I run through the rain, focusing on the horizon ahead of me instead of the chill in the morning air or the puddles at my feet.

Edward usually runs with me on Saturdays, but today he didn't feel like it. Today, he wanted to stay in bed.

So I'm running by myself, pushing myself to go faster than I would if he were here. To cover the same ground but do it faster, so I can get back to him sooner.

We never talked about the fight at the farmer's market last month; Edward grabbed his gym bag and took off in his car as soon as we got home. He returned a few hours later, drenched in sweat, and acted normally; he kissed me, said hello, guzzled some Gatorade and then took a shower.

I wanted to bring it up, to ask him why he was suddenly so angry and if he was feeling guilty or nervous or scared about being out in public. Out in public, with me. But Edward was in such a good mood after his shower, flopping down on the couch next to me, snuggling and making plans for dinner. I didn't want to upset him, so I decided to wait a day.

A day turned into a few days, which turned into a week, which turned into a month... and we just never talked about it. He's been more distant since then-one night last week he came home late, after I'd gone to sleep, and he slept in his own bed, alone, for the first time in months. When I asked him about in the morning, he said it was no big deal. He said he was tired, that he just passed out there, but I couldn't help but wonder if he was being completely honest.

We have more good days than bad, though, and he still tells me he loves me every day. I just can't shake the feeling that there's something else going on-some piece of himself he's not sharing with me.

Turning back onto our street, I feel my flagging strength return. I speed up just a little, racing back to my apartment. To Edward. We had fun together last night, and I tell myself that today's gonna be a good day.

I take the elevator instead of the stairs, giving myself time to catch my breath before I get home. I expect Edward to be cooking or watching TV when I walk in, but he's nowhere to be seen-probably still in the bedroom, sleeping. I kick off my shoes and stretch out a little bit, bending down to massage my sore calf muscles.

I see Edward's feet approaching before I hear him. "Hey," I greet him, switching to my left leg. He catches me off guard with a loud, solid slap to my ass.

"Jesus, E!" I yelp, standing up and turning away. "What was that for?"

He grins and moves in closer, reaching around to rub soothing circles on the side that he'd just smacked.

"I don't know," he says. "Looked like you were asking for it." His eyes are sparkling with mischief and he's leaning into me, pressing his hard-on against my thigh.

"Looks like someone was waiting for me to get home," I tease, sliding my thumb into the belt loop on the back of his worn jeans. I press my palm flat against his ass and bring him even closer. "You wanna take a shower with me?" I ask, dropping a kiss at the base of his neck.

"No," he says, twisting his fingers in the fabric of my t-shirt. "I want you like this. All hot and sweaty." He pulls the shirt up over my head, tosses it to the floor, and rubs his hands up and down my sides.

I twist my neck to kiss him, but he buries his face in my shoulder, kissing and nipping at the skin there. He sucks hard, right above my collarbone, and it's almost painful. It would be painful, if he weren't rocking his hips against mine, using his cock to distract me.

When he relents, pulls away from that tender spot, I try to push him backwards. "Bedroom," I gasp, even as his fingers move between us to tug at the waistband of my shorts.

"No," Edward declares. "Here. Right now." He crouches down swiftly, tugging my shorts and my boxer briefs down with him, and I lift my feet one at a time so he can pull them away. He's so hard, so fucking turned on, that I expect him to pull me to the floor with him and start preparing me right away. Instead he settles down on his knees, and wraps both of his arms around me.

Edward's gotten better at blowjobs; he's gotten really good at them, but he always starts slowly. Like he's psyching himself up for it. Today, though, there's no build-up. No little kisses on my thighs, no tentative swipes of his tongue. He wraps his lips around my head and pulls me into his mouth.

"Jesus, fuck," I spit, tightening my fingers in his hair. He gags a little and pulls back, but it doesn't stop him. Over and over, he takes my cock deeply into his mouth, accepting a little more into his throat each time.

"Edward, gonna make me cum too fast," I warn him, resting my free hand against the wall and leaning against it for support. His mouth just moves faster, his fingers digging into the cheeks of my ass. His grip is tight and I imagine him leaving bruises on my skin-just fingertip bruises, to match the hickey on my neck. The thought of him all over me, of wearing Edward on my skin for the next few days, pushes me into my orgasm.

He moans, feeling me pulse into his mouth, and holds me even tighter.

"Oh, God," I cry, holding his head against me. I can feel him working me, feel his tongue moving and his cheeks hollowing, even as I'm cumming.

When I'm finished, when I'm absolutely spent and shaking hard from my orgasm, he lets me go. My softening cock slips out of his mouth, and I feel my knees start to buckle. I let myself collapse on the floor and lean into him, burying my face in his neck.

Edward sits back, straightens out his legs, and pulls me into his lap. He holds me tight, running his fingers through my hair and kissing my temple while we both catch our breath.

"Where the hell did that come from?" I ask, curious as to what's made him so frisky. He's quiet for a minute, squeezing my shoulders before he answers.

"I just wanted to," he says, his voice softer now. The teasing edge to his voice-the aggressive, demanding talk-is gone. I try to lift my head, desperate to see his face, but he holds me tight, pressing my face into his shoulder.

"Edward... baby, are you okay? Is something wrong?" I ask him, wrapping an arm around his waist. He's quiet, just holding me tight. I feel so exposed, naked and still twitching from cumming, but somehow he seems more vulnerable than I do right now. "Edward?"

"Nothing's wrong," he says, with an artificial lightness to his voice. "I just love you. I wanted to make you feel good. Nothing wrong with that, is there?" he asks, loosening his hold on me. I tilt my head so I can look up at him. He leans back against the wall and smiles down at me, cupping my chin in his hand.

I should press him, because something is wrong. I can feel it in my bones; I don't know what it is, but I know that Edward isn't acting like himself. My Edward is confident and fun and cheeky; I thought he was playing with me before, just trying something new, but in retrospect it feels too different, too desperate.

I shift on his lap, moving my hips around, but I can't feel his erection anymore.

"Let's go take a shower, okay?" he asks, patting my thigh so I'll stand up.

"We should talk, you know... if something's wrong, baby, I want to know what it is. I want to help," I tell him, clinging to him tightly.

"Christ, Jake," he says, covering his eyes with his hand. "Nothing's wrong, okay? Just drop it. Just go take a shower."

I want to find the words that will make him talk to me, but I don't know what to say. He's a stubborn bastard, and if he's not ready to talk, he won't. I stand up, pull on my discarded shorts, and offer Edward a hand. He lets me help him up, but disappears into the kitchen instead of following me to the bathroom.

I strip, again, and turn the water on. My mind races the entire time I'm in the shower, going over the last few days, the last few weeks, trying to figure out what's different. Trying to figure out what could've made Edward act like this. I don't think it's just the fight he had at the farmer's market; we've had plenty of nice, normal days since then. It has to be something else.

For the first time since that night Edward crawled into my bed, I wish that things were different. Because as much as I love the man down the hall, I'm starting to miss my best friend. Edward is the one I would normally go to in this situation. The person who would reassure me that I did nothing wrong. The person who would tell me that any man who isn't open with me, who isn't proud of me, who doesn't make me feel loved, isn't worth my time.

I stand in the spray, letting it wash the sweat and soap from my body, wondering what I should do.

"Jake?" Edward calls.

"Jesus!" I shriek, jumping in surprise. "Yeah?"

"Sorry, sorry," he says, and his voice gets louder as he steps closer. I can see him through the shower curtain, just a fuzzy outline of his frame. "I'm going down to that bakery to get the bread you like. I'll make us sandwiches when I get back, okay? You want anything else while I'm out?"

Don't go to the fucking bakery, I think. Stay here and tell me what to do. Tell me how to make you happy. Kiss me, fuck me, do something to make this better.

There are a lot of things I want to say, but when I open my mouth, all that comes out is "No, thanks."

"'Kay," he says, moving back toward the door. "I'll be back soon."

I finish my shower, wrap a towel around my waist, and pad into my bedroom to find something to wear. Except most of my clothes are in Edward's room right now, so I can't find my favorite jeans. I push his door open and wade through the piles of crap, digging into the clean laundry basket to look for my lucky Levi's.

I find them and plop down on Edward's bed to pull them on. I yelp and move over when I sit on something hard-his laptop is lying on the bed, mostly covered by a sheet. I move it out of the way and finish getting dressed, pulling socks on over my feet.

I have time to kill before he comes home, so I grab his laptop and decide to check my email. I open it up and click on the browser, but another window is already open. Part of me wants to close the computer and walk away; it's Edward's laptop and whatever he's doing on the Internet is his business.

Yeah. I'm too nosy to walk away.

I open the window, and a movie starts playing. It was obviously paused, halfway through. It's a girl, a skanky blonde, getting fucked. The guy is mostly out of the frame, all you can see is his cock and his pasty, white thighs.

It's porn. Straight porn. Bad straight porn, starring some fake-looking porn star girl with big hair and fake nails and fake tits. Not even the kind of girl Edward used to like.

I wonder why he left this open, why it's stopped halfway through. He knows I use his computer, and he uses mine, so it's not like I'm snooping just by opening it up.

Unless...

Oh.

I came home early. I ran faster, so I could come home early and be with him. I cut my route short, too, and I was probably ten minutes early. There are five minutes left in the movie.

My chest starts to tighten as the last half an hour replays itself-Edward greeting me, slapping my ass, pressing his dick up against me. He wasn't hard because of me; he hadn't been thinking about me, waiting for me. It was this girl.

And because I'm a masochist, I pull up his browsing history. There are two other movies before this one, both from the same site. I pull them up, one at a time, and let them play. The same girl.

The sound of the front door opening startles me, and I slam the laptop shut, sliding it to the other side of the bed. I don't know what to say to him yet; I don't even know what I think about this yet. Edward's footsteps are heavy; he's wearing his boots. He's moving around in the kitchen.

What do I say? I have a million questions I want to ask him and I don't know where to start. I'm afraid.

I'm afraid that this means he's actually straight. That I'm not what he really wants, that I never will be. That he's losing interest in me and he needs this to get it up for me. That no matter how much he loves me, I won't ever take the place of what he really needs.

And when I pull my legs up on the bed and wrap my arms around them, lay my head on my knees, and let my mind go to a darker place... I'm afraid that I was never enough for him. That he lied to me, and maybe this was just an experiment.

I banish the thought, though, because I know in my heart that it's not true. He loves me. He loves me, and no straight man would go through what he's gone through-being with me in public, telling his friends and family about us, making love with me sweetly-just for the sake of experimentation. Just for the sake of scratching an itch or satisfying his curiosity. I know that he loves me.

I just don't know if that's enough. I don't know if he loves me the way I deserve to be loved-completely, passionately, and without reservation. The way I love him. I need him to be my boyfriend, my partner, maybe even my husband someday, but that isn't possible if he can't give up on this idea of being straight.

It's not about the porn. It's about Edward choosing between being straight and being with me. I thought he had made his decision, but this makes me realize that maybe he hasn't. That maybe he never will. And if I force him to decide... I'm not sure that he'll choose me.

Thunk. Thunk. The sound of Edward toeing off his heavy boots, dropping them in the hall closet.

I hear his footsteps coming down the hall, his hands drumming against his thighs absently.

"Jake? Do you wanna eat or-" he asks, walking into his bedroom. He stops when he sees me like this, my face buried between my knees, my body curled up protectively. "Jake, is everything okay?" he asks softly.

I can see them clearly, the two choices I have. There's really no in-between; it's a yes or no question. Yes, I can tell him. Everything's fine, let's go have lunch.

And we'll have lunch, and things will stay the same, or they'll get worse, but they probably won't get better.

Or I could say no. No, things aren't okay. We have to talk.

And it will suck. He will deny that there's a problem, tell me it's no big deal, and avoid talking about his feelings. I'll cry, and yell, and maybe throw some shit. And maybe I'll lose him, forever.

Slowly, so slowly, I start to shake my head. I know what I have to do. I have to I tell the truth.

"No."

A/N: So... where do you think our boys are headed? I'm almost afraid to ask, but I'd like to hear your thoughts. Chapter 10 will post on Friday, I promise, and it picks up right where this one left off.

If you leave a review, I'll send you a teaser for the final chapter.

Don't forget about the Eurofornication contest! Still open for submissions until next Monday, 4/4. If you don't feel like writing, visit the Eurofornication profile and read some of the entries that are already up!