We're at the grocery store on Saturday, picking out fresh fucking herbs for the lasagna Edward promised to make this week, when I start to get fed up.

Neither of us has said a word about the last "incident," the one that happened over two weeks ago. It hasn't been weird between us, exactly, but I sort of expected that we'd talk about it. Edward tried to say something in the bathroom that night, before I ran away, and I guess I thought he'd come after me. Or bring it up the next day. But he didn't, he was just his normal, sunny, Edwardy self.

I wasn't about to bring it up. I had a feeling that conversation was going to end in all kinds of awkwardness, so I just avoided it altogether.

Today, though, while he's picking out herbs, Edward nudges me with his elbow.

"Four o'clock," he says, nodding subtly toward the root vegetables. I scratch my neck casually as I turn to see what he's pointing out.

It's a guy. A hot guy. A guy that's exactly my fucking type. For a second I wonder if Edward is telling me he finds this guy attractive, too...

"Want me to make it happen?" Edward asks, grinning as he nudges me again. "I can go be a sleazeball and you can swoop in and be the hero." Oh. Now I get it-he's trying to hook me up with this hot stranger.

I'm all twisted up, wrecked, all fucking conflicted about my feelings for my best friend-the man who, two weeks ago, got weak in the knees from seeing my dick and fucking begged me to cum with him. I'm all conflicted, and Edward is business as usual. He has no idea that I want him. No idea what effect he has on me.

And it fucking pisses me off.

"Fuck you," I tell him, tossing the goddamn basil into the cart. Edward looks shocked.

"What the fuck man?" he asks, his eyes wide and hurt. I want to go off on him, tell him that I don't need him to hook me up. That I don't want him to. That the only man I need is right here holding a plastic container of organic oregano.

I chicken out; I can't say shit. I can't watch his gorgeous face twist in disgust, or hear him explain, in his quiet, patient fucking way, that he doesn't want me.

"Sorry. Shit." I tug at the collar of my t-shirt-suddenly it feels like it's choking me. "I'm just... in a pissy mood." Edward still looks worried.

"Yeah, apparently," he says. "Maybe you just need to get laid," he suggests, winking at me as he drops his last selection into the cart. He pushes it forward, leaving me alone, annoyed, and fucking confused.

It's not the sound of Edward coming in the front door later that night-much later-that wakes me up. It's not even the sound of him stumbling down the hall, or crawling into my bed. It's the crash of the alarm clock he knocks off my nightstand.

"What the fuck?" I ask, groaning as I'm pulled out of a deep sleep and an awesome sex dream.

"Shhhhh, man, go back to sleep," Edward says, patting my head roughly. He's fucking drunk again; this is the third night this week that he's come home wasted. Don't get me wrong, I drink a lot too, but I don't get shitfaced all the time for no good reason.

"Edward, why the fuck are you in my bed?" I ask, rolling over onto my stomach so he doesn't see how fucking hard I am from that dream. A dream that he was starring in.

"Jakey, shhh, sleep time," he says, kicking off his shoes. He's already stripped off whatever clothes he was wearing, and he's just in his boxers and a white t-shirt now.

"Dude!" I complain.

"My bed's all cold," he whines.

"Did you leave your fucking window open again?" I ask, turning my head to look at him. He has a bad habit of opening the window to let in some fresh air, and then leaving it open for hours when he goes out. Not such a big deal in the summer, but it fucking sucks in February.

"Yeah," he says, giggling. He is fucking drunk and sloppy and... gorgeous and so, so, so sexy. And now he's in my bed, asking to sleep here with me and my giant hard-on. "Come on, please?" he begs, sticking out his bottom lip.

"Fine." I give in. I turn away from him, so I'm facing the window, and try to block out the sounds of Edward settling in. He pulls the blanket up over his chest, and I feel it tug against mine. I've thought about sharing my bed with him so many times, but I didn't think it would be like this. Not after he stumbles home drunk from some godawful bar, probably having fucked some godawful woman. The thought of him fucking someone before he came home makes me angry.

"Couldn't find a skank to take you home tonight?" I sneer, punching my pillow to fluff it up under my head. If Edward registers the anger in my voice, he doesn't say anything about it.

"Didn't want a skank," he slurs. "Just wanted my Jacob." My chest tightens in pain as my heart processes his words. He doesn't mean it... he can't mean it. He's drunk.

This mattress is old, and the bedsprings squeak when he moves closer.

Squeak.

Squeak.

I can feel him now. We're not touching, he's inches away, but I can feel his heat. Every fucking muscle in my body is tensed, waiting for him to say something. Do something. Waiting for him to touch me like I fucking need him to touch me.

His breathing slows and I don't hear any more movement. I'm tempted to turn over, check to see if he's asleep, but what if he's not and I scare him off? I hold myself still, so fucking still, and wait for him to pass out. I don't relax until I hear his soft snores, and I know for sure he's asleep behind me. I bury my face in the pillow and match my breaths to his until I fall asleep, too.

When I wake up again it's still dark outside-and Edward's pressed up against me. One heavy arm is draped over my waist, his fingers brushing the sheet below us. Every part of his body is touching part of mine-I can feel his knees pressing into the back of my legs, his chest connecting with my back, his face nuzzled into my neck.

I can feel his cock, rock hard and nestled between the cheeks of my ass.

I moan at the realization that this is Edward-my Edward-as close to me as he's ever been. It strikes me that the only way he could be closer is if he were inside me... and then I'm hard again, instantly.

I have no idea what to do. I could roll backwards, try to get him to lie on his back and let go of me. That option is probably the sanest, but it's not very appealing.

I could wake him up, send him back to his own bed... also, not very appealing. When will I ever get another chance like this?

Or I could just go with it. Snuggle closer to him and close my eyes and pretend that he's not drunk, half asleep, confused. Yeah, I'm just gonna go with it.

I push back against him, just a little, just to get some friction, and I hear a low, incredibly sexy groan come from his mouth.

My breath stops, trapped in my chest, and I freeze. I'm afraid he's going to wake up now and freak out when he finds us in this position.

I'm expecting to hear "What the fuck?" or "Where am I?" or "Oh shit!" I'm not prepared for the one word he does mumble.

"Jake..."

He practically moans my name, and there's no fucking way he's not dreaming about me. His arm tightens around my waist, and he pulls me closer. I think he's just snuggling, just settling in his sleep, but then I feel his hips pull away.

When he pushes them back into me, it doesn't feel like he's snuggling. It feels like he's... like he's fucking grinding against me. And then when he does it again, I let out the breath I've been holding along with a moan.

He's moving against me, holding me tight, humping me. It's a dream come true, except for the fact that he's fucking asleep. I start to feel guilty. I shouldn't let him do this-he wouldn't want this if he was awake, if he knew he was in bed with me for real. I'm torn, because I love the way he's holding me, touching me, but I know-in my stupid fucking heart-that it's not real.

"Edward," I say, my voice faltering just a little. "Edward, man, wake up." I hold absolutely still, waiting for the jolt as he pulls away.

He stops moving, turns his head a little so I can feel his breath hot against my ear.

"I'm not sleeping," he whispers, thrusting against me again.

Oh fuck. This is really fucking happening. He's awake, he's holding me, grinding against me, and he knows it. Holy shit.

"Jake," he moans, squeezing me tighter. "Jake, do you want me to stop?" he asks, his lips grazing my ear.

"No," I beg, "don't stop, please." I want to touch him, but I don't know what to do-what he would be comfortable with. I settle with matching his rhythm, pushing back against him, making sure he can feel that I want him, too.

He's making me so hard, and I'm dying to touch my dick, but I'm afraid of making a wrong move. I try to hold still, so still, and just rock with him, but my hand has a mind of its own. It moves slowly, trying to avoid touching Edward's arm where it's resting against my stomach.

It takes forever for me to reach the waistband of my pants, but I find it, and I slip my hand inside. When I reach my cock, just as I finally feel the relief of my fingers wrapping around it, Edward lets go of my waist and wraps his fingers around my wrist, stopping me from moving.

"Can... can I?" he asks, swallowing audibly.

"God, yes," I answer. I've never wanted anything more in my entire life. I pull my hand back, sliding it up and out of my pajama pants. My fingers graze Edward's as his hand takes the place of mine. He toys with the waistband and takes a deep breath, as if he's gathering his courage.

"Oh shit, Jake," he says, as his hand travels lower and encounters my hard-on. "Christ." He wraps his fingers around me and squeezes hard. He doesn't start stroking, he just holds me in his hand and squeezes. His little finger slides up and down, caressing one tiny spot on the base of my cock. That little finger... fuck. That little finger is killing me.

He's still thrusting, grinding his own erection against me. When he starts stroking my cock, it's a little stunted, a little awkward. He gets the rhythm a little bit backward at first, but he figures it out quickly-uses the force of his thrusts to push me into his hand, squeezes the tip of my cock as he pulls away.

"Oh my God, oh my God, Edward," I pant, giving over to his ministrations. One of my hands is clutching the sheet beneath me, twisting it, and the other one is gripping Edward's forearm. I can feel his muscles, feel them moving and flexing as he strokes me, and it's so fucking amazing.

He's grunting and panting against me, and I can feel his face buried in my shoulder. I want to kiss him so fucking bad... I know that if he kisses me, I'll lose it. I'll cum. All I can think about are his lips, soft and pink, and how close they are to mine. Just a few inches, just a little twist of my neck and we'd be face to face.

"Jake, fuck, I think I'm gonna... God, I think I'm gonna..." he says, losing control as he ruts against me faster and harder.

"Cum, Edward," I beg him. "I want you to cum." He's cumming with me, I think. Because of me.

"God, fuck," he groans, bucking into me with sharp thrusts, and his teeth sink into my shoulder. It's the bite that does it, that pushes me over the fucking edge, and my cock explodes in his hand. I know I'm cumming so hard because it's Edward making me cum. Edward's hand on my cock. Edward's dick rubbing against me. Edward's warm, lean body wrapped around mine.

He's cumming too, I can tell by the way his body is jerking. The noises he's making are primal and growly and sexy as hell.

I finish before he does, and my powerful orgasm leaves me gasping and shaking. Edward's thrusts slow to a stop, and I can feel the wetness of his jizz through the layers of fabric between us.

He pulls his hand from my pants slowly, and holds it out in front of us. It's glistening with my cum, and I think it looks like the sexiest hand I've ever seen. I'm still holding his forearm, and I guide his hand down slowly to my thigh so he can wipe it clean-since I'm going to have to change anyway.

When he's wiped it all off, and his hand moves back towards my waist, I push myself back against him. I want his arm around me again, I want him holding me close. I want some soft kisses on my neck and reassurances that this was okay, that he wants me, that it's not just a drunken-middle-of-the-night thing.

His hand lingers, giving me hope, but then he pulls it away from me. He pulls his whole body away from me, rolling onto his back, and lets out a long, shaky breath.

I roll over, wanting to see him now-I need to see him. His arm is thrown across his face, covering his eyes, and he's taking deep, slow breaths.

"Edward?" I whisper, curling up on my side. My pants are wet and uncomfortable, but I don't want to move away from him yet. He doesn't answer, doesn't move. I'm still shaking, rocked to my fucking core by the intensity of his touch, but he's completely still.

I want to sneak closer, rest my head on his shoulder, wrap my arm around him. But he's just... he's just quiet. And I figure maybe he needs a minute to process what we did, so I wait.

The longer I wait, the more my fingers itch to touch him.

When I finally give in, I let my fingertips just barely touch his shoulder. He jerks a little, drops the arm covering his eyes, and I can see that they're closed. That he's asleep.

Questions race through my mind-am I fucking dreaming? Was he dreaming? Was he still so drunk that he didn't know what he was doing? I lie on my side, curled up next to him, and analyze the possibilities. I lie there for so long that I forget to change my pants, and the sticky mess dries against my skin. I lie there watching Edward sleep, wishing I could know what he was thinking.

His hand is lying next to his head, on top of the pillow. I need to touch him, I need some kind of connection with him, so I move my hand closer to his. I let my fingers rest on his palm, allowing myself just that one small touch as I drift off to sleep again.

A/N: Shit's starting to get real, y'all. What do you make of our boys now? Most of these chapters have been nonsequential, but I'll tell you that chapter 5 picks up the next morning.

Thanks to everyone who has recommended and reviewed this story. Reviewers will get teasers for the next chapter, but please note that I can't send a teaser if you aren't logged in when you review or you have PMs disabled. Turn PMs on and you will certainly get a reply; I literally spend hours every week writing review replies and I do my best not to miss anyone.