Squeeze My Lemon

by dirtycheekymonkeys

A weekly posting that is an exercise in lemon writing.As authors we're often challenged with writing a complete story, but we have the need & desire for lemons.This is a outlet to work on those skills. So stretch those lemon muscles & squeeze our lemon.

46. 091411bornonhalloween

DCM A/N: In the words of one of our readers, this entry comes with a 'ShamWow Panty'. Make sure to find a private place to read this and a towel for cleanup. Make sure to check out our blog to see her picture prompt (NSFW!) www . dirtycheekymonkeys . blogspot . com Ready, set, squeeze!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Squeeze My Lemon~~~~~~~~~ 09.14.11~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Disclaimer: These boys belong to Stephanie Meyer, oh lucky Steph.

Summary: What happens when wide-eyed, innocent and undeniably gay firefighter Jasper Whitlock is sent into a burning building to rescue his lifelong crush, Hollywood's latest actor du jour, slightly older and decidedly straight Edward Cullen? Sparks will fly! AH, M/M Slash

Huge thank-yous: To chartwilightmom for tempting me with the gorgeous picture prompt that inspired my first slash story, and to my lovely and brutally honest beta girls: Alterite, Beans827, and Trip (FFFan1664).

AFTER THE SMOKE CLEARS

^-EPOV-^

"Em, I'm just gonna take a quick leak and then we can head out." I know he's been on edge all night about this unscheduled visit to one of San Francisco's best dive nightclubs.

"Thank God. Don't trust anyone; the paps are getting bolder every day. And make sure you use a stall."

"Yes, Mom," I complain. "Jeez, Emmett, do you not think my dick can stand up to the scrutiny?"

"According to perezhilton dot com, your dick is the finest in all of Hollywood. I'd just like to get it—and you—out of here in one piece tonight."

"Whatever." All this talk about taking a leak has me desperate to pee. I pull my cap down over my eyes and lower my head. Taking a cautionary glance over both shoulders, I push into the men's room, wishing—and not for the first time lately—that I had an official bodyguard, and not just my bear of an agent, to watch my back. I pass up the urinal—Emmett's probably right, it's never a good idea to bare myself in public—and push open the stall door with the heel of my hand.

I haven't even unzipped when a blaring horn sounds. Some drunken jackass has probably tripped the smoke detector. I decide to investigate after I take care of business, secure in the knowledge that Emmett would never let his meal ticket go up in smoke.

Unzip. Fish it out. Pee. Shake. Tuck. Zip. Ahh, much better. With an eye roll at the obligatory sign telling employees they must wash their hands, I take careful pains to scrub whatever might be lurking in this joint off my hands with four squirts of soap. I dip my hands into the newfangled wind tunnel dryer, and marvel at the fact that after three seconds, there isn't a drop of water in sight.

I place my palm against the metal plate to push the door open and it's as if I've touched a hot coil. "Fuck!" I yank my hand back, and hop and swear my way to the sink. As the cool water soothes the sting, it occurs to me that the fire alarm wasn't just a prank. I reach into my pocket and grab my phone, pressing 'E'. Four rings, then voicemail. "FUCK!"

I am not meeting my death in the men's room of this tacky tinderbox tonight. Ignoring my better judgment, I tuck my shoulder and body check the door, pushing it aside more easily than I could've imagined. Hunh, my training for the role of Officer Mason may have actually been worthwhile.

My casual attitude of moments earlier gives way to serious concern when I take in the dark and smoky atmosphere of the club. Tables are overturned and flames tease at the outside edges of the walls. Whatever caused this wreckage was certainly efficient. The floor is littered with huge chunks of debris, but thankfully I find no bodies, dead or otherwise, at least in my limited field of vision. Tucking my head down, I forge ahead toward the front door.

Suddenly, above me, I hear a sickening wail, and look up just in time to see a beam come crashing down right next to me. "Fuuuuck!" I pick up my pace, hoping to outrun the devastation. Bleary smoke-irritated eyes peeled to the floor, I pick out safe slices for my feet in between the ruins. I'm ten steps closer to the door and figure I've got about thirty more to go when the next piece of ceiling crashes down on my shoulders and slams me to the floor.

^-JPOV-^

"Damn, Whitlock, you're gonna make someone a fine husband some day, you know that?"

"Thanks, Cap," I laugh. "Glad you like my 3-alarm chili."

He face turns serious and says, "You know we don't joke about that kind of thing here, right?"

Oh crap. I've been on the job for two weeks and I've already insulted my captain. "I'm sorry, Cap, I didn't realize-"

"Aaah ha ha ha ha!" He doubles over with laughter, slapping his knee and hacking up a pinto bean. "I'm just messing with you, kid! A bit of firehouse humor! Oh, you are a gullible one, aren't you?"

I turn my face down toward my bowl and pray the embarrassed heat isn't obvious to everyone else in the room. Riley gives me a friendly nudge. "Don't sweat it, Jazz. You know Cap loves to tease us new recruits."

My pride's bruised, but I know that when it really counts, I'll earn their respect. I was top of my class at Firefighter Academy, and saving lives is in my blood. I am ready, willing, able-bodied, and itching to prove myself.

As if on cue, our dinner is cut short by a piercing alarm, followed by the broadcast: "Engine 17, emergency. All men to your stations. Repeat, all men to your stations."

"Okay, boys, this is it. Buddy up, and let's roll," the captain announces. Riley steps in next to Aro, Jake takes his spot with Caius, and I grab my helmet from the wall and follow behind Marcus.

"You stick to me like glue. You got it?"

"Yes, sir." Marcus doesn't take his eyes off me the entire ride. I know he promised Dad he'd watch out for me. I catch the look of intensity in Riley's eyes as the engine speeds through the night, siren blaring. We're third generation fire fighters, and we know the stakes tonight. This is not just another back-up ride; this is the real deal.

My heart pounds a mile a minute, and my mind races to remember everything I learned in the academy. Soon, we're at the wharf, and the engine screeches to a halt. My eyes are riveted to the fiery building, and I look up in awe at the flames licking out the windows against the clapboards. Even from the street, the heat is unbearable, and I'm grateful for my protective gear.

We're the last unit on the scene, the cleanup crew. Captain Banner gathers us in a tight circle on the sidewalk. "All right, it looks like everybody's out. We're just gonna make one last sweep-"

"Captain! Over here!"

"Hang on, guys. What is it?" the captain asks, rushing over to a paramedic attending one of the victims.

"This guy's trying to tell us something."

Banner returns moments later with an open cell phone. "Guy says there's still someone inside, 26-year-old male, 6'1", weight approximately 170, good health, but he's been in there at least twenty minutes. Last seen heading toward the men's room at the back."

"Got it, Cap," Marcus answers.

"Okay, Marcus, Jasper, it's all you. Try the rear of the building first, there's a window about ten feet off the ground. Be quick about it, this shack is about to collapse."

"Yes, sir," I answer eagerly.

"And here, Whitlock, take his friend's phone. He hasn't responded, but maybe you'll hear the ringer inside. Godspeed, men."

^-EPOV-^

I haven't called my mother since last Tuesday, and it was one of those rushed car conversations where she always complains I shouldn't be taking my attention off the road and I convince her that I can multitask and she reminds me, 'Half a mind can't do a whole mind's work.' Then I say, 'Mom, do you wanna hear what's going on in your only son's life, or do you wanna waste time arguing about this?' and she always softens and says, 'Of course, I want to hear what's going on in your life, Edward. Tell me.' And that gets me every time, because nobody listens like a guy's mother. And this is going to be really hard on her. Sure, she'll still have Alice to shop with and lunch with and gossip with, but a daughter's a daughter, and a son's a son.

And Dad will be broken, and he'll feel guilty for not accepting my career choice sooner, but we've been over all that, and made our peace. I envision them watching the late news tonight, learning about the fire at the Drydock, Mom tsking in empathy for the families of the poor victims, and then my face will flash on the screen, with the tear-jerker obituary-slash-biodocudrama that Emmett probably has prepared for just such an occasion. Not that I fault him for it; it's his job, and he's the best there is.

"Edward Cullen was among those lost in the fire tonight. The young actor was just hitting his stride in the action hero genre, sweeping the MTV Movie Awards in every category from Best Action Sequence to Hottest Kiss for his latest feature 'Not on My Watch'. You can almost hear female hearts of all ages breaking across the world tonight, but none so dramatically as longtime girlfriend and past co-star Tanya Denali. We cut now to Simon Montague, standing outside Saint Francis Memorial Hospital, where the body of …"

No, Emmett won't allow them to find out this way. He'll deliver the news himself. Christ, Emmett. How do I know he is even still alive? He didn't answer his phone earlier when I tried him. Maybe he's buried somewhere in this mess. Forgetting momentarily that I'm pinned to the ground by two substantial pieces of ceiling, I reach instinctively for my pocket, and my right arm responds with an agonizing broadcast of pain straight to my brain. Fuck, that hurts! Okay, that arm is not bending in that direction. Maybe my left hand can reach.

Twisting my shoulders as far as the heavy beam across them allows, I extend my fingers to my pocket. I maneuver my hips to bring my target closer, but my right leg is trapped under something that won't budge. Just as I'm about to give up, my phone buzzes to life.

Bolstered by this hopeful sign-Emmett's alive!- I redouble my efforts and strain with a mighty exhale until my fingers breach the top of the pocket and find their way to the metal case. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! My hand jerks painfully back with the searing heat, and a new jolt of agony shoots up my twisted torso. Note to self: metal gets hot in a raging inferno! Yeah, I'd do well to remember that one.

My hand drops uselessly to my side, while the buzzing continues to tease me with the promise of help I can't access. Six rings, then nothing. I drop my face into the pile of ash and fight to hold on to one last shred of hope.

My singed fingers waggle, seeking relief. Miraculously, they brush up against a stray piece of cloth abandoned on the floor. I can't crane my neck enough to see it, but I investigate with the tender pads of my fingers, and it feels like a cloth napkin. No, I think not, not in this dive. Walking my fingers along the perimeter, I discern thin strings and now I understand I've found one of those half-aprons the servers wear, with the conveniently located pockets where order pads and straws and god-knows-what-else can be stored. I draw it into a wad in the palm of my hand and form it roughly into a mitten, praying it will be thick enough to allow me to grab my phone without further injury. I gather my strength to make another attempt at pulling it from my pocket.

^-JPOV-^

Riley grabs my elbow as I turn to go. "Good luck, Jazz," he says, eyes boring into mine with the concern borne of close friendship.

"Thanks, man," I nod, calm words belying the intoxicating elixir of dread and exhilaration stirring deep within my gear.

Marcus and I rush around to the back of the building and spy the bathroom window roughly ten feet off the ground. "Shoot, kid, I'm not gonna be able to maneuver my old bones up to that window, but I think you might just be able to reach from the top of the dumpster."

"I'm on it," I answer, turning toward the building.

Marcus reaches for my arm and holds me there. "I'm gonna go around through the front and I'll meet you inside. Don't do anything stupid, okay?"

"Sure, Marcus." Come on, we don't have much time.

"And remember, try the phone again once you get inside."

"Okay, got it." Let me go already.

"Good luck, Jasper."

Finally released from his grip, I run to the dumpster and shimmy up the side. Balanced on the corner closest to the window, I reach my foot to the window and kick inward with my heavy boot. Luckily, it's made as cheaply as the rest of the place. Grasping the windowsill, I pull myself up and through the opening. Seconds later, I find myself inside the men's room crouched in a pile of broken glass.

I retrieve the phone from my pocket, push redial and wait. After six rings, it clicks to voicemail, and I'm about to hang up when I hear a most unlikely voice, "Officer Mason is out protecting the city of Jericho and cannot take your call right now. Please leave a message and if you're not some stalker fan, I'll get back to you after I catch the bad guys."

Holy shit! Officer Mason…city of Jericho? Edward Cullen is the victim? I am smacked head-on with a totally unprofessional thrill at my proximity to my celebrity crush. Frankly, calling Edward Cullen a crush is akin to referring to the Pacific Ocean as a puddle. His phone's not dead, and with any luck at all, neither is Edward.

A loud crash in the main room pulls me back to the situation. I push through the metal door and take in the smoky, fiery situation. This is not a simulator. This is real life. And Edward Cullen is trapped in here and he needs me. Think like a panicked man. He's most likely in a direct line between here and the front door. Don't waste time searching corners.

Steadying my nerves, I bring my full attention to bear on the rescue. "Edward!" I yell, remembering that a victim is ten times more likely to respond to his own name than a random call. "Edward Cullen!"… "Edward!"

I hear nothing. Replacing my mask, I push redial, not an easy feat through my thick flame-retardant gloves. Watching the display as well as listening as best I can, I pray and subconsciously tick off the rings in my head. One…two…three…four…five…fuck, it's going to go to voicemail again…

"Em?"...choke, cough…"Emmett, is that you?"

"Edward?" I call out, shocked and relieved. He's alive!

He sputters and coughs some more and finally spits out, "Em, you okay?"

"Edward, my name is Jasper Whitlock, with the SFFD Engine 17. Can you tell me where you are?"

"Who? Where's Emmett? Is he okay?"

"Your friend is just fine. It's you we're worried about. Can you tell me where you are?" I repeat.

"Ahh, fuck, I'm not sure. I was"…cough, cough…"heading to the front door when part of the ceiling came crashing down on me-"

"Okay, I'm coming for you. Cover your mouth and nose so you don't inhale any more smoke and just keep the phone near your ear."

I pull the phone away and speak into my radio. "Marcus, he's alive, but he's trapped. I'll let you know when I locate him."

"Great work. Keep talking to him. Keep him calm. Ask him to respond every few minutes so you know he's still conscious."

"Got it."

I switch back to the cell phone. "You still with me, Edward?"

^-EPOV-^

"Mmm hmm." As if I'd cut off my lifeline or the soothing tone of his voice, the only thing keeping me from completely flipping out right now.

"Good," he says smoothly. "Now listen, I just happen to be a huge fan of your work, and we're going to get you and Officer Mason out of this in one piece. You hear?"

"Mmm," I answer.

"Okay. I need both hands for a minute here, so I've got to set the phone in my pocket, but I'm still with you, all right?"

The phone goes eerily silent, and the fire around me growls ever more ferociously. I never realized before how loud it is inside a burning building. The fire is an angry living organism, sucking the life out of everything and everyone in its path. In a fresh moment of panic, I picture my brave firefighter swallowed and consumed by flames on his way to save me. I imagine his image popping up on the screen next to mine, a dark, sooty face whose features worn by time and too much experience with disaster give his eyes a hollow, sad appearance.

He'll be lauded as a hero for trying to save me; dying in the line of duty will earn him a special place in heaven. Small comfort to his loving family. An adoring wife, two small children, and aging parents who always feared this day would come. And now it has, all because of some two-bit actor taking a piss at the wrong time. Bad enough I have to die, now I have to bring down one of SFFD's finest? Fuck, I can't stand it.

A loud crash from the direction of the bathroom shakes me from my reverie, and I realize the smoke has worked its way into my system and made me drowsy.

"Edward? Still there?"

"Mmm," I answer quickly, so fucking relieved to hear his voice again. My firefighter's not dead. I'm not dead. We still have a chance.

"I think I'm close to you. Can you try yelling out or moving around?"

I take as deep a breath as I can muster before removing the apron from my face. "Here! Over here!" Even that brief outburst burns my throat and sends me into a new fit of coughing. I wave around the one arm that's free, but I can barely lift it off the ground. I must be a pathetic sight, a bug pinned cruelly to Styrofoam, part of some ninth-grader's biology project.

"Damn, it's too dark in here and so loud!" he says, sounding as if hope is sliding away. He quickly gets hold of himself and says, "Sorry about my outburst, I'm gonna find you. Don't worry, buddy."

Too late. I already know how you really feel. Filling my diaphragm with one final anxious breath, I give the performance of my life, projecting my voice in sheer desperation like never before. "OVER HERE! HELP! OVER HERE!" It's all I have left before the coughing fit takes over.

"Gotcha!" I hear, and the word is a miracle. The phone slips from my hand and I let my eyes close at last.

^-JPOV-^

The moment I comprehend that I'm hearing his voice live, relief floods my system. He's near and I have a chance to pull him out alive! I sink to my hands and knees, frantically searching for anything resembling a man. I discern the unmistakable sound of coughing to my immediate right.

"Gotcha!" I call into the phone, instilling him with hope that help is on the way.

His boots come into view first, and I'm elated to have located Edward in the bowels of this inferno. Just as quickly, despair darkens my heart. He's trapped under not one, but two substantial wood beams. His legs appear to be crushed and I can't even bring myself to imagine the force he endured when the lumber crashed down from above, dangerously close to his spinal cord. To top it off, he's most likely inhaled a lethal level of smoke.

And fuck, if he isn't still beautiful.

I quickly snap myself out of my romantic musings for the idol and set myself to the task of saving the man. Crouching by his head, I prop open the nearest eye. Bleary, bloodshot, non-responsive. Not good.

Edward Cullen—so help me, God—do not die on me!

Marcus would kill me right now if he saw me doing this. Sucking down a full mouthful of healthy air, I tear my oxygen mask off my own face and cover Edward's mouth and nose.

"Breathe," I beg him and whatever Higher Power might be paying attention inside the belly of this beast. My primary duty is to get him out of here so that others more qualified and better equipped can restore his body. I shudder with the fear that freeing him from the wreckage could actually cause further trauma.

I hit the two-way. "Marcus, what is your position? I have the victim and I need assistance."

"Can't get…" static "blocked" static "backdraft" static "sorry, kid" static "on your own."

Damn. Shit. Crap. Hell. Stay calm, Jasper. This is your moment.

^-EPOV-^

Ashes float and swirl all around me. Dark puffs of heavy air, too heavy to suck into my lungs. Mouth dry, throat burning, lungs on fire. Too tired to hold onto my one connection to life, and he's stopped talking to me anyway. Losing my grip on conscious thought, deep, drowsy sleep pulls me under.

In my dream, my legs are freed from the heavy lumber, but oh how they ache! Put it back, I beg. The crushing weight is pulled off my back, but I still can't move. As the excruciating agony wends its way into my conscious mind, I realize I'm awake, alive, and someone is working to free me from this prison. I suck in reflexively, expecting cinders and smoke, and though it burns on the way down, I'm rewarded with the sweet taste of clean air. My eyes blink awake, and I can make out a pair of heavy boots in front of my face.

Suddenly, knees appear, and then a pair of eyes. Eyes that blink up to toward the ceiling when they see that mine are open, and a muffled voice, "Oh, thank you, God."

The eyes lock onto mine, two intense pools of ocean blue surrounded by soot-darkened skin. A few wisps of what looks like it used to be blond hair escape his heavy helmet. Not the dark, weathered and weary guy I was expecting by a long shot. A young turk, wide-eyed and innocent. My god damned savior.

A coarse, thick glove holds a cloth over his mouth, and I wonder, why doesn't he have a mask on? I know the answer already—he's given his life support system to me.

Give the hero back his oxygen. In a cosmic face-off, it's not even close whose karma wins.

I try to lift my hand to unbuckle his air, but he stops my motion with a gentle hand on my arm. "Don't. You need that. You've inhaled a lot of smoke, Edward."

"But-," I sputter fruitlessly behind the mask.

"You can argue with me outside. Right now, I'm getting you out of here. This is gonna hurt like hell, and I'm already sorry."

Then, yank! He heaves me up and around his shoulders, and I'm a broken sack of potatoes hanging limply over his sturdy back. And he was right, it hurts like the worst motherfucking kind of hell, and I long for the previous bliss of my unconscious state.

The second the air hits me, a melee breaks out that rivals the paparazzi at the People's Choice Awards.

"Get away from the building, Jasper!"

"It's gonna blow!"

"Run!"

I feel his grip tighten around my knees and neck, and he takes off at a fast clip. I'm bouncing around and all the while, he's apologizing, "Sorry…Hang on… Almost there."

And wherever 'there' is, we seem to have arrived. Not ten seconds later, there is a hideous boom followed by the nauseating sound of whatever's left of the building caving in. James Cameron himself could not have timed it better.

A hundred hands poke and prod and lift me off Jasper's back, and there's so much pain. A voice—not his—says, "Breathe easy now, son. You're safe." Then Emmett's familiar face appears in front of mine, and just before I pass out, I remember thinking, I am gonna tease him forever for crying like a little girl right now.

^-JPOV-^

"What were you thinking, taking off your mask in there?" Marcus scolds, as he presses a fresh oxygen mask against my face. "Cap'n's gonna have my hide for that, you lousy punk."

He puts his arm around my back and pulls me close, "No way he ever would've made it if you hadn't."

I breathe in gratefully and try to will my heart to slow down. Just breathe, Jasper. I can see the paramedics working on Edward from my spot on the street, but I can't read how they're making out.

"I'll check on him for you. You stay here." I give him a nod and watch him go.

It doesn't seem possible that the mangled body I carried out of there is the very same one that has held me in complete thrall since I saw my first Edward Cullen movie back in high school. I was still in my denial phase, out on a date with my sister Rosalie's best friend Bella. She'd begged me to see the latest Edward Cullen film. Like a good boyfriend, and frankly one who had every reason to suspect there would be some action for me after Edward got her good and worked up, I willingly obliged. In his role as broody, misunderstood musician Dack Raines, he hit the mark, leaving Bella breathless and eager.

I should've been grateful to him, but I couldn't get past my own response. That director knew exactly where to push the PG-13 rating. Glimpses of bare, tanned chest, deep green eyes, those gorgeous bow-shaped lips too pretty for a man, but just perfect on him, with just a hint of the sexy, toothy smile inside…and oh, Lord, help me, the way he kissed. But it was his hands that sealed the deal, the close-ups of his fingering on the guitar strings, which I'd heard to be his own, not some double brought in when he needed to appear to have talent. After ninety minutes of watching Edward in action, I knew what I was feeling was not going away any time soon.

Luckily, Bella mistook my erection for a response to his co-star, some one-shot blonde wonder never heard from again. And later, fumbling with Bella in the back seat of my parents' Volvo, I was able to convince her that it was her soft lips and curvy breasts that thrilled me. But I could never convince myself of that again. Edward Cullen ruined me for girls. And while I wanted to hate him for it, I couldn't. My crush burned brighter with each film, and I spent more and more time gorging myself on the readily available photos and videos posted by his rabid fans. My passion for the man was eclipsed only by shame over my feelings. Feelings I didn't want to have for another man, and certainly not for a celebrity of his status.

What could a straight guy in his early twenties who held the world by a string possibly want with a gay boy barely old enough to have his driver's license? Talk about the unattainable crush.

Through the years, I came to understand that Edward Cullen had not only spoiled me for girls; he'd pretty much spoiled me for anyone who wasn't Edward Cullen. I fought it hard in college, trying out relationships with a few boys who roughly matched his physical characteristics, but there was just something about Edward's personality that always shone through, whether he was being himself or anyone else, that I just couldn't find with a real life man.

Riley startles me from my musings, sliding into place beside me on the pavement. "Holy shit, Jasper. Do you know who that is?"

"Is that supposed to be a joke?" I try to keep the edge out of my voice, but it's been a stressful night, to say the least.

"Okay, stupid question. I can't believe it. What was it like in there? That must've been so intense! Did you tell him…anything?" There's only one person I've ever had the courage to trust with my humiliating truth, my best friend in the world, Riley Biers.

I pull off the heavy helmet and run my fingers through my hair. The singed ends crumble between my fingertips. I lean back, unbuckle my long coat, and shrug myself out of the sleeves. About thirty pounds lighter and starting to feel like a man again rather than a toasted marshmallow, I take a couple more hits on the oxygen before setting it aside.

"Yeah, Rile. I said, 'I hope you don't die and I've been madly in love with you for five years.'"

"Really? What'd he say?"

"Jeez, you're more gullible than I am!"

"Well, come on, Jazz, tell me what happened!"

"I promise I'll tell you later, but right now, I can't think. I need to know how he is."

Marcus returns and I stand. "He'll be all right, thanks to you. He's got second degree burns on one hand, two broken legs, at least two broken ribs, and a broken arm. Took in a lot of smoke. They're taking him to Saint Francis."

"Can I ride with him?"

"I'm afraid not, kid. You've got a long night ahead of you," he says, pointing toward the news vans pulling up to the site.

"I don't want any of that, Marcus. I just want to make sure he's all right."

"The doctors'll take care of him. You go smile for the cameras and have your fifteen minutes of fame. You earned it, kid." He slaps me on the back and leads me over to Captain Banner.

"Fine work, Jasper," he extends his hand. "You did the work of three men in there, easy."

"Thank you, sir."

"No need to thank me. You're a hero tonight, son."

^-EPOV-^

"Of course, the moment I saw Emmett's ugly face, I knew I couldn't possibly be in heaven!" Mom and Dad have a good laugh at that one, but Emmett's less amused.

"Very nice, Edward. I was worried sick about you," a hint of hurt creeping into his voice.

"Well, of course you were, dear," Mom says kindly.

"Not that you deserve the white glove service I provide you, but here's your latest fan mail." Emmett drops a large pillowcase filled with letters beside me on the bed.

"I wouldn't even bother looking through that," Tanya snipes from the foot of the bed. "Your dreamy fireman is soaking up all your publicity right now. Have you seen the clips?"

"I've been in La-La Land for three days," I answer. "I haven't seen anything."

"Here," Emmett says, placing his laptop onto my bedside tray. "I'll pull it up on YouTube."

He climbs onto my bed next to me and swings the tray in front of us.

"Oh, don't you two look cozy," Tanya comments, sidling up behind us to watch the screen.

The video loads up, and the familiar blue eyes greet me from the screen. He looks different without all the gear, but he's still fresh from the scene. Nobody prettied him up for the cameras. Loose blond curls top his head, except for where it was blackened in the front from the fire. He's clearly a good-looking guy, and his boyish looks take on a rugged appearance with the layers of soot and ash. Without his bulky coat, I can readily see why his shoulders were a rocky place to ride. Broad and muscular, separated by a strong and sinewy neck. No longer concealed under heavy gloves, his fingers are long but sturdy.

"Jesus," Emmett starts, until Mom tsks him. "Sorry, Mrs. C," he corrects himself quickly. "Jeebus! This guy has star quality! Look at that smile. No wonder he's sucking up the hits."

Once he starts talking, his looks pale in comparison to his on-camera charisma. Despite his daunting build, his innocence and humility render him instantly accessible. I watch in utter fascination as he handles his interview like a seasoned pro.

"Victoria Simpson, ABC News. Firefighter Whitlock, tell me, what were your thoughts as you searched that burning building?"

"Frankly, I was terrified. You think you're ready for something like that just because you've practiced at the academy, or done simulator training, or even heard about it all your life from your father and gramps. But when it's you inside the building and the smoke is billowing all around, and you can't find the guy you're supposed to save…it is nothing short of horrifying."

"Speaking of that guy you saved, what was Edward Cullen's condition when you found him?"

"He was in pretty bad shape. He'd been trapped beneath two separate support beams, one badly crushing his legs, and he'd already taken on a lot of smoke."

"Is it safe to assume that he would've died in that fire without you?"

"Well, I don't think he was getting up and walking away on his own, but any one of these men would've done just exactly what I did to save him. I was just the guy that got to go in today."

"Wow!" Emmett exclaims. "I want to know who's writing this guy's material!"

"Nobody, you dope," Tanya answers. "They pulled him aside right after it happened. This is all him."

My eyes flick to Tanya, and I can see that she's fantasizing about making this poor firefighter her next conquest. I feel sorry for the guy already.

"We understand you gave him your own oxygen mask at great peril to yourself, which probably saved his life. What do you have to say about that?"

He laughs and answers, "Please don't say that too loud; Cap'n's already on my back about it. Anyways, first thing the victim tried to do when he regained consciousness was give it right back to me."

Emmett nudges me with his elbow, "Way to go, Ed. You come off looking real good there."

"Emmett, I was horrified that he took that ridiculous risk to save me. I mean, this guy…" Never mind.

"So, would you say that Edward was exceedingly brave in the face of danger?"

"Oh brother," I moan. "Could you lay it on a little thicker, Victoria?"

"Shhh, you've got to hear his answer," Tanya warns.

Jasper continues, "Of course, he was extremely brave. But in all fairness, it's pretty hard for me to be objective. I've been a huge fan of his work, ever since Solo Guitar, so…" he trails off with a shrug.

For some reason, I am thrilled at his compliment. I do remember his mentioning being a fan of Officer Mason, but I hardly paid attention to it at the time. Most of my self-proclaimed "biggest fans" are not even aware of my earlier movies, and so to hear him specifically name Solo Guitar is a bit of a rush, especially since it's the last movie I'm truly proud of. He's obviously being genuine; it's not as if he had time to Google me before the interview.

"We understand the mayor will be awarding you the City of San Francisco Medal of Valor tomorrow morning. Congratulations."

"Oh, I didn't know that. Wow, that's nice, I guess," he says, looking slightly embarrassed.

Victoria laughs, "You don't sound too enthused."

"Honestly, all I want right now is to make sure that Edward is doing okay and to take a long, hot shower."

"Well, there you have it, folks. A story of true heroism. Real life action hero Firefighter Jasper Whitlock saves the life of Hollywood's most popular action hero, Edward Cullen. Victoria Simpson for ABC News."

"Wow. Wow. Just, wow!" Emmett exclaims, folding his laptop and climbing off the bed. "That kid is wasting himself. He could be a fantastic actor, or an underwear model. Something that would use his talents."

"Emmett, you do realize if he were an underwear model, I'd be dead right now?"

"Pshhh, Ed, someone else would've fished you out of there. That place was crawling with firefighters."

I'm too tired to explain it again. There are only two people who really understand what happened inside that building—Jasper and me. I know I can never begin to repay him, but it's time I at least said thank you.

"I think I need to rest now. Mom, Dad, thanks for coming. Tanya…later. Emmett, can you help me dial the phone?"

^-JPOV-^

"Bet you thought things would change when you got all famous?" Marcus teases, coming up next to me as I chop the cucumbers. "And yet, here you are, making salad just like the normal guy you were last week."

"I told you, Marcus, I like making dinner for you guys."

"Just the same, you've got a pile of cards and letters waiting for you, and news stations have been knocking down the station door for three days straight. You could coast a while, rest on your laurels."

"You know I have no use for any of that. All I ever wanted to be was a firefighter. Why would I slow down, just when I'm getting started?"

"Jasper!" Riley calls breathlessly. "Phone's for you!"

Another reporter, most likely. "I'm making dinner."

He covers over the receiver, points to it dramatically and mouths, "It's HIM!"

"Him who?"

"Him Edward….Cullen?"

"Come on, Rile, I've had three Edward Cullen prank calls already this morning. I'm not falling for that again."

Riley rolls his eyes and goes back to the phone. He talks to whoever it is for a while, laughs a few times, and finally sits down in the big cozy chair next to the telephone table. "I know," I hear him say, "he nailed that interview." "Yep." "Hahahaha, she wishes."

"Riley!"

"Oh, sorry, hold on a sec, Edward. What?"

"You can't encourage these people. Hand me the phone." I put my palm out and he hands me the phone with a satisfied smirk. "Look, buddy, we're just about to sit down to dinner, so thanks for your call, but we don't have time for this right now."

"Oh, Jasper. Hey, look, I'm sorry to catch you at a bad time, but in all the craziness, I never got to say thank you and they've kept me on a pretty hefty morphine drip for three days, and I kind of just woke up this afternoon, and I saw your interview…wow, I'm rambling."

Fuck me. It IS him.

"It's really you," I say, then whack myself in the forehead with the heel of my hand. I sound like one of his lovesick fan girls.

He laughs heartily. "It is. Listen, I'm gonna be stuck in this stupid hospital bed for a while, and I know this is probably going to sound really rude, but is there any way you can come visit me? I don't mean like today or anything, but maybe…soon? Because I'd really like to shake your hand. Well, I can't really shake your hand right now because I have second degree burns on most of my fingers and a broken arm, but hey, my mouth works pretty well."

Edward's mouth. Working well. His lips closing on mine. Earth to Jasper!

"Yeah, I can hear that!" I chuckle, punchy and light-headed from his invitation.

"Oh, shit, I'm making a complete fool of myself," he says, making me fall just a little deeper for him. "So do they ever give you time off for good behavior?"

"Sure," I answer. "Tomorrow's my day off."

His smile sounds a mile wide, "Well that's great. I mean, not to assume that you'd drop everything and…"

"I'd love to visit you, Edward. I would've come sooner, but when I called, they said only family was allowed."

"No worries, just flash that Medal of Valor and they'll let you right in."

I'm glad he can't see me blushing.

"Jasper? No kidding, I'd really love to see your medal. Would you bring it along?"

"Why don't I just wear it around my neck?"

He laughs. "That's perfect. Let me give you the phone number for the room and you can buzz me on your way up. I'll make sure I'm presentable."

Ugh, wish he hadn't said that.

"Okay, Edward. See you tomorrow then."

Tonight is going to be an Edward Cullen film festival for one, maybe followed by some choice video clips I've downloaded over the years. It's been a long time since I've indulged this way, but then again, I never thought I'd ever have the chance to meet him, let alone save his life.

^-EPOV-^

"I'm in the lobby. Are you decent?" he jokes.

"I wouldn't want to have a photo shoot right now, but I am dressed. I'm in 1504."

"Be right up."

True to his word, Jasper finds my room not five minutes later, looking completely different than the way I remember him from the fire, or even his post-rescue interviews. First of all, he's not covered in a layer of black grime. He's freshly scrubbed and his soft blonde curls have been trimmed back where the fire blackened the ends. His off-duty uniform consists of a pair of light-colored skinny jeans and a tight black t-shirt that show off his tall, muscle-bound body. Emmett would never allow a guy built like this to co-star in any of my films. "No need to put Officer Mason up against The Incredible Hulk," is his philosophy.

As Jasper takes in my form on the bed, his eyes light up and his face breaks into that effortless, perfect smile that came through in his interview.

"Wait a second, I don't see the medal! You're not gonna disappoint the invalid, are you?" I tease, enjoying his shy response. This guy is so easy.

"I wasn't really gonna walk through the halls wearing it around my neck." He dips one hand into his front pocket and pulls out the promised medal, holding it in his large palm and moving closer to the bed.

I hold out my left hand for it and he drops it in, almost pleased to be rid of the embarrassing object. I inspect it approvingly before handing it back. "Pretty nice, pretty nice." He slips it and his hand into his pocket uncomfortably.

"So," I start, flapping my right arm in its sling, "you can see that shaking hands isn't gonna work. Hmmm, how about the ever versatile one-arm bro hug?" I reach out my left arm and he cautiously moves in and leans in close enough for me to wrap my good arm around his back. While I have him trapped there, I muster every sincere atom in my body and say, "Thank you for saving my life, Jasper Whitlock."

Frustrated that I can't give him the double pat on the back that properly accompanies the bro hug due to my burned hand, I compensate by squeezing him that much tighter, despite the stab of pain from my midsection. He's got about four inches and sixty pounds on me, and I can feel exactly how ridiculously solid he is under his thin shirt. He's careful not to crush me in his embrace, and he reverently says, "It was an honor, Edward Cullen," just before letting me go.

"Thanks for coming on your day off. Probably the last thing you want to do when you're not working is visit one of your lame victims in the hospital."

"Actually, you're my first victim," he says shyly, watching for my reaction.

"No shit. I popped your cherry? Could've fooled me, the way you handled yourself."

"Beginner's luck," he says, rubbing the back of his head. "So…growing out your beard?"

I hold up my useless hands by way of explanation.

"Can't someone else shave you?"

I look dramatically around the room. "Like who?"

"I don't know. Girlfriend? Mom?"

"My parents left yesterday, and my girlfriend's not really a girlfriend. And no way in hell I'd trust her with a sharp razor near my neck."

His eyebrows lift in surprise. "Tanya isn't your girlfriend?"

"She was, for a while. She used to be a lot sweeter…but ugh, we haven't really been together for a while. Emmett thinks my next contract will be worth more if we're tied romantically. Before the fire, I was just about to be signed for the sequel. Now…"

Who the hell knows if they'll wait for me? is what I'm thinking, though Emmett assures me the franchise needs me.

"Anyway, no amount of money is worth the charade. I've totally had it and I'm going to tell Emmett later today to cut her loose."

"Wow, man, sorry to hear that."

I chuckles darkly, "You wouldn't be if you knew her. By the way, if she comes after you, I suggest you run as fast and hard as you did from that burning building!"

He laughs. "What about one of the nurses? Won't they clean you up?"

"They can't. Something about my face being insured by Lloyd's of London. Apparently, they can wash my dick for me, but shaving is out of the question."

Jasper turns bright red and turns away. What is it with this guy? I suddenly feel like I need to be on my best behavior in his presence.

^-JPOV-^

Edward's dick.

Washing Edward's dick.

Giving Edward a sponge bath.

Dragging a warm washcloth across his bare chest…FUCK!

He's saying something. What? Huh?

"Seriously, Jasper, I know I can never repay you, but how can I fully express my appreciation to you for saving me?"

Hug me again. Smile a few more times. Kiss me…Let me give you that sponge bath.

"I believe you just did," I say out loud.

"What, that little hug? No, no, I'm talking about a gesture of my appreciation. A grand gesture. Something along the lines of…oh, I don't know, maybe a Porsche?"

"That seems a little extravagant," I reply, feeling the edges of my mouth curl up.

"Well, what then? A Rolex? A new set of golf clubs? A year's membership at Gold's Gym? I noticed you're getting a little soft there," he says teasingly, eyeing my biceps.

Soft is not what I'm getting.

"No, Edward," I tell him. "That's all unnecessary. I was just doing my job."

"Hmmm, you're really not gonna help here, are you? Ahhh, I've got it." He grabs the mailbag from the end of his bed and tips it upside down. Hundreds of envelopes spill out onto his bed "Pick a girl, any girl."

"You're going to give me one of your fans?"

"Take three, or ten. I mean, these girls are awfully grateful to the guy that saved my life. I think they'd pretty much do anything for you."

I shake my head. "No, thanks."

He eyes me carefully, as if trying to solve a puzzle. "Every man has his price."

Do I dare? "Actually, there is something I want from you, Edward."

His face breaks into a wide smile. "I knew it. Good, now we're talking. So, what can I do for you, Jasper?"

I smile right back at him, because there's no way I can possibly help it. "I'm not on 'til 1 tomorrow. Can I come by around 10? I'll tell you then."

"Sure. A man of mystery…I like that."

Oh, Edward, you have no idea.

^-EPOV-^

"I don't care how you spin it, Emmett. I am done."

"Edward, this is gonna cost you-"

"Come on, Emmett. Let's have a little self-respect about this, shall we?"

"Fine," he agrees finally. "I'll take care of it."

"Great, listen, I have a visitor coming. Could you hand me a clean shirt please?"

He snorts and tosses me my Juilliard tee, "You already have the next girl lined up?"

"No. It's the guy who saved my life. I figure the least I can do is put on a clean shirt."

"Oh yeah? Mind if I hang around and see if I can convince him to do some modeling?"

"Shoo, Emmett. This guy's not a meal ticket. He's a really great guy."

"All right, all right, I'm out of here to deal with Hurricane Tanya."

I try listening to music, but the tiny buttons on my iPod are too frustrating to manage through my bandages. Finally giving up and tossing it aside, I close my eyes and let the painkillers do their job.

A soft knocking wakes me, and I open my eyes to Jasper's bright smile in the doorway. "Hey," he says, "am I disturbing you?"

"No, are you kidding? Come in. You play the guitar?"

Jasper looks down as if he'd forgotten he was holding a large black instrument case. "Oh, yeah, it's the…gesture… I was going to ask for."

I scramble to sit up, and he sets the guitar down and rushes over to help me adjust the bed and pillows. "Comfortable?"

"Not if I'm awake," I answer honestly. The pain cuts through the morphine, but I don't want to sleep the days away or become addicted, so I won't allow an increase in the dosage. "So, what do you need? A new guitar?" The idea of this thrills me; I would so love to buy him a new guitar.

"No," he shakes his head. "Just a little help." He looks away like he's going to change his mind, but I really want to hear what he needs.

"Come on, Jasper. You were so excited yesterday. Let me do this for you. What is it? Some equipment? Lessons? An audition with Rage Against the Machine?"

"You know them?"

"Sure. Tom Morello's a good friend. They did the song for-"

"…the car chase scene. I know."

Wow, this guy knows his Not on My Watch trivia.

"Actually," Jasper finally offers, "there's this one part in 'Long for Tomorrow' that I've never been able to figure out."

"My song from Solo Guitar?"

"Yeah, I've worked out everything, but this one part… 'Now that I've found you and professed my love, I finally long for tomorrow,'" he sings, "and then, just….ach, I could never figure out what you were doing here with this bridge."

Hearing Jasper's silky voice covering one of my earliest compositions is surreal. I actually get goose bumps listening to him. "That song was always my favorite," I confess, "but it's just outside of my range. You sing it perfectly. Do you know the whole song?"

"Of course," he admits quickly, then blushes. "Except for that one part. Can you help me?"

"If I help you with that, will you sing the whole thing for me?"

"What?" he laughs, "Pulling you from a burning building wasn't enough, now you want me to serenade you?"

"God, Jasper, that would be so great. Yeah."

"Sure," he finally agrees. "Okay, so back to that measure…"

^-JPOV-^

The whole morning is surreal. After five years of unsuccessful stabs at the chord progression, Edward finally unlocks the key to the song for me, and in return, I perform the song for him, start to finish. How bizarre to be sitting in this hospital room, singing his song to him, meaning every word from the bottom of my heart. He closes his eyes and a peaceful expression washes over him as he listens.

When the last note rings into the room, he opens his eyes and softly says, "Thank you for the tremendous compliment of learning and playing that for me. That was amazing."

I smile and remind him, "It's your song."

"I'm no idiot, Jasper. I know I never sang it like that. Or played it nearly as well, for that matter."

"That movie meant a lot to me," I admit, not sure how far I'm willing to go with my confessions.

"What were you, about sixteen when that came out?" he asks.

"Exactly."

He nods and smiles knowingly. "So, Dack helped you score with your girl?"

"Well, yes, but that's not why the movie meant so much."

He looks at me quizzically. "What then?"

His face is so open, and I so want to just tell him everything, because it would all be so much easier if he only knew. But a large part of me is so scared that this budding friendship, or whatever it is, will come to a screeching halt if I'm honest.

"Aw hell, I'll never forgive myself if I don't take this chance to tell you."

"Tell me what, Jasper? Come on, what am I gonna do, beat you up? Run away?" He holds up his bandaged hands and flaps his broken arm toward his useless legs.

"Edward, I really hope this doesn't weird you out, but I was really confused at that time in my life." I don't dare look at him. "And while I sat there in that dark movie theatre next to the girl I was supposed to want, it was Dack Raines singing 'Long for Tomorrow' that made all the pieces fall into place. I knew for a fact that I was gay. I am gay."

My heart is beating so hard, I wouldn't be surprised if I could see movement through my shirt. My mouth is parched, all the moisture having moved to the palms of my hands.

"So, you had, like, a crush on me?"

I peek up to his face to see if he's appalled or angry, but he seems neither.

I courageously forge ahead, "Yeah. Big time."

He's watching me very closely now, dancing green eyes boring into my anxious blue ones. "And now?" he asks.

I blow out a huge sigh, and own up to my feelings. "Worse."

"Wow," he says, not giving me any indication how he feels about any of this. Then, sounding delighted, he says, "You mean that getting to know the real me and seeing me in this pathetic state haven't diminished your infatuation?"

I laugh, out of surprise and relief, and also because what he suggests is so outlandish. "Are you kidding me?"

He leans back and draws his gaze to the ceiling. "Most people can't help but be disappointed."

"Edward," I start, pleading silently for him to look at me again, "Over the years, I've seen all your movies- multiple times, taught myself every one of your songs, and watched just about every interview you've given. I hope that doesn't creep you out too much."

"I'm pretty sure Emmett would shoot his wad just from hearing that. That's basically exactly what we want. It's kind of the whole point."

Encouraged by his support, I continue. "I certainly don't profess to know you personally through a collection of contrived moments, but I want you to know that I've always admired you more for who you seem to be when you're not acting out a role. The unrehearsed interviews where your amazing sense of humor comes out, the casual moments between filming where you're just being yourself, the lazy noodlings on your guitar, the insights you share about whatever crazy book you're reading at the time, and especially the way you reach out to kids less fortunate than yourself—those are the pieces of you that I've always wanted to get to know better."

"Jesus, Jasper, does that stuff just flow out of your head or do you have a team of writers on staff back at the station? Because I have to say, it's really fucking convincing."

"That's because you can't fake the truth."

"Well, those of us who make our fortune in Hollywood certainly like to think we can," he snorts.

"Shoot, that was a pretty ignorant thing to say to an accomplished actor," I lament.

"No, just honest." He sighs heavily. "The truth is I'm just some lowly actor who has no business being the object of affection of someone as pure and good as you."

"That's ridiculous!" I say, more forcefully than I'd intended.

"Is it? You're running into real burning buildings to save real people while I'm a pretend hero fighting pretend crime by strutting my ass across a sound stage on a back lot of Universal Studios-"

^-EPOV-^

Jasper cuts into my pity party, quoting:

"Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."

"A firefighter who quotes Macbeth soliloquies better than I do. You're just proving my point. I'd never be worthy of you, Jasper."

"This is so weird," he says, cutting off my musings.

"What is?"

"I just thought this conversation would've taken a different turn, like maybe focusing on the fact that I'm gay, and you're not? Instead, you seem to be trying to convince yourself that I'm too good for you, or some such nonsense."

I stop and consider his words. "You're right. This is weird."

"So, would you be running away right now if your legs weren't broken?"

"No, Jasper. I like you. And I respect you. And now that you tell me you have a thing for me, I'm flattered. I guess I could even see how I might have a little hero worship thing going for you, too."

He smiles and lifts his eyebrows in surprise. "Hero worship is a good start."

"Okay. Play me another song. Do you know 'Broken Synergy'?"

He shrugs, "Of course."

My lunch, such as it is, arrives just as he reaches the final verse. I watch, amused, as the medical assistant swoons over him, practically spilling my soup into my lap in the process. "Wow," she says dumbly, as he strums the final chord. His eyes flick politely to her and he gives her a brief smile. She blushes bright red before backing out of the room.

"Well, that's one fan you've converted," I chuckle. "I don't think she even noticed I was here. Yesterday, she asked me for my autograph while changing the dressings on my hands. I was like, 'Which body part would you like me to sign with?'"

He rolls his eyes. "So, how do they expect you to eat your lunch without any hands?"

"I don't know. There's probably a straw here somewhere…"

"You're gonna sip noodle soup through a straw? Come on, let me help you."

He doesn't wait for an answer, but sets his guitar back in his case and pulls his chair up to my bed. "Okay," he says a bit nervously, lifting the first spoonful toward my mouth, "you're going to have to help me out here. I've never done this before. Blow or something."

I think I've never met a more earnest person in my whole life. This kid is True Blue, and I soak up his attentiveness like a thirsty sponge. We manage most of the soup and half the ham and cheese sandwich before I beg him to stop feeding me. It must be the meds killing my appetite, but I can't eat another bite.

"You're seriously gonna leave this chocolate pudding untouched?" he asks, appalled.

"Go for it," I smile, and watch with great pleasure as he enjoys my dessert.

He plays me three more songs, before he packs up and says he has to go to work. "Thanks for not kicking me out earlier, Edward. I hope I can come back another time and visit you."

"What time do you get off work tomorrow?" I ask.

He smiles brilliantly, and it doesn't fade when he turns and walks out my door.

^-JPOV-^

I knock softly at the open door.

"You just took my vitals ten minutes ago," he mumbles, eyes pinching closed.

"Not here for your vitals," I answer.

"Oh shit, man, sorry," he responds, opening his eyes immediately and struggling to sit up.

"Trying to sleep? I can go…"

"No, please, come in. I can sleep later when Emmett visits," he smiles his crooked smile from Sleeper, where he plays a shy kid who can't seem to get the attention of the girl next door. How she could've been so blind is beyond me. He's all I see. "Don't you have to work this morning?"

"Yes, but as I was shaving this morning, I thought of how we were talking yesterday—you know, about your face—and I figured if I hurried over, I'd have enough time to help you before I have to go to the station." Crap, this sounds even lamer than it did in my head.

"Hmm," he says, smile widening, "are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Would you like to see my resume?" I ask, quirking a brow.

"Nah," he finally concludes. "What's the worst thing that can happen? I'm in a freaking hospital!"

"So, we're a go?" I ask, trying to contain my excitement.

"Honestly, I can't wait to get rid of this facial hair," he says.

Five minutes later, I've got him covered in towels and all my supplies are laid out on his bedside tray. I start by placing a warm washcloth over the lower half of his face, a little something extra to pamper him, and another excuse to touch him. He closes his eyes and hums a little bit, a message that transmits directly to my cock. Control yourself down there! I have important work to do!

I ready the brush with a dollop of shaving cream and remove the washcloth with my other hand. His eyes drop open lazily and he rewards me with, "Nice touch," and a little smile.

I begin lathering his cheeks, up and down, from one side of his face to the other, until his beard and mustache are fully covered.

"What are we doing with the sideburns? Officer Mason or Bo Hadley?"

"Don't make me laugh. This stuff tastes like shit," he complains, smiling through the white foam. "Just take 'em off. I can always grow 'em back."

Good choice: clean. Just the way I like him.

"Here we go," I warn, taking his chin in one hand and the blade in the other. My eyes are intent on the blade against his skin, but I can feel his burning into me. It's so tempting to look, but I can't risk it.

^-EPOV-^

During filming, my grooming is almost exclusively left to a team of experts. I've been shaved by lots of women and lots of men, but never like this before. My eyes are riveted to his; he's an artist watching his canvas with rapt attention.

The soft swoosh of the razor's edge is the only sound in the room. He's pulling my skin taut with his hands exactly where mine would be if I were shaving myself, and I help him along with the appropriate facial contortions to get under my nose and around my chin without incident.

I find myself hypnotized by his quiet rhythm, and I'm surprised to find that I don't have a moment of mistrust or fear. This generous man who saved my life and played my songs for me is now proffering another gift out of the pure goodness of his heart, with no ulterior motive in sight. I've never met anyone like him before, so fiercely honest and kind.

Something inside me skips and rolls. It's beyond gratitude that I feel, but the emotion's name is beyond my reach.

He sets down the blade and inspects his work, smiling as wide as the Grand Canyon.

"Not a scratch on you," he says happily, reaching again for the washcloth and cleaning up the stray patches of cream.

"Pretty proud of yourself, aren't you?"

"That was a lot of pressure," he says, packing up his supplies and pulling all the towels off me. "Now I know how the surgeon who fixed Tiger's ACL felt during the operation!"

I chortle at his exaggeration.

"All right, I better run or I'll end up with latrine duty at the house. See you soon?"

"Thank you, Jasper. I feel human again."

He smiles shyly. "Happy to help."

^-JPOV-^

We fall into an easy pattern together. I spend as much of my time off with Edward as I can manage. I always bring him something, whether it's apple cider donuts from Fisherman's Wharf or a game of checkers, and he's always appreciative. If Emmett has any opinions about our companionship, he doesn't express them in front of me.

One particularly sunny day, I convince Edward to let me wheel him downstairs into the courtyard. "Don't worry, I've arranged for hospital security to watch the perimeter so you can soak up a few rays of the sun in peace. It's good for you."

"I'm not the one who needs security. Have you seen your popularity ratings?"

I have to admit, we do turn heads when we travel through the hallways. Nurses stop and stare, and often we can hear, "Hey, it's that fireman!" or "Oh my God! Is that Edward Cullen?"

I push Edward's chair next to a sunny bench inside the Japanese garden and sit down next to him.

"I'd really love to be a normal person for a minute and sit next to you on that bench."

Before he changes his mind, I stand and scoop him up out of the confines of the wheelchair and place him on the end of the bench. He jokes, "Wow, you're just like a genie! A big, solid hunk of a genie!"

I chuckle and slide in next to him, and we both tip our faces back to catch the warmth of the sun. "God, this feels good," he says. "I can't believe how long I've been cooped up inside."

"Doc says you should try walking with your crutches now that you've got a boot on one foot and you don't need the sling."

"I think he got his medical training from the Marquis de Sade," Edward comments, which causes me to burst out laughing.

"I'll help you. The sooner you start walking, the sooner you get to go home."

"All right, let's start tomorrow."

He's as good as his word, and he works hard with his PT. Within a week, Edward's cleared to go home.

"Can I be honest with you?" he asks, all packed up and waiting for the doctor to sign off on his discharge.

"Of course," I answer, pacing back and forth in his room, eager to take him out of this sterile environment and back to where he's comfortable.

"I'm a little scared to go home and be on my own."

"On your own? Edward, you have a staff of twenty people waiting to take care of you."

"They're all hired hands. I'm talking about a friend."

"Edward, you know I'm here for you. Whatever you need…"

As I speak the promise, I recall Riley's words of warning to me last week. "Be careful, Jazz. I'd hate to see you start expecting something from him that he's not prepared to give." Words I've chosen to ignore, because the chance to spend time with Edward in any capacity is a chance I simply cannot forgo.

Edward answers, "All I know is I don't want to stop spending time with you, Jasper."

Easy now, I caution my heart. He's talking about friendship. And oh yeah, maybe just a hint of hero worship. I play it cool, though the inner fan boy in me is flipping cartwheels.

"I took the rest of today off to help you get settled in. After that, we can play it by ear, I guess."

^-EPOV-^

I tell myself it's just his friendship I enjoy, but the truth is, I'm beginning to crave his company. Simply put, I am happier when he's around.

And there's more to it, I know, in my most honest moments.

I find his nearness comforting and exciting all at once. Maybe it's because there's never any posturing or games about him. Or maybe it's because, well, I'm starting to wonder.

What it might feel like to be held tenderly by those massive arms. What his body looks like under those tight tee shirts. How it might feel to allow myself to get lost in those deep blue oceans he calls eyes. And once in a while, I wonder what it might be like to let him kiss me. I don't dare allow myself to wonder about anything below his waist, at least consciously. But I know the curiosity is there, like a subliminal but insistent background beat playing behind the scene.

And I'm surprising myself, because I've certainly never felt this way toward any other man, even Emmett, who's been with me through thick and thin. And I haven't let on to Emmett yet, but I think he's starting to wonder about my feelings as well. And just what these feelings, if acted upon, might mean to the future of the Officer Mason franchise, or whatever might have come next. Action heroes who 'wonder' about good-looking men are not in large demand in Hollywood.

Since I've been home, Jasper keeps his distance, physically, unless I ask him to help me get up or walk, and I find I've been asking for help more and more lately. Tonight, I don't know what's going to happen, but I'm edgy, and I know it's because of him.

I take full advantage of Jasper's insane craving for Chinese food to tempt him over.

J-I'm ordering take-out tonight from Lotus Garden. Pork lo mein at 8? –E

E-Count me in! Thx- j

:) -E

I've asked the staff to set us up on the patio and make themselves scarce, so it's just me and the food when Jasper pulls up just after 8. He's brought a bottle of wine, never one to arrive empty-handed.

"Thanks, Jasper. That was really thoughtful," I say, opening the door.

"Thanks for inviting me for dinner. I love Chinese." I know.

"We're set up out back. Come on through."

He watches me struggle with my crutches but doesn't baby me. "Where is everyone?" he asks, noticing the rare quiet of my house.

"I gave them all the night off."

"Really?" His face lights up at the prospect of just having a normal night hanging out together.

"Here, take a seat," I offer, and before he sits, he pulls my chair out for me and takes my crutches. I've had Mrs. Cope set two places right next to each other at the square table. He opens the wine and pours out two glasses.

Jasper scoops out a healthy portion of lo mein for himself, while I take a little bit of everything.

"Can't handle the chopsticks with your left hand?" he teases.

"I can barely handle the fork with my left hand," I chuckle.

While we're eating and drinking, I drop my left thigh to the side and let it make contact with his. It's a warm night, and we're both wearing shorts, so at first, the skin-to-skin contact causes him to pull back, embarrassed. Or possibly he's worried that he accidentally crossed a line with me. But I replace my leg against his and don't act weird about it, and eventually, he relaxes.

Time and again, I let my left arm brush against his right on the table, and he definitely notices my advances. As the night wears on and the wine moves from bottle to glasses to bloodstreams, he's not quite as jumpy each time. By the time we're breaking open fortune cookies, most of my left side is aligned with his right, and he's certainly not complaining. But he is surprised and cautious. And finally, he addresses the elephant on the porch.

"Edward, is something going on?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe."

"Look, I'm feeling a little confused here," Jasper says.

"You're confused? I thought you were pretty clear about how you feel about me."

"I'm 100% lead crystal clear about how I feel about you. I just have no idea how you feel about me right now."

"Well," I admit, "maybe I'm confused, too."

"What do you mean?" he asks cautiously.

"Jazz, you know I enjoy being with you. And the more time we spend together, the more I realize there's something about you that I am definitely…attracted to. And I'm curious about it."

"That's normal, I'm told. It's a post-rescue thing. You can read about it on the internet."

"I don't think that this," I gesture back and forth between us, "has anything to do with the rescue."

"Well, what is this then?" he asks cautiously. Fair enough.

"I don't know but I'd like the chance to find out."

"Edward, please don't get me wrong. I truly appreciate your…curiosity, but, I have to tell you, this kind of thing has backfired on me before. You know, the bi-curious straight guy experimenting with the smitten gay friend? I've lost some good friends under similar circumstances."

"You're not going to lose me as a friend, no matter what," I promise, unable to imagine a scenario where I wouldn't want him in my life.

He considers my words carefully and I can almost see his internal struggle over this. Finally, he asks, "Edward, do you have any idea at all how ridiculously gone I am for you?"

Fuck, this guy's honesty blows me away every time. "No, Jasper, I don't. Why don't you show me? I'm right here. Are you just gonna sit over there and reject me?"

^-JPOV-^

Holy mother of fantasies come true! Edward Cullen, in the flesh. Offering himself to me! Am I going to reject him? Not even a tiny chance.

But then, this tiny, nagging voice of self-preservation kicks in. It's such a classic recipe for disaster. What if he hates it? What if he likes it and wants more but can't admit it to himself? What if he's filled with doubt and self-loathing after this? What if he discovers his gay bone but wants someone other than me?

Ugh, the last worry threatens more than all the others combined.

As if I ever had a choice in the matter, the nagging voice gets buried with longing and lust so thoroughly that it may never be heard from again.

"Of course not," I answer him conclusively. "I could never reject you, Edward."

I stand and move in front of him, placing my hands on the arms of his chair, locking him in place. I lean closer and make my intention perfectly clear. I don't really want to give him a chance to change his mind, but it's better that he does so now before I kiss him. Because you can't take back a kiss. My lips are inches from his and I can hear both of our breathing pick up. "Are you sure you want this?"

"Kiss me, Jasper," he says, his tone serious and intent.

I haven't even touched him yet, and I'm delirious with desire. I close the gap between us, my lips tap his tentatively.

Are you sure? Please be sure…

He doesn't pull away. I touch those beautiful bow-shaped lips again with mine, this time taking a first taste of what I've craved for so many years. No, what I craved was a fantasy, and what I have now is so much better, a real man.

He's relaxed and open to this, and his lips respond automatically. I've read so many times that Edward loves kissing, and whether he said it as a publicity stunt or because it's true, he seems to be a natural, even in these unlikely circumstances. His jaw flexes with mine as he searches for his own answers. And it's his tongue that makes the first pass along my lower lip. If his low moan is any indication, he greatly enjoys his first taste of man.

Bolstered by his response, my tongue becomes braver, pressing forward to join in our connection. Our kiss is a gentle and slow coaxing, so many questions traded back and forth between us.

Do you want me?

Am I enough for you?

Will you regret this?

Will I disappoint you?

I close my eyes and feel, and while I'm right here with him, I'm also observing this scene play out from the audience like we're his next movie. My erection has been so constant since I saved him, I barely notice it any more. But "watching" us on the big screen, I remember so vividly that first irrefutable stirring raised by Dack Raines, and all that wild longing in the dark theatre returns in full force. On top of my recently forged emotional connection with Edward, it threatens to knock me right off my feet.

As if sensing my need to stay grounded, Edward reaches his good hand to the back of my head, running his fingers through my curls and drawing a low appreciative moan from me. His hold on me tightens, locking me to him, as if there were any other place I'd ever want to be again. Desperate to be closer to him but wary of his casts, I slide one knee onto his chair between his legs.

His kisses become greedy, and I can visualize that almost pained look he gets on his face when he can't seem to get enough. His tongue demands more, and I willingly give him everything he needs.

Take, Edward. Take, take, take. I'm all yours. I've always been yours.

Our moans grow louder and fiercer. Breathing through mouths is no longer an option; loud gusts of air are sucked in desperately through noses. I lift my hand to the back of Edward's neck, touching his trademark unruly hair for the first time. I can't help myself; I tug at the ends out of sheer lust-induced insanity, drawing a series of low grunts from him that threatens to shred every last ounce of my self-control.

It's Edward who eventually slows down and pulls back just enough to drag in a breath. Gathering himself, he quips, "Is it hot out here or is it us?"

The burning intensity of our kiss gives way to a dizzy lightness, and I add, "If I'd had any idea you were going to kiss me like that tonight, I would've brought along my oxygen mask."

We're still holding each other, fingers twisting through hair, thumbs sliding across necks, noses lingering against cheeks. Each caught up in our own bubble of what this means. When I look in his eyes, I'm not disappointed by what I see. It's not regret.

It's awakening. Intimacy. And most importantly, trust.

^-EPOV-^

It's not a lie when I report to the tabloids that I truly love kissing. I'm not talking about movie kisses; I'm talking about the people I kiss because I want to, not because someone cast them opposite me.

It's not that kissing Jasper is the same experience as kissing a girl, and if I become confused for a second, his low moans and grunts bring me right back to the realization that the lips I've got in my mouth belong to a 100% male, solid Grade A Beefcake. And that stirs my desire in a way that feels fresh and exciting.

I'll admit it. I wasn't expecting to love kissing another guy. I was dead wrong.

Like everything else about Jasper, his kiss is a humble offering, a sweet gesture of affection that he gives freely and without limits.

"I didn't know I was going to kiss you like that," I answer his one-liner about the oxygen.

"You're okay with what just happened?" he asks, and I hear the caution in his voice. Damn, I wish I could make him understand that I'm not toying with him. I would never do that.

"I'm more than okay with that, Jasper."

His mouth forms into a relaxed smile and he steps back from my chair. Now what do we do? I can't help but wonder. I have a vague idea how this all works, but the details and the pace are a bit beyond me. Plus, I still have a cast on both legs so I'm not exactly at my most macho right now. It's not as if I can throw him up against the nearest wall and devour him, though once the idea passes through my brain, I have to admit, I'm mightily disappointed about it. I'm pretty much at his mercy, which seems fair enough, because for weeks- and he'd argue, years- he's been at mine.

"So," he starts shyly, "I can have another go at you?"

"God yes, Jasper. But do you think we could we move to a more comfortable spot?"

He immediately extends his hand and pulls me right out of my chair, and I balance on my boot. "How fast can you work those crutches?"

"Not as fast as you can carry me," I smirk, wondering if he's up for it.

"Holy hell," he exclaims, and seconds later, he's got his right hand clamped around my left forearm. "Yell if I hurt you," he warns, leaning over to place his left arm through my legs and behind my left thigh. Standing upright, he carefully hoists me to his shoulders, surprising me but not hurting me in the least.

"I suppose this is what I get for taking up with a firefighter," I muse from my perch.

I can feel the low rumble of his chuckle as he easily carries me inside my house and over to the couch. He sits on the edge and gingerly lowers me into the pillows. "How was that?" he asks earnestly.

"Effective," I answer with a laugh. I slide my forearm out of his grasp and loop my fingers around his. I want him to kiss me again. I give a slight tug on his arm, and he gets the message and lowers his mouth onto mine. Our tongues don't wait this time. We're both eager and our confidence is growing. When he finally comes up for air, I hear him say a hushed, "This can't be real."

His eyes beam down into mine with such need that all I can do is hope he sees the same in mine. I untwine our fingers and start my hand up his arm, stopping when I reach the bicep just outside the edge of his sleeve. Another new experience for me, kissing someone who can bench press me. It thrills me, and I suddenly need to see more of his hard body.

"Jasper, would you take off your shirt?"

He barely nods, and reaches one hand to the hem of his shirt and pulls it up and off in one swift move. And, wow, there it is: the perfectly carved athletic build, the tight, sculpted chest of a guy who works at it every day, not out of vanity, but because it makes him more effective at what he does.

No, I correct myself, not what he does. Who he is. A man who can potentially be summoned any given day to save a life.

"Damn!" I say appreciatively, moving my hand up his shoulder and across to his brawny neck. I see him take in a gasp of breath and I let my hand take its time exploring, down and across the muscular ridges of his chest. His eyes close and a low groan escapes as my hand slides down to his abs. I alternate between palm and knuckles, enjoying being able to roam freely across the landscape of his impressive chest. "You have an amazing body!" I tell him, mostly because I can't keep it inside.

He smiles down at me and says, "Yeah, look who's talking. How about giving me a close-up?" he asks, not moving his arms from either side of my waist, not pushing me. But wanting so much.

"To be honest, you're giving me a pretty serious inferiority complex, Jasper."

His eyes open wide with surprise.

^-JPOV-^

Okay, that's a rich one. The guy I've fantasized about, without fail, every single day for the last five years is nervous about baring his chest for me. Edward freaking Cullen, the guy who gets more hits on his image by a factor of one hundred than the next closest celebrity, is intimidated by me.

"Come on, Edward. I've been drooling over your body for five years. I've already seen every picture of you ever taken without your shirt on. You don't have any reason to feel inferior. I think you're just stalling."

He chuckles at the gauntlet I've laid. Giving himself over to me in one swift move, he raises both his arms over his head on the couch. "A little help?" His eyes issue the challenge.

My hands are at his waist and balling up the fabric before the 'help' fades off his lips. Sliding his shirt up slowly, I try to resist placing my lips into the dip just above his belly button, but fail miserably. Dropping my face worshipfully to his stomach, I sample each new inch of exposed skin. He squirms underneath me, and just because I can, I swirl my tongue over each nipple.

"Unggghhh," he moans, as I peel the shirt up his arms, careful not to let it catch on his cast. He's breathing heavily, and his chest rises and falls with the effort. Edward eyes me expectantly, waiting for my next move.

I want to touch him.

I want to lick every inch of his delectable body.

I want to make him sing with the most exquisite pleasure he's ever experienced.

I wrench my eyes from his, and take in his beautiful chest. It's true he's not as muscular as I am, but he's fit and he's solid, and he's got an impressive collection of enticing peaks and valleys. My tongue swipes across my lower lip in anticipation. Oh please, God, don't let me drool on him.

I drop my eyes to his shorts. I see the unmistakable evidence that this is getting to him, too. He's turned on by this, by me. My heart soars and my cock hardens torturously.

My eyes click back to his, and I see that he's watching me. He knows what I want.

"Go on, Jasper."

"Edward, I….want…oh, God, so bad…."

"Take," he says simply. "I want you to."

He's offering again, and I'm not waiting for confirmation this time. I lean over and kiss Edward one last time, gathering up the courage to take what I've wanted for so, so long.

He's left his hands above his head, and his upper body arches elegantly off the couch. I can't keep my hands off him one second longer. Laying my palms flat against his chest, I allow myself to roam freely, brushing his satiny skin with the pads of my fingers, worshiping and memorizing every inch, focusing on those that bring him the most enjoyment. It's almost too painful to look into his eyes right now, as I try to pace myself. Edward needs to be digested in manageable slices.

Finally, my self-control spent, my hands slide to the top of his shorts. I have to look now; I can't do this without his blessing. I grasp the button and beg him wordlessly.

"Yes," he says definitively.

This is real. The man eagerly waiting under my hands as I unbutton and unzip his shorts is really Edward Cullen. The hips that lift off the sofa as I slide his shorts and boxers out of my way are Edward Cullen's. And the perfect symbol of manhood standing proudly is Edward Cullen's penis.

There's not much room for me on the couch, and I can't trust myself to not jostle his legs, so I settle myself on the floor, kneeling near his hip. From here, I have an unbroken view of his entire body, naked and wanting and mine.

"You are so perfect," I tell him, placing a kiss on top of the hipbone closest to me. I trail one finger along his thigh, and up into the dip where it meets his torso. His cock tips toward me, and I feel him for the first time, gently running my fingers down his length.

"Unhh," he grunts, and I think I've never heard a more rewarding sound in my life. I can't help my joyous smile when I check Edward's face for his reaction.

"Fuck, Jasper, touch me again!" he begs, flexing his hips toward my hand for another stroke.

"Nothing would please me more," I respond, circling his shaft with my right hand while my left strokes his sac. He's already slippery, and I use the moisture to lubricate my hand as I pump him repeatedly, up and down.

"Oh! My! Fucking! Hell!" he yells, eyes rolling back in his head.

I tighten my grip and fall into a steady rhythm, working him into a lather, while applying pressure exactly where I know I like it with my left hand. He is enjoying himself at a substantial volume, and I'm grateful again he's given the staff the night off.

His hips pick up on the rhythm, and he's thrusting into my hand, his moans becoming needier. "Getting…close!" he breathes irregularly.

Not yet. "Hang on for me, Edward," I instruct. I pull his balls slightly downward and squeeze him just below his tip.

"Ahhhh!" he protests, but his breathing slows and he settles down.

^-EPOV-^

Fuuuuuuuuuck. What kind of voodoo is he working on me? Three times, he brings me to the brink and then slows me to a complete halt. This man knows his way around the male anatomy, and I realize I am putty in his hands. Really fucking hard putty. I have half a mind to tell him to stop teasing me, and I would, too, except it feels so incredible each time he builds me back up.

Fuck hot Jasper focusing all his attention on my cock? Yeah, I am so not complaining.

Here we go again, he's fisting me with one hand and rolling my balls in the other, and my head rolls side to side in an effort to process it all. All of a sudden, two warm, moist lips close over my tip. My eyes snap to my outrageously happy cock and the irrefutable evidence of this new union: the unmistakably male dirty blond shadow just beyond his lips; the set of a square chin with a hint of a cleft; the strong nose and cheekbones; and atop it all, two eyes pinched closed against unbearable bliss.

Why doesn't this feel wrong in the least?

I watch in fascination as his soft tongue lashes out and swathes me in a warm bath, sliding up and down my shaft, lavishing me with loving attention and shattering my composure.

"Mmmm," I cry out, "feels so fucking amazing!"

And now he's moaning, which vibrates all the way through me. My hand finds the back of his head and pulls gratefully through his hair.

Why doesn't it bother me that this is not the silky long hair I'm used to grabbing in this moment?

Jasper's passion spurs me on even further. He bobs up and down, taking me in all the way to the back of his throat. What doesn't fit in his mouth, he works over with his hand. He pumps and sucks and the pressure starts its predictable build again. If he stops now, I might die.

For the second time, this capable man holds my life in his very hands.

"Pleeeease, Jasper. Don't stop! Don't! Stop! Don't! Stop!" I'm spinning totally out of control, completely at his mercy, and I am begging.

Why doesn't it bother me that I am begging a man to let me come in his mouth?

I'm so close, so close, and he increases the pressure and holds the pounding rhythm to a steady pace.

I grasp a fistful of his hair and twist wildly. "I'm coming, oh fuck, Jasper, I'm coming!" and he stays with me every step of the way, my orgasmic tour guide. Licking, caressing, and stroking through it all, copiloting my pleasure right through the final shudder.

I run my fingers through his curls while he purrs softly against me and laps at my body like a kitten savoring every last drop of milk in the bowl.

When I'm completely spent, he slips me out of his mouth and knee-walks along the base of the couch where my enormous smile is waiting for him. "Would you be grossed out if I kiss you?" Jasper asks me.

"No, but maybe we could just stick to the PG-13 version?"

He laughs and kisses me tenderly, keeping his tongue—and my fluids—to himself. My hand is still behind his head, and I pull him into the crook of my neck. His chest flattens out against mine, and I breathe in a huge contented sigh while he doodles random patterns across my chest with his fingernails.

"This is the happiest moment of my entire life," he informs me.

"Hell, Jasper, you didn't even get any action."

I can feel his lips curl into a wide smile against my neck.

"This is gonna sound strange, Edward, and I kind of can't believe I'm even saying it, but I'm really in no rush."

"Speak for yourself. That was the hottest thing I've ever experienced, and I can't wait to tease the fuck out of you. I am going to have you standing on your head begging for release!"

He moans into my shoulder and kisses my collarbone. "I would totally stand on my head for you, Edward!"

We laugh like two giddy fools. Two giddy fools who walked through fire together and found what each was searching for on the other side of the flames.

^-EPILOGUE-^

"Why do I have to tell him?" Jasper whines.

"Because you're bigger," Edward answers, "and you can kick his ass."

Jasper shakes his head and straightens his bowtie for the thirtieth time tonight. "Fine. Where is he?"

"He's with Rose in the Green Room."

"God, I hope they're decent this time. I really don't need to see my sister in the flesh again anytime soon."

Edward chuckles at Jasper's theatrics and gives him a motivational whack on the rear. "Stop stalling!"

"All right, all right," says Jasper, pushing out the door to Edward's dressing room and locating the back stage lounge. He covers his eyes and pokes his head through the door, announcing loudly, "Edward and I are sitting together and we're holding hands all night, and when he wins Best Actor award, he's kissing me for all the world to see. See you at Spago's!"

Jasper hears Rose's high-pitched giggle and Emmett's low, "Your brother's gonna be the death of me, Rosie," before heading back to his lover's side. A happy grin covers his face.

"I'm so proud of you, Edward," he gushes.

"I couldn't have done any of this without you," Edward returns.

"You mean, because you'd be dead?"

"Well, yeah, for starters," he chuckles. "But I'd pretty much given up on my hopes of any serious acting roles."

Jasper rewards him with a deep kiss, pulling back but holding Edward's chin in one hand. "You were a fabulous MacBeth."

"It's all you, Jazz. I haven't felt this much confidence since I was seventeen."

"You're way hotter now than you ever were at seventeen. You know that, right?"

"Whatever you say, my delicious firefighter."

"And Under Armour model," Jasper adds with a twinkle in his eye.

"Christ, Jazz, could you not remind me of your twenty inch cock right now?" Edward pleads.

"Twenty-four inches," Jasper reminds him. "Emmett made sure of that in the negotiations."

"Yes, I know. I pass the billboard twice a day, thank you very much."

"Oh, you're welcome, Edward."

"God, you are so fucking ridiculously adorable, you know that, Jazz?"

"Mmm hmm," he hums, stepping out into the first row of the audience with me to take our seats.

Win or lose tonight, Edward knows there isn't another person in this room who will be happier at the end of the night. With the possible exception of the beautiful man sitting beside him.

^-THE END-^

---

DCM A/N: *sighs, mouth curling into a smile* Damn what good boy boy love. BOH, thank you so much for writing this and sharing with us, glad to have popped your slash cherry *snickers* were we gentle enough with you? We hope you will continue to give us some more of your boy boy lovin! We will be glad to beg anytime. If you seriously haven't read any of BOH's work, run now...one word...KINKY!

Next week we have an old friend of DCM, onesweetbell writing for us, which she has been promising for a long time, but she's so damn busy that she hasn't had time until now.

As always, if you are interested in writing for SML, drop us a line and keep those author recs coming.