we would spend our retirement. Alice and Ian, having lived in Tokyo for the last twenty years, were simply glad that the home would remain in the Cullen family.
Our children are still on the West Coast as well - Annie and her husband Takeo live in Tacoma with their two-year-old daughter Mia. It was when visiting Alice and Ian in Tokyo after college that Annie met Takeo; within six months he had moved to San Francisco to be with her. Shortly before their wedding Annie's work took them north to Tacoma; and they were very glad that we returned to Seattle within a few years.
Marco and his new wife Olivia are in Portland. Olivia has a four-year-old son from a previous relationship; Ty's biological father is not part of his life and Marco, despite being only twenty-four, has taken to that role as naturally as a fish to water. As part of their wedding ceremony this past June, Marco and Olivia presented Ty with his own "family ring" and the papers that showed that Marco's adoption of him was final. In his speech at the reception, Marco told Jasper and me that he learned from us that what makes a family is not blood; it's not having your father's eyes or your mother's nose. Rather, what binds a family together is love, abiding and unconditional.
It is to this home, then – the Cullen Ancestral Home, Marco calls it – that our family came today for Christmas. Marco, Olivia & Ty drove up from Portland yesterday afternoon and stayed overnight. They're now on their way home now; Annie, Takeo & Mia are also making their way home to Tacoma.
In my arms, Jasper shifts, turning his upper body so his chest presses against mine. "Remember what we used to do every Christmas Eve when we were first married?" he whispers.
"Mmm," I hum in acknowledgment, then add with a chuckle, "Until the kids made that impossible."
"Yeah," he replies quietly. "You know…it's not Christmas Eve, but…" He trails off as his lips find my throat, his tongue coming out to trace a path below my ear, and I shudder delicately. After all these years our passion has not gone out. It's no longer a towering inferno; rather, a bed of coals that burns slow and intensely hot.
Soon my body is responding to the feel of his mouth as it finds the open collar of my shirt. He releases the buttons down the front of the shirt and pulls the tails out of the waist of my pants. His lips and tongue trace my nipples, one then the other, sometimes sucking, sometimes nipping gently. I groan and press my hips up into his body where it lies across my lap so he can feel what he's doing to me, how hard he makes me.
Suddenly he stops, pulling away from me and standing up. "What?" I ask in surprise.
In answer he reaches out to me. I place my hand in his and he pulls me up to him. "Let's go to bed," he suggests with a slow smile.
I nod, and he leads me upstairs to our room. It's the room I had as a child – the traditional master bedroom has been made into a smaller guest room and the ensuite bath now connects to this room instead. In our room, he flips a switch, turning on the white Christmas lights that, along with a length of frothy tulle, decorate the headboard of our four-poster bed. They create a soft, romantic glow in the room – the perfect ambience for our love tonight.
He sits on the bed and beckons me to join him. I slide my shirt off my shoulders and climb beside him. His eyes slide across my bare upper body. Though neither of us are the tight, buff young men we were when we met, I have never seen anything in his eyes except adoration and lust. I feel the same about him. I pull his shirt over his head and feast on the sight before me, the man I've made love to so many times, the body I know as well as my own.
As if reading my thoughts he reaches one hand out to stroke my face, reverently whispering, "Still so beautiful." In answer I lean in to kiss him deeply. Since that day so many years ago when he agreed to take me back, I have yet to look at him without feeling a sense of wonder that he's mine. For the first few years that relief was nearly overwhelming when I allowed myself to think about it; knowing what I had nearly lost, and being so grateful that he allowed me another chance. At this time in our lives I simply bask in the security of his love, knowing that I have guarded the treasure of his love all this time as I promised when I married him.
One by one, articles of our clothing make their way to the floor surrounding the bed. Soon we're naked and I lay him back on the pillows, his body sprawled across the bed. He hums when I go down on him, repeatedly throating his length until he bids me to stop. There no more marathon sessions, coming two or three times in a row…and that's okay. It's no longer about quantity, and completely about quality – mutual pleasure in a relationship that has mellowed with love, trust and wisdom.
He rolls me onto my back and takes my length into his mouth. When his soft lips have brought me to a rock-hard state he spreads some lube on me and then straddles my hips. I watch his face when he slowly lowers himself onto my cock. In his beautiful features I see the man I fell in love with more than thirty years ago – the green eyes, the cleft in his chin, those dimples I adore so much, the wide, sweet mouth. His hair is now cropped quite a bit closer than it used to be, but the evidence of his curls is still visible in the texture. He has never really gone grey or even white; his hair is more of an ash color now instead of the wheaten gold it used to be.
I'm pressed fully into him now – still my favorite place to be – and he leans forward, placing his hands on the bed as he looks into my eyes. "I love you, beautiful," he murmurs.
"My Kas…my angel," I reply in a whisper. "I love you." With those words I flex my hips gently towards him. He hisses softly, his eyes fluttering closed in pleasure. With one hand I reach up to caress his face, my thumb sliding into the dimple on his cheek, then down his neck to his chest, tweaking his nipple.
He begins to rise and fall over me, our bodies moving together in a dance we know so well. It is deep and tender, passionate and sweet and slow. Our ardor builds gradually, with open-mouthed kisses and surging muscles; with gasps, whispered encouragements and moaned endearments. When at last we reach our climax together, it is a glowing-hot fulfillment of everything we've felt for so long, a writhing thrill that erupts from us both.
Afterwards, nestled comfortably together beneath the heavy down duvet on our bed, I hold my husband close, his body fitting perfectly into the nook of my arms where he has resided close to my heart for so long. He falls asleep quickly, exhausted from the bustle and from the way we capped off the evening. As I lie I consider how fortunate we are, how much life has smiled upon us.
From the day I met Kas I began to learn how important it is to express my feelings to my partner. Once I learned that lesson I understood how poetic life can be. At times I look back and it seems like the ensuing years, almost thirty-five years, have been almost too good to be true. I also believe that Kas and I can take credit for that, because we've been ever vigilant, being open and putting our marriage first.
The necklace I bought Kas for Christmas when Annie was a baby now hangs from his bedside lamp. He had a small growth removed from the side of his throat five years ago, and couldn't wear the necklace while it was healing. When it was fully healed he found that, as minimally invasive as the surgery had been, there was scar tissue left that made the necklace uncomfortable for him. So while the pendant no longer lies close to his heart, the verse by Philip Sidney has never been truer. On our thirtieth wedding anniversary the kids held a party for us, and Annie and Marco gave us a framed copy of that poem, written beautifully by hand by one of the kids' friends who practiced calligraphy. The frame hangs on our wall, and though I can only see the outline of the frame in the dark, I know the verse without having to read it.
My true-love hath my heart and I have his,
By just exchange one for the other given;
I hold his dear and mine he cannot miss;
There never was a better bargain driven.
My true-love hath my heart and I have his,
His heart in me keeps him and me in one;
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides;
He loves my heart for once it was his own,
I cherish his because in me it bides.
My true-love hath my heart and I have his.