If Only by sadtomato

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6806833/1/

"You going out tonight?" Edward asks, walking past my bedroom door with an
open beer in his hand. He's not wearing a shirt, just a pair of black sweatpants
hanging low on his hips. I try to keep my eyes on the mirror and not on his chest.
I'm definitely not going to look at the plane of his stomach, or at the drawstring
hanging loose and untied at his waist.

"Yeah, just having some drinks with Seth," I answer, twisting my collar to make it
look appropriately disheveled. Edward takes a sip of his beer and then grins.

"Are you having drinks with Seth or are you having drinks with Seth?" he asks,
waggling his eyebrows suggestively. He knows Seth and I have fooled around a
few times-mostly just drunken, fumbling makeout sessions before we pass out-
but we've never really dated. We're not really compatible in that regard, but
Edward can't seem to wrap his brain around that.

"Having drinks, asshole," I answer, throwing a balled up pair of socks at his head.
He's still grinning, that cocky fucking grin that he gets whenever he teases me
about boys. "Probably just going down the street to Bar 54 and then maybe the
clubs later, if we feel like it."

Edward starts making techno music with his mouth-trying to beatbox a little and
mixing in some awful, screechy whooping sounds. "Sounds like fun," he says,
when his performance is over.

"You wanna come?" I offer. The clubs Seth and I frequent really aren't his scene,
but he's come out a few times just for the hell of it.

"Nah," he says, taking another pull of his beer. "I'm just gonna hang out here.
I'm burned out from last night. Watch a movie or something, crash early."

"Cool," I answer, masking my disappointment. It's not like I expected him to say
yes... but it would have made the evening a lot more fun. He pushes away from
my doorway with his hand and waves with his beer.

"Have fun. Call me if you need a ride," he says. "Don't do anything I wouldn't
do!"

I snort at his warning, because there are definitely things I could get into tonight
that he would never do.

Edward's been my roommate for three years, and he's become my best friend.
He lets me cry on his shoulder every time a boy breaks my heart. He marched
with me in a gay rights demonstration last year. He comes to gay bars with me
so I don't have to go alone, and he's the best fucking wingman I've ever had.

But he's straight.

And sometimes, like tonight, when he's all rumpled and sleepy and grinning and
teasing me-all I want to do is pull him into my bed, kiss him, touch him, worship

him with my mouth. But as cool as Edward is, all open and accepting and loving
my big gay self, he's not gay.

He's got a different girl every week, always the hottest of the hot. He loves
fucking them, too-I can hear it through the paper-thin walls of our apartment.
The loud moaning, his muffled voice saying what I'm sure are filthy things, the
headboard banging against the wall with such force... I can only imagine Edward
making me moan, talking dirty to me, fucking me that hard.

Seth is being a whiny bitch at the bar.

"Ohmigod," he whines. "Let's just go to Exxxcess. It will be fun. There are always
cute boys there!" He takes a sip of his drink-some kind of Appletini bullshit-and
gives me his pouty face.

"Ugh, gross, I hate that place. Why can't we just stay here? This is fun." I'm
enjoying the bar we're in now; the atmosphere is relaxed, despite the sizable
crowd

"Yuck, too many straight boys," he complains, looking around the room. There
are a fair number of straight guys, and girls for that matter, in this bar. I'm sure
he's looking to hook up, so he wants to improve his odds... I'm just not that
motivated to meet someone tonight. "Come on, Jakey, let's go," he says, tugging
on my arm.

"I just got a beer. Let me finish it, at least," I argue, hoping I can stall him for a
little while longer. He downs the last of his bright green martini and sets the glass
down on the bar.

"Fine, I'm gonna use the bathroom. Drink fast," he commands, before slipping
through a throng of people to head to the back of the bar. I ignore him and sip
my beer slowly, leaning back in my bar stool to look around the room. I listen to
the conversations going on around me, I watch the bartenders, I count the
bottles of liquor on the shelf above the bar.

When I take the last sip of my beer, I realize Seth's been gone a long time-at
least fifteen minutes. I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and find a text from
Seth:

Met a guy in the bathroom. Going to a house party. He's so fucking hot!

He doesn't apologize for ditching me, or skipping out on his bar tab. I settle the
bill with the bartender and text Seth back:

Have fun, be safe.

It's not the first time he's ditched me for a guy, but I can't be too upset-I've done
it too. I'm mostly relieved that I don't have to drag my ass to a club tonight.

I push my way through the crowds and out into the night air, taking a deep
breath as soon as I'm free. I walk the few blocks to my apartment and let myself
in, expecting to find Edward sprawled on the couch with a beer.

The living room is quiet, though. The TV is off. The lights are all off, except for
one lamp that Edward's clearly left on for me. I grab myself a beer from the
kitchen and head to my bedroom, resigned to a night of Internet porn and getting
myself off. I walk past Edward's room and pause; the door is open, which is
unusual.

All of the lights are off, but the city lights and moonlight streaming through his
window illuminate him perfectly. He's lying in bed, a dark grey sheet covering
him up to his waist. His eyes are closed, but he's clearly still awake. What draws
my attention-aside from his exposed chest-is the hand that's under that sheet.
The movement at his crotch.

I hold my breath, desperate to stay quiet so he doesn't stop. My heart starts
pounding, probably to accommodate all the extra blood rushing to my dick. I can
feel it getting harder, pushing against the front of my jeans, and I fleetingly
imagine Edward stroking my cock like he's stroking his own.

He moves his free hand under the sheet too, and groans a little as he changes his
technique. I can't see exactly what he's doing, but it looks like he's playing with
his balls too. Fuck, that's hot. I turn my body slightly so I'm pressed against the
door jamb; thrusting my hips against it relieves some of the ache in my dick. My
cheek is leaning against the cool wood, and I take slow, shallow breaths as I
watch Edward pleasure himself.

He curses a little under his breath and shifts on the bed, switching hands. My
eyes are locked on the movement under his sheet, and I want more than
anything for that sheet to be gone. I let my eyes flicker up to his abs, his chest,
his tight, pale nipples. I want to lick them, bite them. I want to bite his
collarbones, nip at his throat, suck hard until his skin is bruised. Oh, and his
fucking Adam's apple... I want to lick that too, and nuzzle it with my nose, and
scrape my teeth over it. When I finally let myself look back up at his face, my
body jerks back from the doorway in shock.

His eyes are open, and staring right into mine.

He grins, and I'm about to apologize, but I notice that the movement under the
sheet hasn't stopped.

He's still doing it. He's still jerking off, right in front of me, and he knows that I'm
watching. The thought makes me infinitely fucking harder, and I decide that I'm
not going to be the first one to walk away. If he doesn't want me to watch, he'll
stop doing what he's doing.

My breath hitches when I see his right hand reappear from under the sheet. Fuck.
He's going to stop.

His left hand is still moving though, so I have hope. His right hand rests on his
stomach, his fingertips scratching lazily at the trail of hair there. God, that little
fucking happy trail that taunts me every fucking day. I want to press my face into
it, kiss it, feel the scratchy little hairs against my cheek.

I start to wonder what he's thinking-worrying that maybe he's slowing down and
waiting for me to leave-but he's still smiling. Still touching himself. Still letting me
watch.

The palm of his right hand flattens on his belly, and he slides it down lower. I
think it's going under the sheet again, but this time... this time he catches the
edge of the sheet in his fingertips and pushes it down. Right over the hard line of
his dick, over where his left hand is squeezing and rolling his balls.

This time, I can't stop myself from moaning. He's so thick, so fucking hard, and I
can see the pre-cum all smeared around the head of his cock. I've seen Edward's
dick before, but not like this. Not hard and leaking and so fucking sexy.

I want to wrap my lips around it from the side and kiss up the length of it. I want
it in my mouth, down my throat, filling me up. I want to smell him, taste him,
consume him.

He's amused by my reaction. His low chuckle registers, even though I can't look
away from his dick. His right hand joins his left, wrapping around his shaft, and
he groans. When I manage to look up at his face, I see that his smirk is gone. His
mouth is open now, his tongue touching his bottom lip, his eyes trained on his
hands working his cock.

I watch with him-because he's letting me. Because he wants me to.

He strokes with his right hand and his left hand moves around-tugging on his
balls, twisting over the head of his dick, squeezing the base of his cock while the
other hand flies over the tip.

I'm painfully hard now, my own cock begging for some of the attention that
Edward's is getting. I have a feeling that this would end badly, though, if I pulled
it out and started stroking it. That it might change this for Edward; make it a gay
thing instead of an exhibitionist thing, and maybe he'd stop. I can't let him stop. I
need to see him cum.

So I just lean against that door jamb, shifting when the pressure becomes
unbearable, ignoring the cold beer sweating in my hand. Watching him get
himself off.

Edward's moving faster now, his hand flying over his cock. His breath is coming
in short gasps, and I know he's close. His hips start moving, thrusting up against
the motion of his hand, and the sight of it almost makes me cum in my pants.

It's the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen.

I want to be sitting on that cock, want him thrusting up into me. I want to make
him pant and groan and call out my name.

He's close, he's grunting and panting with the effort of fucking his own fist. He's
been watching himself work, but as he gets closer to his orgasm I can feel his
eyes on me. I know he's looking at me. When I tear myself away from his cock-
when I stop gawking for just a second, and look into his eyes-he cries out a loud,
"Fuck!"

"Coming, coming," he moans, his hips bucking as his cum spurts out over his
hand, his cock, his stomach. I whimper, unable to look away from his face until
he closes his eyes in pleasure. When he does, I watch him draw out the rest of
his orgasm. He pulls his cock slowly, draining every last bit of cum. His free hand
draws circles in the thick liquid that landed on his stomach, rubbing it into his
skin.

I'm mesmerized, watching as his dick softens, watching as he lets it fall against
his thigh. He chuckles as he comes down from his orgasmic high and finds me
still standing in his doorway, watching.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, still fully naked, and moves toward
me. I should move. I need to get out of the way. Edward's getting closer, and he
still hasn't said anything, I need to fucking move, but I'm afraid that if I move-or
breathe, or think, or feel a slight breeze-I'll cum. I close my eyes and try to calm
myself down, just enough for me to make it back to my own bedroom before I
can explode.

Edward opens his door wide and starts to move past me, probably heading for
the bathroom. He pauses, grins, and lifts his finger to my lips. I jump in surprise,
but he isn't phased. He wipes his finger, still covered with his cum, along my
bottom lip. It rests there for just a second, and I wonder if he'll let me suck on it.
Let me lick him clean.

He pulls it away before I get the courage, and walks past me. As soon as he
moves, my tongue darts out to swipe the cum from my bottom lip. Fuck, it's salty
and thick and so fucking good. I turn my head in time to get a look at his ass,
firm and round, as he saunters into the bathroom. He turns and winks at me as
he closes the door.

I fly down the hall, into my own bedroom, unbuttoning my fly as I move. Before
the door clicks shut behind me, my hand is in my boxer briefs, pulling out my
cock. I don't bother to get undressed, to lie down, to move away from the door. I
just squeeze, and stroke, and twist my fingers around the head just like Edward
did.

I hear him moving around in the bathroom, hear the water running and the toilet
flushing. I ignore those sounds and think of Edward's moans, his grunts as he
fisted his cock. The sound of his voice as he looked into my eyes and said,
"Fuck."

The bathroom door opens, and I hear the old wooden floor creak as Edward walks
past my bedroom. The footsteps stop, and I imagine him right outside my door,
still naked. I imagine his palm pressed against the wood as he stops to listen. The
idea of him being so close again pushes me over the edge, and I groan as I feel
my orgasm rip through me.

My dick is still twitching, my cum still spilling over my hand, when I hear the
floorboards creak again on the other side of the door.

"Night, Jake!" Edward calls, chuckling as he walks down the hall.

~*~

"Do you want a beer, Jake?" Edward shouts, leaning close to my ear so I can hear
him over the thump thump thump of the bass in this club. I nod enthusiastically,
and he fist bumps me before pushing through the crowd, moving in the direction
of the bar.

I watch him disappear, gliding easily between sweaty, grinding men who try to
get him to stop and dance. Edward's never bothered when he gets attention in
gay clubs. Sometimes he stops to dance before politely moving on, other times
he just flashes them a grin and keeps walking. He's never been one of those
straight guys that gets freaked out by attention from another man-but then
again, nothing really phases him. I would kill for a fraction of the confidence that
Edward Cullen has.

When I can't see his wavy bronze hair bobbing through the crowd anymore, I
start dancing again. The music is so loud that I can feel every note reverberating
in my bones, the beat changing the rhythm of my pulse to match. I lift my arms
over my head, close my eyes, and move my hips to the rhythm.

Someone wraps an arm around my waist, spins me around to dance with him,
and I open my eyes. He's a nice-looking guy, handsome enough, but not really
my type-he's wearing a leather vest, for Christ's sake. I smile politely and dance
with him, keeping my distance so he won't get too interested. I look over his
shoulder, scanning the crowd, and my eyes immediately lock on a familiar figure.
Paul.

I spin around quickly, hoping to escape him, and push my way towards the bar. I
think I hear Leather Vest Guy calling after me, but it's impossible to tell when the
music is so invasive. Thankfully there's a door between this part of the club and
the lounge area; you can still hear the music when you're at the bar, but it's also
possible to hold a conversation.

I find Edward at the bar, leaning against the counter with a twenty in his hand.
He always says that's the secret to getting great service at a bar; pay with cash,
have it ready, tip well. I think it helps that he's fucking gorgeous and flirts like a
two-dollar hooker with every bartender in town.

He smiles when I tap him on the shoulder. "It'll just be a sec, I should be next,"
he says, nodding towards the bartender working his way down the row. When he
turns to look at me, his eyes widen when he registers the panic on my face.
"What's wrong, J?"

"Paul," I explain, jerking my head towards the dance floor. Edward straightens
up, looking over my shoulder to the doors I just came through.

"Did he say anything to you?" he seethes, his jaw set in anger. Edward was there
for me when I was dating Paul, talked me through all of the drama of our
relationship, kept me from losing my shit when I walked into Paul's apartment
and found him going down on his ex-boyfriend. Paul was never interested in my
life or my friends, and he never even bothered to come over and meet my
roommate, my closest friend.

Edward was the one who helped me pick up the pieces of my broken heart. He
was probably more pissed about Paul hurting me than I was.

"No, no, I don't even know if he saw me," I tell him, although I'm almost sure we
locked eyes for a second. I lay my palm flat on Edward's chest to keep him from
charging past me.

"Motherfucker," Edward says, shaking his head. The bartender snaps his fingers,
trying to get Edward's attention now that it's his turn in line. He leans over the
bar to order, and I catch the guy in line next to us staring at his ass. I can't
blame him; Edward's ass is perfect. It's out of this fucking world.

I'm feeling kind of possessive of his ass, though. I know he's not my boyfriend-I
know he'll never belong to me-but I don't want any other men looking at him. I
take a step closer, blocking the other guy's view.

When Edward straightens up and turns around, I'm too close. We're nose to nose.
He just smiles, hands me a beer, and jerks his head toward an empty table.
"Let's sit," he suggests, pushing me backwards.

We claim the table and take a minute to look around. Well, Edward looks around.
I watch the door to the club area, waiting for Paul to come through.

"Do you wanna leave?" Edward asks, leaning closer so we can talk.

"No, man," I answer, shaking my head vehemently. "I'm not gonna let him drive
me from somewhere I wanna be. Fuck him," I insist, taking a long pull from my
beer.

"Fucking A!" Edward says, holding his bottle up to clink with mine. Just as I tilt
my head back to take another sip, I spot Paul walking to the bar. He's craning his
neck, looking around, and I just know he's looking for me.

Edward notices my sudden tension, the way I'm purposefully staring down at the
bottle in my hands. "Is that him? That asshole?" he asks, shifting in his seat.

"Yeah, but listen, let's just leave him alone. Unless he comes over to talk to me
or something. Let's just ignore him, okay?" I implore, resting my hand on
Edward's forearm. "He probably just wants attention." I notice that Edward's
wearing a fitted button down, and the cuffs are rolled up just enough for me to
see the bluish veins on his wrist through his pale skin. I'm struck with the urge to
kiss them.

"He's not coming over here but he's fucking staring at you. Just let me go like,
punch him in the kidney. Or accidentally break his nose. C'mon, Jake, he
deserves it." Edward's smiling, one eyebrow raised in jest, but I know without a
doubt that he'd do it for me if I asked him to.

"No, I don't want to hurt him. I just want to ignore him. I just wish..." I trail off,
shaking my head mid-sentence. "Nevermind," I add.

"What do you wish?" Edward asks, his red lips wrapping around the mouth of his
beer bottle again. I groan at the sight of them, the million fantasies I've had
about kissing him flashing before my eyes.

"I wish I wasn't alone," I tell him simply, shrugging my shoulders. I wish Paul
could see me happy, loved, and being adored by someone. Preferably someone
much hotter than him.

"What am I, chopped liver?" Edward asks, his eyes sparkling playfully.

"No, no, that's not what I meant, E. I just meant that I was here with someone. A
date. To make him... jealous," I admit. I pick at the edge of the label in front of
me, peeling it back from the brown glass.

"We can make that happen," Edward says confidently, and I start to protest. I
don't want him running around trying to hook me up, playing wingman,
introducing me to strange guys. I don't feel up to meeting people right now.

But when I look up at Edward, he's much closer than he was a second ago. He's
scooted his chair closer to mine, so our thighs are almost pressed together. He
leans into me and brushes his fingers over my cheekbone, sending a shiver down
my spine.

"Is this alright?" he murmurs. "I only know how to flirt with girls." He lets his
fingers settle on my bicep, squeezing it gently before dropping his hand to rest it
on top of mine.

"Y-y-y-yeah," I answer, wincing at the sound of my own voice. I'm so obviously
flustered by such a small thing, such an innocent touch. "Yeah. Is he, uh, still
looking?" I ask, my eyes trained on Edward's hand. Edward is practically holding
my fucking hand.

"Yeah," he says. He leans in slowly, resting his head on my shoulder, and I feel
his warm breath on my neck. He nuzzles me there a little, moving his head
around, and then I hear him ask, "Does it look like I'm kissing your neck?"

Truthfully, I have no fucking idea what it looks like, but it feels amazing. I can
feel his lips brushing against my skin when he talks, and my cock is getting so
hard so fast that I'm worried it's gonna rip through my pants.

"I... I think so," I tell him. I glance up at Paul, to make sure he's still looking, and
find him leaning against the bar. He's definitely watching us, and he's definitely
pissed. I can't help the smile that spreads over my face. I let my right hand drift
up and into Edward's hair, twisting it through the soft strands like I've fantasized
about so many times.

Abruptly, Paul slams back the rest of the drink in his hands and stomps back into
the club.

"Is he still watching?" Edward asks, and I consider lying. I consider holding him
tightly against me, breathing him in, keeping him close to me for as long as he'll
let me.

"No, he went back in," I answer, dropping my hand as Edward lifts his head. He
lifts his beer bottle to his lips and downs the rest of it in one long, sexy gulp. I
watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows, and I wonder if he'd look like that
with my dick in his mouth. If he'd swallow around the head, and let me rest my
fingers on his throat just to feel that little piece of cartilege move beneath them.

"Come on, let's go," he says, slamming the bottle back on the table. I'm not
finished with my beer yet, but Edward is grabbing my hand, yanking me up,
pulling me behind him. I'm grateful that it's so dark in here, that he can't see my
erection tenting my pants.

He shoves the door to the dance club open and pulls me through, tugs my arm
forward to wrap around his waist, and forces me to walk closely behind him. The
music is still pounding, a different techno beat but still the same thump, thump,
thump that I'm used to.

We weave through the crowd, looking for a place to dance. Edward finds one,
close to where Paul is grinding on some twink, and he spins me around so I'm in
front of him. I'm a little bit taller than Edward, just an inch or two, and I probably
have thirty pounds on him... but he's so clearly in charge here. He positions me
just how he wants me, with his arm wrapped around my waist, and starts moving
with me to the beat.

I keep one eye on Paul, and I know he's still watching us. He's getting aggressive
with the twink, pushing him forward and grinding into his ass with more force.
The kid seems to be eating it up, but I have the urge to tell him to stay away
from Paul. To save him from the drama that I went through.

Edward notices Paul stepping up his game, and he spins me around to face him.
He starts to pull me close again, but I take a small step back. I'm trying to keep
his hips from grinding into mine, because I know he's going to feel my hard-on. I
don't want to freak him out, and I sure as hell don't want him to stop dancing
with me.

He's saying something, his lips are moving, but I can't make out the words. I
watch the multicolored lights from the ceiling flicker over his face, turning his
pale skin blue, purple, red. He's still talking, trying to tell me something, but it's
impossible to hear.

Finally he gives up, reaches down to my waist, and pulls me tightly against him. I
gasp when my dick comes into contact his his body, straining to get to him
through the layers of cloth between us. Edward looks into my eyes and tilts his
head softly. This time, when he speaks, I know exactly what he's saying: "It's
okay."

The acceptance, the affection in his eyes makes me tear up. I drop my head to
his shoulder, hoping he didn't see, and try to get a grip. He doesn't love you,
Jacob. Not like that.

Edward's just being a friend, helping me out. Helping me stick it to the ex that
never deserved me in the first place. I wrap my arms around Edward, feel him
slip his thigh between my legs, and start moving against him. He feels so fucking
good against my dick that I have to think about girls to keep me from getting too
excited.

I lift my head a little, just enough so that I can see Paul. He's kissing on that
twink now, but the kid seems bored and not at all into it. He shrugs Paul off,
twists away from him, and moves to dance with someone else. Paul tries to
follow, but quickly gets the hint that he's not wanted any longer. He stands there
alone for just a minute, not dancing, just watching me with Edward as the crowd
moves around him.

I feel Edward's hand trail down to my ass, feel him squeeze the flesh there, and
thankfully the music masks my loud moan. I'm sure Paul can see how Edward is
touching me. I hope he can see my face, too, twisted in pleasure as Edward
grinds against me.

Paul storms out, heading back to the bar area, and I don't care if he's leaving the
club or just leaving the room. I feel lighter now, knowing that I have more power
over him than he has over me.

I should probably pull away, let Edward know Paul is gone. I can't do it, though,
can't peel my body away from his. I feel his lips brush against my neck and every
part of me shudders with want.

Edward must've felt it, because he pulls back and spins me around. He wraps his
arm around my waist again and crushes me against him without losing the
rhythm. I feel his cheek against my shoulder, his fingers digging into my hip, and
something... something pressing against my ass. Maybe it's just the seam of his
jeans, the line of his fly pressing up against the roundness of my ass cheek.

Except it wasn't there before. It's harder, thicker, too insistent to be just his fly.

My brain is still scrambling to explain it away-maybe it's just wishful thinking on
my part. Maybe I'm missing something.

And then he thrusts his hips against me, pulls me tight against his chest, and I
stop trying to explain it away. I close my eyes and give into the feeling. I let
myself think about what could happen if we keep dancing like this all night. If we
keep drinking, and dancing, and grinding against each other. If we stumble home
like this, sloppy drunk and horny and hard. If he lets me pull him into my
bedroom.

Then the song changes. It's more of the same techno crap, but it's a slower,
thudding beat. It's enough of a change to jolt Edward out of the rhythm we've
been in. He pulls away, leaves some distance between us, and I wince at the loss
of his warmth. I turn around slowly, almost afraid to face him. He doesn't look

angry or freaked out though, he's just looking around the dance floor. He raises
an eyebrow in question, silently asking me about Paul.

I jerk my head towards the door, indicating that he left. Edward holds his thumb
up and then turns it down, alternating between the two, and I understand that
he's asking if our little show was successful. I give him a thumbs up in return,
and he grins. He offers up his fist for me to bump, and I do my best to return his
enthusiasm.

We only stay for another half an hour or so, dancing with a lot more space
between us, before we're both sick of the crowds, the long line for drinks, the
punishing beat of the music. By the time I'm driving us home, my erection has
mostly gone down. It feels just like a normal night, but I still have a tiny sliver of
hope that maybe something more will happen when we get back to the
apartment. Edward fiddles with his phone during the fifteen minute ride home,
and hops out of my car as soon as I pull it into my parking space.

"I'm uh, gonna take off," he says, gesturing toward his Volvo.

"Oh?" I ask, confused. It's almost one, and I didn't think he wanted to go to
another bar.

"Yeah," he says, winking and holding up his cell phone. "Gonna stop by Kate's.
She's always up for a booty call, you know what I mean?" There's a sharp pain in
my chest, knowing that he's going to be working off all of the night's sexual
tension with some skanky girl instead of me. I pull myself together pretty quickly
though, and give him a fake smile.

"Have fun," I tell him, turning to walk into the building. "Don't do anything that I
wouldn't do," I call out over my shoulder, registering his quiet chuckle as he
unlocks the Volvo. I keep my head high, my shoulders squared, until I'm safely in
the apartment. Until I can let myself fall apart a little, let myself mourn for the
pieces of Edward that will never be mine.

~*~

It's pretty depressing ordering Chinese takeout for one.

Edward and I always get Chinese on Thursday nights, and we sit around and
watch sitcoms, drink, and make plans for the weekend. He likes the bitchy little
brunette on Community, and I have a hard-on for Joel McHale, so it works out
well for both of us.

Tonight, though, he's not around. I haven't seen him since last night. He did send
me a text around five this afternoon, letting me know he was going to a happy
hour with some people from his office. He used to invite me along to shit like
that. Not that I would've driven across town to have some expensive martinis
with the yuppie assholes he works with, but it would've been nice if he'd asked.

I figured he'd be home by eight, so I've held off on ordering the food. When he
doesn't show, I pick up the phone to call the Golden Buddha and order food for
myself. At the last minute, I add an order for Edward's usual, too. He can eat it
when he comes home.

An hour later, my belly full of lo-mein and cheap beer, I'm considering the
psychology of Jim and Pam's marriage and wondering how often they have sex. I
hear Edward's key turn in the lock and my lips curl up into a smile.

"Hey, fucker," I call, once I hear the door open. "Your kung pao chicken is in the
fridge."

"Hey, Jake," he calls, and I hear the door close behind him. Edward sounds a
little sloppy, and I hear him banging against the wall as he takes off his shoes.

And then I hear a giggle.

He walks around the corner, his arm wrapped around some stick-thin girl with
shiny fucking hair. She looks like the goddamn girl on Community.

She's pretty. Edward's girls are always pretty.

"Jakey, my man, my BFF," he says, slurring just a little. "This right here is
Angela." He sings a little "Angie," doing his best Mick Jagger impression.

"Hey," I greet her, raising my beer bottle. She giggles again and waves
nervously, and I wonder if she can even fucking talk.

"Ang here brought me home, I had a couple maybe too many drinks," Edward
explains. I can fucking see his hand squeezing her side, sliding up and down to
tickle her ribs.

"You could've called me, man," I remind him. I would've bitched about it, but I
would've driven across town to pick him up.

"I didn't mind," Angela says, finally finding her fucking voice. I have the urge to
mock her high-pitched little squeak, but I bite back my bitter reaction.

"You want a drink, babe?" Edward asks her, turning his head so his lips are right
next to her fucking ear. I can see her shudder, and I can't blame her. Those lips
have been that close to my ear, and it feels amazing.

"Maybe just a water," she says, reaching over to tug on the lapel of his jacket.
Watching them flirt is like having a knife stuck in my stomach and then twisted,
tapped, jiggled around. It's one sharp pain compounded by every look, every
touch, every unspoken word.

"Have a seat," he says, gesturing to the couch where I'm sitting. I slide my feet
to the floor so she has room to sit, and Edward disappears into the kitchen.

"So what are you watching?" she asks, her hands folded in her lap. I look her up
and down, trying to hate her, but she seems like a nice girl. Edward's girls are
always fucking nice.

"The Office," I answer simply. She just nods. I want to get her the fuck out of
here so Edward can eat his kung pao chicken and hang out with me. "You know,
he's fine now that he's home. If you wanna go, I'm sure he won't mind," I
suggest, trying to make it sound like we were on the same team. The Taking
Care of Edward Team.

"Ummm..." she says, twisting her hands, looking back towards the kitchen. "Well,
I-"

"One water, for the lady," Edward says, strolling in with a bottle of water in one
hand and a glass of scotch in the other. She thanks him, accepts the bottle of

water and opens it to take a sip. Edward doesn't sit with us, he just sits on the
arm of the couch, right next to Angela. We all watch the TV in silence for a few
minutes, but I can see the communication between the two of them.

Edward has a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. He slides it under her
stupid shiny hair to tickle the back of her neck, and he's already got her
squirming. He could probably pull his dick out right now and she'd suck it for him.

When the show goes to commercial, he stands up. "You want the tour, Ang?" he
asks her, and I notice that he suddenly seems a lot more sober than he did a few
minutes ago.

"Sure," she says, jumping to her feet. I know what "the tour" is. I've seen
Edward give "the tour" many fucking times. I know that it starts in the kitchen
and ends in his bedroom, with the tourist naked in his fucking bed.

I cringe as he takes her hand to lead her around. I want nothing more than to
figure out a way to stop them. Maybe I could go out in the hall and pull the fire
alarm... or maybe I could actually set something on fire...

It never used to bother me, seeing Edward bring home girls. I was always a little
jealous, but it wasn't this seething, writhing, fiery kind of jealousy that I feel now.
Now that I know what it's like to see Edward cum. Now that I know what he feels
like pressed up against me, grinding his hard-on into me.

We haven't talked about that shit, because what is there to say? Edward's not
gay, he's not bi, he's never been with a dude. He never looks at me like he wants
me, never makes a move. I think the time I saw him masturbating he was just
putting on a show; he's always been into doing shit in public, so it was probably
just the thrill of showing off. And the fact that he got a boner while we were
dancing? I blame that on friction.

I'm sure he hasn't given a second thought to either one of those instances, but I
think about them both every fucking day. I remember every detail about his cock,
his cum face, the way he touched me when he was "pretending" to flirt.

I didn't hear Edward's door close, so I figure they're still talking or whatever. I
wait for a little while, watch the rest of The Office, and clean up the mess from
the Chinese food. It's still early, but I figure I'll get to bed before the porno
screaming starts. If I put on my headphones and turn up the music as loud as it
goes, I won't have to listen to Edward's headboard banging against our shared
bedroom wall.

Maybe I'm wrong... maybe he's not fucking her. I'm walking down the hall, and
his bedroom door is still cracked open a few inches. I can't hear them talking, so
I step closer and peek inside.

Holy shit. Why the fuck didn't Edward close the door?

I should close it. I should walk away. This isn't just spying on Edward, this is
another person's privacy, too.

But Edward's practically fucking naked, and he's fucking this girl's mouth. I can't
look away.

Angela is kneeling on the goddamn floor, just wearing her stupid black skirt, and
Edward's tie-the red one that his dad sent him for his birthday-is wrapped around

her head, covering her eyes like a blindfold. Both of her hands are clasped behind
her back and she's got her mouth wide open, taking Edward's thick cock like a
champion. He's lost his pants and his underwear, and but his shirt is still hanging,
unbuttoned, from his shoulders.

As much as straight sex turns me off... well, everything about Edward turns me
on, and my dick is rock solid in seconds. I need to walk away though, before he
sees me. This would be... surely this would be crossing a line. He doesn't want
me to watch them.

Except... why did he leave the door open, then?

I push away from the door, resolving to take care of my erection in my own
bedroom. Preferably to the image of a guy sucking off another guy, to erase the
mental image of Angela's tits.

"You like this, don't you?" Edward says, stopping me in my tracks. I turn my
head, just enough to see him, and he's fucking looking at me. Staring right into
my eyes. "You like sucking my cock?" he asks, and the girl moans around it
enthusiastically. My breathing accelerates, and I find that my feet are planted to
the floor. I can't move.

"I knew you were a kinky girl," he says, returning his attention to her. He cards
his fingers through her long hair, and I wonder what that would feel like. His big,
warm hand tugging at my hair while I sucked him off.

He wraps his fist around the base of his cock and pulls back from her mouth. She
really does fucking love it; she whimpers and leans forward, trying to find his
cock again.

"Not so fast, baby," Edward says, steadying her with a hand on her cheek. "You
want me to cum like this? Or do you want me to fuck you?" She moans and shifts
on her knees, obviously turned on by his dirty talk. Why wouldn't she be?
Everything about him is fucking sexy.

Edward crouches down, kisses her on the lips, and asks her again. "I'll get you off
either way, but you have to decide what you want. Do you wanna fuck me, baby?
Or just oral tonight? What do you wanna do?" he asks her, dropping kisses down
her neck and shoulder. I think he's playing with her tits, too, but I can't really see
from this angle.

"Fuck, Edward," she moans. "I want you to fuck me. Do you have... do you have
condoms?" she asks, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. As if
Edward fucking Cullen would ever be caught without a condom.

"Yeah, baby girl, of course I do," he says, standing up again. He strokes his cock
twice, just inches from her face, before he pulls her up to her feet. He leads her
forward, lays a palm flat between her shoulder blades and pushes her until she
bends over. She rests her elbows on the bed and Edward moves to his bedside
table, reaching into the drawer for a condom. He rips it open and slides it down
his shaft expertly.

When he pumps his dick a few times, my fingers twitch. I want to be the one
doing that. My cock is fucking painfully hard, and I press my palm against the
front of my pajama pants to adjust it. Edward's fucking looking at me again, his
cock in his fucking hand, and he sees what I'm doing. He doesn't stop. I don't
stop.

After a few seconds, though, the girl whines and Edward turns back to her. He
starts to pull her hips up, position her, and then he changes his mind.

"Come on, up on the bed," he says gently, propelling her forward. She crawls up
on her hands and knees and he guides her forward, until she's closer to the
headboard. It takes me a second to realize that he's moving her so I can watch.
So that he can watch me. He doesn't want his back to me when he-

"Oh fuck!" she shouts, as Edward slides into her without another word. He didn't
even fucking finger her or anything, but maybe girls don't need that shit first. I
don't know anything about pussy.

She's moaning and talking, babbling really, but I'm not paying attention to her.
Instead I'm focused on Edward, the muscles of his ass clenching as he thrusts
into her. He stops thrusting and just rests a hand on her back, making her wait.
He's still wearing a fucking shirt, but he pulls it off hastily and tosses it over the
side of his bed.

Then he starts fucking her in earnest. I tune her out and listen only for Edward's
grunts, his moans, the murmured words that get me all worked up. I slide my
hand down inside my pants and give in to the urge to jerk off, setting my rhythm
to match Edward's. He's a good lover, that much I can tell; he's so in tune with
her, giving her everything she wants. I think she cums once, pretty quickly,
because he slows down and strokes her back after one particularly loud
screaming fit.

When his speed picks up again, so does mine, and I imagine myself on Edward's
bed, on my hands and knees, filled with his cock. He could be rougher with me.
He could push and spank and pull my hair, and I would love every fucking second
of it. He could pump his hips into me so fucking fast, and I would take everything
he had to give. I would be so fucking good for him.

"You like getting fucked?" he asks her, ramping up the dirty talk. Except when I
let my eyes drift up his body, glistening with sweat, to see his face... he's looking
at me. I don't hear the girl answer, but I mouth the word "yes."

"You like getting fucked hard, don't you?" he says. Still looking at me. He's
watching my hand moving desperately beneath the thin flannel pants I'm
wearing. I suddenly want him to see, to know what he does to me. I don't give a
fuck about lines anymore, or what's too gay for him, because if Edward didn't
want this he wouldn't be talking to me right now. I push my pants down off my
hips, pull my erection out of the elastic waistband, and let him see how fucking
hard I am for him.

"God, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Edward shouts, pounding into the girl, still looking at me.
"Cum with me!" he begs.

This is so fucked up, because I don't even know who he's talking to. But my body
doesn't care that it's fucked up; it responds to Edward's command. The intensity
of my orgasm rocks me, and I can barely hold myself up as I pump into my own
hand, trying to catch all the cum so I don't make a mess on Edward's floor.

When I come to my senses, I look back at them. The girl was screaming too, I
think, and she's collapsed on the bed. Edward is on top of her, holding his weight
up on his elbows. He's kissing her softly, all over her shoulders and the back of
her neck. Whispering to her now, softer words that I can't hear.

It's all for her. Even if he wanted me to watch, wanted me to cum, that's all I get.
She gets all of it, everything, and I just get that little piece he's willing to share.

I pull my pants up and stumble into the bathroom, washing the cum off my
hands. All I can think about are those soft little kisses, his sweet words, his warm
body covering her. My hands are shaking as I dry them, and I can feel the tears
pooling in my eyes. I want him wrapped around me, I want him to come down
with me, take care of me.

I'm hoping I can make it back to my bedroom before I lose my shit completely
and start crying. I open the bathroom door wide and come face to face with
Edward.

He looks sleepy and satisfied, sexy and sated. I duck my head and turn sideways
so he can pass me, and he slips into the bathroom. He pauses in the doorway,
reaches out for me, and lays a warm hand on my shoulder.

"Jake..." he says, his voice soft and tentative, but I can't let him see. The tears
are starting to fall down my cheeks now and I can't let him fucking see. I twist
out of his grasp and bolt down the hallway, just barely making it to the safety of
my own bedroom before I can't hold it in anymore. I sob because I'm hurt, and
ashamed, and jealous... but mostly because I can't deny it now. I love him, I'm
fucking in love with him, and it's going to ruin everything.

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it fucking pisses me off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Dude!" I complain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Squeak.

Squeak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jake..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

When I wake up, I'm alone. I'm still curled up on my side, in the middle of the
bed, but Edward is gone. I roll over and stretch, my muscles protesting the
cramped position I spent most of the night in. The movement makes me aware of
the stiff fabric of my pajama pants; I can feel the dried cum on my skin, and it's
an uncomfortable reminder that I didn't actually dream my encounter with
Edward last night.

It feels like a fucking dream-maybe it was, for Edward. He passed out so quickly
afterwards that I question whether he was really aware of what we did.

With a groan, I stand up and stretch out my muscles some more. Usually on the
weekends I go for a long run in the morning, but I'm giving myself a pass today.
I need a fucking shower and some coffee.

I don't see Edward when I venture outside of my bedroom, but I know he's
awake. The ceramic tiles lining the shower are still wet, so he probably woke up
just before me... he jizzed in his boxers last night too, so I'm sure he had a
similar mess to deal with.

As I peel off my clothes, I have to try to think of something else-something other
than Edward cumming, Edward getting naked, Edward showering. My cock has
other ideas, though, and he's a persistent fucker. It doesn't help that I have to
soap up that general area pretty thoroughly, to wash away the traces of dried
cum.

Before long, against my better judgment, I'm stroking my cock roughly. I try to
imitate the way Edward gripped me last night, but it's not the same. He was... he
was fucking magical. I close my eyes and lean against the cool ceramic tiles,
thinking of the way his body felt against mine, of the stubble on his jaw
scratching my shoulder as he nuzzled me there.

I picture what we looked like: Edward wrapped around my body, his fingers
wrapped around my dick. In my mind, though, I take away the clothes that had
separated us, and I can see what we would look like naked and grinding together.
What it would feel like if Edward lifted my leg over his and settled between my
cheeks. What if would feel like if he grabbed hold of his own dick and circled it
against my hole before slowly pushing it inside-

"Yes!" I cry, my back arching as I let go. I watch the streams of cum fall to the
bottom of the shower and swirl down the drain. The power that Edward has over
me-even fantasy Edward-is fucking intense.

I rest my head on my forearm as I recover, turning my back to the shower spray
so it pounds down on my shoulders as I relax.

When I get out of the shower, I spend a long time drying myself thoroughly and
thinking about what to say to Edward. I don't know if he's gay, or bi, or straight
and just fucking experimenting, but I need to find out.

A year ago-before the whole mess with Paul-I probably wouldn't have questioned
Edward's motives. I would have assumed that I'm lucky to get whatever he's
willing to give, and kept my mouth shut. I would have let him take the lead, no
matter how much his choices made me hurt, and I never would have stood up for
what I wanted.

Ironically, Edward was the one who made me see that I can't live my life like
that. That I have to ask for what I want and demand to be treated well in a
relationship. That I shouldn't put up with anything other than what I deserve.
"Bottom line, Jake," he'd said, "you deserve to be treated with respect, man."

I wrap my towel around my hips, pick up my discarded pajama pants, and step
out into the hallway... just as Edward is walking out of his bedroom.

"Hey," he says, his cheeks filling with color. He meets my eyes for only a second
before they drop down to the floor.

"Hey," I answer, softly, flattening myself against the wall so he can get by. He's
fully dressed, wearing some dark-washed jeans and the soft green sweater he got
at the Gap last month. "Are you, uh, going out?" I ask, hoping he's not going to
run before I get up the courage to talk to him.

"Nah, just gonna make some coffee," he answers. "You want?"

"Yeah, thanks," I tell him, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him as he
walks past. After he disappears into the kitchen, I hurry into my room and look
for something to wear. Normally on a Sunday morning we would both just lounge
around in basketball shorts and a t-shirt, but for some reason I feel like I need to
get fully dressed, like Edward.

I pull on my favorite button-fly jeans, the ones that are just a little too snug, and
I pull on a t-shirt and an old Seahawks hoodie. Somehow, wrapped up in familiar
things, I feel a little bit stronger.

When I make my way out to the kitchen, I find Edward sitting at the table holding
a steaming mug of coffee. The sports page is open, spread out in front of him,
but he doesn't seem to be reading it.

I walk past him to pour myself a mug, and sit down at the chair next to him. He
doesn't look up from the newspaper, and we sit in silence for a few minutes, just
slurping our Organic Shade Grown Mexican coffee. Edward is a stickler for that
organic, environmental crap.

When he clears his throat and looks up at me, my heart starts pounding in
anticipation of what he could have to say.

"So, you're off work tomorrow, right?" he asks, taking another sip from his
Accountants Do It With Double Entries mug.

I blink, confused by his question. "Huh?"

"President's Day," he clarifies. "You don't have to work tomorrow?"

"Uh, yeah," I answer, my mind catching up to the conversation. "I mean, yeah,
I'm off. I'm not working."

"Cool," he says, folding the sports section back up. "Do you still wanna go to
Bella's with me tonight? She's having a party."

"Do you really wanna talk about Bella's party?" I ask him, raising an eyebrow in
question. He blushes again, the red coloring his cheeks and his ears, and sets his
mug down on the table. His hands are wrapped around it, holding it tightly, as
though it's the only thing that can save him.

"I guess not," he says, quietly. He stares at me with wide eyes, waiting for me to
take the first step.

"Do you even remember what happened last night?" I ask, crossing my arms
over my chest. Edward shakes his head slowly, and his denial feels like a punch
to my chest-I can feel my shoulders hunching over, my arms tightening over my
chest. I look down at my coffee, ashamed and humiliated.

But then he says my name. "Jake... how could I forget?" I look back up at him,
and find that his expression is open, accepting. "I mean, Jesus..." he trails off,
biting his lip as he looks for the right words.

"You were so drunk," I remind him. "I thought maybe... maybe you weren't like,
fully aware of what you were doing."

He chuckles and shakes his head again, bringing his coffee mug up to his lips for
another sip. I try not to stare, not to watch the muscles in his throat move as he
swallows.

"I was aware, man. I remember everything," he says, and a small, sexy little
smile appears on his face. That smile, small as it is, gives me the confidence that
I'm doing the right thing. That on some level, he wants me-or wanted me last
night, at least-and isn't totally freaked out by this.

"It was fun," I tell him, even though that's the understatement of the fucking
century. It was everything.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep," he offers, and I shrug my shoulders in acceptance. "I
mean, I heard you say my name. After. I just... I didn't know what to say, so I
didn't say anything, and then I fell asleep."

That hurts. Remembering how shaky I was, how fucking needy I was feeling, and
knowing that he ignored me... it fucking hurts. But in a way I can understand his
feelings-hell, I didn't know what to say, either.

"It's okay," I tell him. I sip some more coffee and wait-for him to tell me what he
wants, why he came to my bed, what the deal is between us. Edward's waiting
too, though, his eyes trained on that stupid coffee cup. I think he needs some
prompting if we're gonna have this conversation.

"So is it... God, Edward, I have so many questions. Do you think that... maybe
you're bi?" I ask him, knowing that it's less scary than asking him outright if he's
gay.

"I don't think so," he says, shaking his head again. "I mean, I don't feel like I'm
bi. I'm not attracted to men, Jake. Just... you."

"Just me?" I ask, my voice squeaking a little in surprise.

"Yeah," he says. "I haven't always felt this way, it's just that lately... I don't
know. Lately, I've been looking at you differently, noticing things. The way you
look, your smile, you know? And your body..."

It's my turn to blush.

"The, uh, the day that you saw me... uhm, masturbating... I didn't like, intend for
that to happen. I didn't think you'd be home, honestly. I was thinking about
girls... or trying to... and your face just kept popping into my head, you know?"

I want to interrupt and tell him that I do know what it's like-trying to jerk off to
porn or my trusty old fantasies and having my roommate's face pop up
unexpectedly. I don't want him to stop talking, though, so I keep my mouth shut
and just nod.

"So when I saw you standing at the door, saw you watching, I told myself I'd give
you a little show. I told myself I was doing it for you, not for me. But I'd never
come that hard before, not by myself. After that... I just couldn't stop thinking
about you that way," he confesses.

"Last night-did you come to my bed because you wanted to fool around?" I ask
him, desperate to know if he had planned any part of what we did.

"Uh, I really did leave my window open, and my room really was fucking
freezing," he says, smiling as he takes another sip of coffee. "But I don't know.
Maybe subconsciously I left the window open so I'd have an excuse to come and
sleep with you? I wasn't planning for anything like that to happen, though."

"How did you... um..." I fumble, trying to think of how to ask him what I want to
ask him. "What did you think of... Well, what I mean is, did you like it? What we
did?" I ask, whispering the last few words, still trying not to spook him.

"Yeah," he says, smiling his real, wide, Edward smile. "Yeah, I liked it. A lot."

"Me too," I admit, looking away from his intense stare, his beautiful smile.

"I'm not gay," he says, his hand creeping across the surface of the table, toward
mine. "But I guess I'm not one hundred percent straight, either. Maybe I'm...
maybe I'm Jakeosexual." I snort with laughter, just as his hand covers mine.

I flip my palm over and grab his hand, squeezing his fingers with mine. He pulls
away after a minute, more quickly than I'd like, but I appreciate the gesture.

Edward gets up to grab the coffee pot, and tops off both of our cups. It's quiet
again, and I think maybe Edward's done talking-but I'm not.

"Is it something... is that something you'd wanna do again?" I ask, tentatively.
"When you're, uh, sober?" I add.

Edward nods, and his cheeks and his ears get even more red.

"What about, like, other stuff?" I ask, trying to keep my voice from sounding too
hopeful.

"Yeah," he whispers. "I want... I want to try everything with you."

As much as his words turn me on, that "try" gives me pause. "Try" implies
"once," an experiment, a test. I mull over what I want to say, drinking my coffee
slowly and listening to Edward drum his fingers on the tabletop. It takes me a
long time to gather the courage to say what I need to say, and I can't do it until
Edward breaks the silence.

"Do you want some eggs? I was gonna make-"

"Edward," I interrupt him. "I need to know... I mean, I can't do this if..." Fuck.
Fuck. I can't do it. I'm so fucking terrified that if I tell him what I need, he'll pull
away from me and I'll get nothing. But I know that I don't want pieces. I want all
of him.

"I need to know if this is just an experiment for you, or if you care about me. I
have, um, feelings for you, and I don't want to just fool around. I want more," I
admit, squeezing my eyes closed in fear. I don't want to push him away now, but
it will hurt so much more if we have this conversation after days, weeks, months
of being intimate.

"Of course I care about you," he says immediately. "You're my best friend. You
know I love you like that, and maybe... god, Jake, I don't know. Maybe it could
be more."

"Maybe?" I ask, my hope sinking.

"C'mon, man, look at me," Edward begs, and I hear the legs of his chair screech
against the floor. I open my eyes and he's closer to me, our knees touching, and
he reaches out for my hand. "I've never really tried, you know? To have like, a
real, grown-up relationship or whatever. This is all really fucking new for me, and
I can't promise that it's going to work out..."

I want to jerk my hand away, stand up, and run to my bedroom. I want to hide.
Edward's squeezing my hand so tightly, though, and I know he won't let me go.

"But I want to try," he says, softly. "I want to try with you, Jake, and I promise
that it's not just about sex. You're not an experiment. You're so much more to
me."

His words choke me up, and I have to swallow the lump in my throat before I can
respond.

"So if we're gonna do this, Edward... it has to just be you and me, no one else," I
tell him, needing that assurance.

"Just you and me," he says, nodding resolutely. "I promise."

"No skanks?" I add, letting myself relax a little. Smile a little.

"No skanks," he repeats, smiling back at me. "Just us."

"Okay," I answer, bringing our joined hands up to my mouth. I kiss the back of
his hand, needing some further gesture of affection. "So, um, you still gonna
make me breakfast?" I ask, done with the heavy questions for now. I'm happy
knowing that he wants me, and only me, even if he can't make promises of
forever and ever right now.

"Yeah, you want your omelet? With the peppers and the stuff?" he asks, referring
to the special omelet he always makes me.

"Yeah, that sounds good," I answer, letting go of his hand as he rises to his feet.
He walks behind me, moving to the refrigerator, and I reach across the table for
the newspaper. I'm not listening to Edward, so I don't hear his footsteps when he
walks back to me.

"Jake?" he asks, and I turn my head to see what he wants. He's close, right next
to me, and bending at the waist. His face is right in front of mine, his green eyes
blazing and his jaw set in determination.

He leans in, so slowly, and my heartbeat picks up. A lock of his hair brushes my
forehead, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. I should close my eyes, but I
can't. I can't stop staring at his lips until they finally touch mine.

The kiss is gentle, tentative, and it takes every ounce of self-restraint that I have
not to deepen it right away. But it feels right that our first kiss should be sweet,
tender, and not born of fumbling, drunken, middle-of-the-night passion. I let him
move his lips against mine slowly and cautiously. I rest one hand on his shoulder,
he cups my cheek with his hand, and it's perfect. It's absolutely perfect.

~*~

A month later, nothing is different.

Except... everything is different.

We still shoot hoops. We still drink beer and tell stories til two in the morning. We
still watch TV and eat Chinese takeout every Thursday.

Sometimes, though, after we play ball, we climb in the shower together and soap
each other up. And after a night of drinking and laughing, we crawl into bed
together and snuggle. On Thursdays, Edward sits on the couch with me instead of
in his favorite recliner. We usually start on opposite ends, but by the time Tina
Fey comes on, his arm is around my shoulders or his head is on my lap.

Not everything is easy. My friends all know what's happening between us, but we
haven't spent any time with Edward's friends-I don't think they know anything
about us. He'll hold my hand in public, but gets uncomfortable when I move to
kiss him. Things that I would've let my roommate get away with suddenly
become troublesome when it's my boyfriend committing the offense; little things
like Edward leaving that stupid bedroom window open bother me more now. It
means we'll sleep in my room again, and I feel like Edward keeps me out of his
room so he can keep his own space pristine while my sheets get jizz on them and
his dirty laundry litters my floor.

We're pretty good at talking shit out, though. No knock-down drag-out fights so
far. For the most part, we had a pretty smooth transition. Edward's actually an
awesome boyfriend, which surprises me a little; he was such a manwhore before
that I worried the relationship stuff would be harder for him than the gay stuff.

Turns out, he's pretty good at both.

One night, that first week, we were kissing on the couch-sharing more of the
sweet, tender kisses he'd been giving me for days. I wanted more. I pulled him
on top of me, arranging his long limbs so he was straddling my lap, and cupped

his face in his hands. He let me deepen the kiss, even darted his tongue out to
meet mine, but his posture was tense, awkward.

"What's wrong, E?" I asked, dropping my hands down to his shoulders. I slid
them down his body, resting one palm on the small of his back and the other on
his hip. His eyes darted down to my thumb where it brushed against his hip bone,
and he shook his head.

"I just feel... I don't know, is this okay?" he asked, shifting uncomfortably on my
lap.

"Is what okay, baby?" I tilted my head in confusion; surely he couldn't be worried
about kissing.

"This," he said, gesturing down at his body. "Sitting on your lap. It just feels kind
of... like, shouldn't you be sitting on my lap?"

"Do you want me to sit on your lap?" I countered, understanding his confusion
now. "Or do you feel like I should be the one sitting in your lap since I'm the
girl?"

"Shit, Jake, you know I don't think you're 'the girl,'" he said, sliding off my lap to
sit next to me on the couch. He leaned forward to grab his bottle of beer and took
a long pull before turning back to me. "It's just that... I don't know. Before, I
never would've sat on someone's lap. So it feels weird to me. I don't know how
this is supposed to work. Isn't there generally, like, a 'top' and a 'bottom'?"

I knew I could get pissy with him for the girl comment, but I was glad he was
asking questions instead of making assumptions. I knew when I got into this that
some things were going to be an adjustment for him.

"Every relationship is different, E. Sometimes there is a very top/bottom,
masculine/feminine thing going on. Sometimes it's more equal," I answered,
wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close again. "Just because
I take it up the ass doesn't mean I can't hold you in my lap if I want to."

He flushed red at my example, and I tried not to laugh.

"We just do what we're comfortable with. I know it's weird for you. Just... I don't
know. Try not to think about what's the guy thing to do, and just think about
what feels good," I suggested, leaning in to kiss down his jawline. "Like this.
Does this feel good?" I asked, flicking my tongue out to swipe against his pulse
point.

"Yeah," he groaned, tilting his head to the side to give me access.

"How 'bout this?" I asked, nibbling gently on his earlobe.

"Uhhh... not as much," he said, chuckling nervously.

"See? Easy. More neck stuff, less ear stuff," I told him. I wrapped an arm around
his waist and pulled him over me again, arranging him the same way he'd been
before. I bent down to kiss and suck at his neck, drag my teeth across his Adam's
apple, and ghost my lips over his jaw. "So how does this feel? Does it feel weird
or good?"

"Good," he panted, scooting closer to me. "So good."

I let my hands roam up and down his back as we kissed. I twisted my fingers in
his hair and pulled his face closer to mine, loving the way he squrimed against
me.

"Shit, Jake," he said, rocking against me to get more friction. I could feel his
erection sliding against mine through our basketball shorts, and I tried to thrust
up against him to match his rhythm. "You feel so fucking good. I'm gonna cum in
my fucking pants again," he grumbled.

"I don't like the sound of that," I told him, slipping my hand under the back of his
t-shirt. My palm was flat against his lower back, guiding him as he moved against
me. "I want you to cum in my mouth," I told him, whispering the words into his
ear before I kissed his neck again.

"Fuck," he moaned, leaning heavily against me. For the first time, I felt his lips
pressing against my own neck, tentatively exploring the sensitive skin there, and
I moaned with him. He was moving too fast, and I worried that he really was
going to cum in his pants. I lifted him off me, pushing him back against the
corner of the sofa.

He was panting and palming his erection, watching me and waiting for my next
move. I slid down to my knees, crawled between his legs, and toyed with the
waistband of his shorts.

"You okay with this?" I asked him, kissing his stomach just above his belly
button. His eyes rolled back into his head and he groaned; I took it as a "yes."

"I've dreamed about this, Edward," I told him, honestly, tugging the shorts and
his underwear down over his hard cock. "Dreamed about sucking your dick ever
since I saw you jerk off for me. I leaned down and took one long, slow lick, from
the base to the plump head at the tip.

"Oh, God," Edward moaned, closing his eyes and throwing his head back in
pleasure.

"Watch me," I begged him, wrapping my fingers around the base of his cock. His
head tilted back down and his eyes opened slowly. I waited for them to meet
mine before I pressed my lips to the head of his dick and swirled my tongue
around in a circle.

Edward cried out again, an indistinguishable whimper of pleasure.

"Touch me," I commanded, holding his dick against my lips, tapping it gently
against my tongue. He wrapped his hand around the back of my neck. When I
was sure he was fully present, fully in the moment with me, I lowered my head
and took him into my mouth.

He rewarded me with a string of curse words, moans, and pleas.

"Jake, oh my God, that feels so fucking good," he cried, his other hand moving to
cup my cheek as I hollowed out my cheeks around his cock.

He didn't last long, but I didn't expect him to; I pulled out all the stops to make it
good for him.

"Gonna... Jake... Jake, I'm gonna cum," he whined, his hips bucking up into my
mouth. I squeezed tighter with my fist and worked him in and out of my mouth
as fast as I could; it only took another minute or so before he was grunting and
writhing and cumming in my mouth.

I swallowed everything he gave me and tried to draw out his orgasm for him.
When his hands fell away from my face, I let his softening cock slip from my
mouth and rested my cheek against his thigh.

"Holy shit," he said, as soon as he was coherent again. "Wow, that was...
amazing."

I grinned, dropping my hand down to squeeze my own aching cock. Edward
spotted my movement and looked me up and down, appraising.

"Jake... I don't know if... I don't know if I'm ready to uh, reciprocate," he said,
nodding towards his crotch.

"It's okay, man. Whatever you feel like doing," I told him, even though a part of
me was hoping that he would be up for trying something.

Edward frowned, considering my words, and then reached down to grab my hand.
He pulled me up into his lap, and I straddled his legs, mirroring our earlier
position.

"I feel like touching you," he said, his hand trailing down my chest. "I feel like
watching you cum for me."

His cheeks were blazing and his hand was shaking a little, but he seemed
determined.

"Anything you want," I promised, groaning when he released my cock from my
shorts. Edward stroked it firmly and grinned, throwing my words back at me.

"Does this feel good?"

Tonight I'm driving across town, nervously checking my mirrors as I fight the
rush hour traffic. Edward texted me this afternoon and asked if I wanted to meet
him and some of his friends for happy hour, and I said yes automatically. Now I
wish I'd asked more questions. Which friends? What do they know?

I pull into the parking lot of an Irish pub, looking for Edward's Volvo. I park next
to him, on the side of the building, and head into the bar. Edward waves from a
booth in the back, and I can feel myself smiling like an idiot as I make my
towards him.

I'm relieved to see at least one familiar face as I get closer; Edward's brother,
Emmett, is sitting across from him, next to a tall, lanky blonde guy.

"Fuckface!" Emmett shouts, standing up to pull me into a hug. He's come to visit
a dozen times, crashing on our couch, and I'm always glad to see him. Emmett's
always up for a good time; we used to plan our parties around his visits, knowing
we'd have more fun with him around. He's known I was gay as long as Edward
has, and he'd never once made me feel like he was uncomfortable in my
presence.

"Hey, good to see you too, asshole," I greet him, thumping him on the back
before he releases me. "Edward didn't tell me you were in town."

"Just here for one night, man," he explains, sliding back into the booth next to
the blonde. I sit down next to Edward, ignoring the urge to kiss him, touch him,
scoot closer. "Got a work thing tomorrow. My boss was supposed to come, but he
pussied out at the last minute. I jumped at the chance to get out of the office for

two days, plus I knew I'd get to see my baby bro. Hey, Jake, do you know
Jasper?" he asks, looking over at the man next to him.

"No, I don't think so," I answer, reaching across the table with my right hand.
"Jacob Black."

"Jasper Whitlock," he says, shaking my hand.

"Jasper went to high school with us," Edward offers. "Now he lives over in
Bellevue with his wife, Alice. She's from Forks, too. How's she doing, by the
way?" he asks, shifting the attention to Jasper.

The waitress comes and takes my drink order, and when I turn back to the
conversation they're all talking about other people they knew in high school. I
just smile and nod, feeling a little out of the loop. Edward's hand sneaks over to
brush against mine under the table, and I squeeze his fingers gratefully.

An hour later, we're all starting to get a little buzzed, and Emmett's telling the
story of how he met his new girlfriend.

"So she's like, a ten, right? Like, perfect body, great ass, nice tits," he says,
drawing an outline of an hourglass in the air with his hands. "Sorry, Jake," he
says, winking in my direction, and I gesture for him to continue.

"And I give her my usual bullshit line about how I was the quarterback at USC,
because girls always fall for that shit, and she says, 'Do I look fucking stupid?
Mark fucking Sanchez was the quarterback in 2008.' I try to backpedal and say I
was a backup QB, but she fucking knew their names too. She didn't even go to
USC. Anyway, man, that's when I knew it was meant to be," he explains,
shrugging his shoulders. "I'm gonna marry that girl."

"When did you meet her?" Jasper asks. He took the words out of my mouth; I'm
surprised that we haven't heard about her before if they're already this serious.

"Last week," Emmett says, his eyes gleaming. We all laugh at him, but he
protests loudly, waving us off: "Seriously, you guys, sometimes you just fucking
know."

I can see Edward nodding out of the corner of my eye, a smile spreading over his
face, and Emmett catches it too.

"What are you grinning about over there, bro? You find yourself a girl worth
seeing more than once?" he asks, grinning at Edward. I shift uncomfortably in my
seat, wondering if there's a fire alarm nearby that I can pull. I steel myself to
hear Edward lie; if he's not ready to tell his family about us, I can't force him into
it. It'll still hurt, though.

"I'm dating someone, yeah," he says, and Emmett's eyes go wide with shock.

"Dating someone? Shit, you skipped right over 'fucking,' 'hanging out with,' and
'seeing.' This girl must be special. What's the deal?" he asks, signaling the
waitress to bring another round of drinks.

I can't do it. I can't listen to him make up a story about some girl he's fucking. I
mumble something about using the restroom and stand up.

But Edward grabs my hand, and pulls me back down.

"I'm with Jake now," he says firmly, looking his brother straight in the eye.

Emmett's jaw drops, and so does mine. I don't know who's more shocked.

"Like... with Jake?" Emmett finally asks, his eyes flickering back and forth
between the two of us.

"Yeah," Edward answers, his voice a little less resolute now. "Like, we're dating.
We're together." I squeeze his hand, desperate to show him my support. I'm
actually pretty desperate to kiss the shit out of him right now, but somehow I
think that might make him more uncomfortable.

Emmett whistles, long and low, and leans back against the worn green leather of
the booth. He looks back and forth between me and Edward, presumably looking
for some sort of clue that would have let him know that we're in a relationship.
Jasper is looking down at the table and fiddling with his phone. He's probably
pretty fucking uncomfortable himself.

"So wait," Emmett asks, shaking his head as though it will clear his mind. "Have
you guys been... together this whole time you've been roommates?"

"No, dude. Just this last month or so," Edward answers, tugging me a little closer
to him.

"Huh." Emmett says, taking another sip of beer. It's quiet for a minute, and
Emmett's brow is furrowed in thought. Finally, looking back at us, he says, "I
guess it makes sense."

Edward and I look at each other, confused.

"Makes sense?" I ask.

"Yeah, I mean, you guys were always like a fucking couple. You like, cook
together and have movie nights and talk about feelings and shit," he says,
shrugging his shoulders again. "Makes sense."

"Is that all you have to say? No freaking out? No jokes?" Edward asks, leaning
forward slightly.

"Nah, man," Emmett says, brushing off Edward's concerns. "Jake's cool. I'm kind
of surprised, I guess, but it's cool. Whatever floats your boat, you know? Even if
it's another boat." He guffaws loudly at his own joke, and Edward rolls his eyes.

"What about you, Jasper? Got anything to say?" Edward asks, and Jasper jolts to
attention.

"What?" he asks, alarmed. "Oh, sorry. I was texting Alice. So you're like, gay
now?" he asks, slipping his phone into his pocket. I tense up at his response;
Edward hasn't exactly uttered those words before, and I think he's been clinging
pretty tightly to his "Jakeosexual" theory.

"I'm with Jake," Edward says, sidestepping the question. "He makes me happy."
Emmett and Jasper accept that response easily, and I tune out their conversation
as the subject changes.

Instead of listening, I think about Edward's non-answer; how it's the first of many
times he's going to be asked the same question. Am I willing to accept it as easily
as his straight friends will? Am I willing to be a gay man with a not-gay
boyfriend?

I guess I am. Because Edward makes me happy. I squeeze his hand again, under
the table, and he squeezes back.

~*~

Chapter Seven: Loving

"Edward, touch me," I beg, spreading my legs wider and pulling my left knee up.
I'm flat on my back, with Edward leaning against my right side, and I'm hoping
he knows what I mean by opening myself to him like this.

"I am touching you," he counters, twisting his palm around the head of my cock.
He ducks his head and kisses me passionately, forcing his tongue into my mouth
as he works his hand up and down my shaft.

"Mmmmm," I moan, lifting my head to steal one more kiss before he pulls away.
"Need more, Edward, please."

We've spent six weeks doing a ton of making out and jerking each other off, but
not much beyond that. I'm happy to go down on Edward on the regular, but he
hasn't been able to return the favor. Earlier tonight he did try something new,
dropping a few kisses up and down my shaft, and I was happy with the
progress... even if he killed me when he pulled away.

I can live without blowjobs-for now-but I'm fucking dying to feel him inside me.

"How, Jake?" he asks, kissing down my shoulder. "How do you need me to touch
you?" He makes it sound sensual, like dirty talk, but I'm pretty sure he's also
asking for instruction.

"Inside me," I tell him, spreading my legs a little wider. He takes a deep, shaky
breath, and his fingers fall away from my cock. I whimper at the loss, but he
doesn't pull his hand away.

Instead he traces little circles on my inner thighs, teasing me there until my legs
are fucking shaking. He drops his hand to cup my balls, weighing them in his
palm and tugging them gently. He lets them go, starts to move lower, and I
realize his hand is relatively dry.

"Wait," I tell him, pausing with a quick peck on his lips. I reach over the bedside
table and pull the drawer open, grabbing a bottle of lube and a condom. I leave
the condom on top of the table and hand the lube to Edward.

He takes it, but he's not looking at it. He's staring at the condom.

"Hey," I tell him, reaching up to cup his jaw. I turn his head away from my
nightstand and force him to look in my eyes. "No pressure. It's just there if we
need it. If we want to. Okay?"

"Okay," he says, leaning down to kiss me again. This time it's tender; an
emotional thank-you-for-going-so-slow kiss.

He arranges himself so he's sitting upright, flips the cap open on the bottle of
lube, and drizzles some onto his fingertips.

I wiggle in anticipation as he drops his hand again, and he smiles down at me and
my desperation.

I feel two slick fingers circling, probing, and I tense up a little.

"Start with one, okay?" I remind him, and he chuckles.

"I know, Jake. Relax," he urges me, reaching up to squeeze my shoulder with his
free hand. In all our hours of late night conversation, he's admitted to having
(and enjoying) anal sex with girls, so I feel pretty good about letting him near my
ass.

His hand on my shoulder drifts over my neck, my collarbones, my chest. The
light, swirling touches make me shiver in anticipation, even as I feel the finger of
his other hand start to press more firmly against me. I can't help but gasp when
it slips inside; it's been so long since I've been filled there, and the fact that it's
Edward, my Edward, makes it so much better.

"God, yes," I tell him, reaching up to touch his shoulder, his neck. I want to be
touching him as much as possible, in every way.

"Feels good?" he asks, but he's smirking a little. I think Edward's been
uncomfortable being the inexperienced one; only when he has me panting and
cumming in his hands do I see the old, cocky Edward come back.

"Really good," I tell him, wiggling against his finger.

I'm about to beg for more, for a second finger, when I notice his movement
slowing down. He's not sliding in and out anymore, just moving his finger inside
me, wiggling it around. His smirk has disappeared and he has an intense look of
concentration on his face-it's kinda funny.

"E, what are you doing?" I ask, trying to stifle a laugh.

"I'm trying to find it," he says, swirling his finger around. I recall Edward's
fascination with the idea of the prostate-he told me that he's never played around
and tried to find his own, so he had no idea how good it can feel. Last week,
instead of trying to explain the feeling, I pulled up a video on my laptop of a guy
having a screaming orgasm without his dick ever being touched. Edward's eyes
turned into saucers as he watched the man beg, scream, and cry in pleasure.

"Try to touch me here," I guide him, resting my finger against the base of my
cock. His finger starts to slip out, and I correct him. "No, inside. Just pretend like
our fingers are magnets."

He gets it then, and starting exploring again.

"It feels like a little bump, I guess, like a ball," I guide him, moaning as I feel a
second finger start pressing against me from the outside. "You'll know it when
you- oh, fuck!"

He found it.

"Right there?" he asks, his face lit up with a grin.

"Yes," I hiss, my hand drifting to my cock. I wrap my fingers around it, but
Edward swats my hand away.

"No," he says, "I wanna play." He pushes a second finger inside and I wince at
the good, tight, stretchy feeling. He works both fingers in and out, hooking them
slightly so they drag against my prostate, making me moan like a little bitch.

He's getting closer to me as he works, no longer sitting upright. His long, lean
body is pressed up against mine, and I can feel his dick pressing against my leg.

"God, E, I can feel how fucking hard you are," I groan, lifting my head a few
inches so we can kiss. There's nothing hesitant about this kiss, it's deep and
thorough and so fucking satisfying.

Edward is grinding against my thigh, slowly, and I can feel his fingers moving
apart, scissoring inside me, stretching me. Preparing me.

"Baby, do you want to?" I ask him, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling
him close. "Do you want to fuck me? It's okay if you're not ready... but God, I
fucking want you."

"I want you, too," he says, nodding his head. A soft lock of his hair brushes
against my forehead, and he tilts his head to kiss me sweetly. "It feels... right."

My heart fucking swells, knowing he's happy with me, with us, with this.

Edward pulls his fingers from me, and I wince at the loss. I feel way too empty
now. He leans across to grab the condom from my nightstand and flops onto his
back to open it. I kiss him as he rolls it down his cock, covering his neck and his
chest in little kisses. I grab the lube away from him and pour some into my palm
before wrapping it around his cock.

He grunts and gasps as I stroke him firmly, coating him with lube. "Jake, how do
you want... how do you want to do this?" he asks, turning on his side to face me.

"Just like this," I tell him, letting go of his dick and urging him up. He complies,
climbing over my leg and settling between my knees.

"Do you need more?" he asks, his still-slick fingers sliding between my cheeks.

"No, I'm ready," I tell him. "Just... just kiss me, again," I beg, hoping it doesn't
sound too pathetic. He doesn't laugh at me, though, or blanch at my request. He
bends over, his slick cock brushing against mine, and kisses me fiercely.

I can feel the emotion in it, and it chokes me up.

He kisses me for so long that I wonder if he's forgotten what we're doing here.

When he pulls away, finally, he rests his forehead against mine for a moment,
breathing heavily. "Jake," he says. "Jake..."

He's nervous.

"It's okay, baby," I tell him, stroking his cheek. "We can go slow. Or we can stop,
we don't have to do this," I assure him. My dick is protesting that idea, but I
know we'll regret it if we rush things.

"I've just never..." he says, shaking his head slowly, his nose brushing mine.
"I've never done this with someone that means so much to me. With someone...
that I love." My heart lurches at his confession. I didn't think this moment could
be any better, any more perfect, but it is-I've never felt more sure that we're
meant to do this. To love each other this way.

"It'll be so good, Edward," I promise him, blinking away my tears. "Everything
with you feels perfect. Amazing. Every kiss," I tell him, pressing my lips to his
cheek. "Every touch," I add, letting my fingers grip his shoulder and then trail

lightly down his back. "Everything about you." I punctuate that by thrusting my
hips up against his, and he groans as I move against him.

"So good," he echoes, kissing the corner of my mouth before he leans back,
sitting up on his knees. He looks down and lines us up, scooting forward just an
inch before pressing the head of his cock against me.

He watches, fascinated, as his dick pushes inside me. I can't tear my eyes away
from his face, watching him bite his lip as we come together.

"Christ, Jake, you're so fucking tight," he says, reaching up with one hand to
push the hair out of his eyes. He's sweating with the effort of going so slowly, of
pushing into me an inch at a time.

"You feel perfect, baby," I tell him, spreading my knees a little wider for him.

He stays on his knees until he's fully seated, until every inch of him is inside me,
and then he falls forward to kiss me again. His kisses are sloppier this time,
desperate, needy.

"C'mon, please," I beg him, shifting my hips underneath him. "Fuck me, Edward.
I need you to."

He groans and drops his head against my shoulder.

"It's too good, it's too much," he says. "I'm gonna cum so fast."

"It's fine, E, it's fine. Don't worry about that. I want you to feel good," I promise,
running my fingers through his hair. "Just please, just... fucking move, please?"

Edward lifts himself up a little them, resting on his left elbow and gripping my
shoulder with his right hand. He pulls back slowly, and I watch his eyelids flutter
as he feels my body trying to hold him in.

"Fuck," he groans, pushing back in slowly. Too slowly, for my taste-it's like
fucking torture-but I know he needs to go at his own pace.

He moves just like that for a few minutes, slowly and carefully, with his face
buried against my shoulder. It feels good, but it's not enough.

"Edward, I need you to... I need it harder, baby, please," I beg, trying fruitlessly
to speed up our rhythm. I don't have any leverage like this, though, and I'm just
straining against him.

"Harder?" he says, sitting up on his knees again. "Or faster?"

"Yes," I answer, nodding very seriously. He smiles, resting his hands on top of
my knees.

"Like this?" he asks, thrusting into me, taking my breath away.

"Fuck, yes," I tell him, gasping and reaching down to wrap my fingers around my
cock.

Edward likes harder. He relaxes a little when he realizes he's not going to blow
his load immediately, and I get to watch his muscles tense and flex as he puts
some force into his thrusts.

"Am I hitting it?" he asks. I tilt my head in confusion, and then I realize what he
means.

"No, baby," I answer, honestly. "You would know."

He frowns and his rhythm falters just a little.

"It's okay, though, it's okay. It still feels good, it feels amazing," I assure him.
But he's fucking determined.

He hooks his elbow under my knee and pushes it back, folding it up against my
chest. He leans backwards and tilts himself forward, trying different angles,
watching my face.

"Holy shit!" I yelp, bucking my hips against his. He's found it; the perfect angle,
the perfect position. I can feel every inch of him sliding in and out of me, and the
thick head of his cock nudging my spot with every thrust.

"That's it, isn't it?" he gasps, panting with exertion and excitement.

"Yes, oh fuck, yes," I moan, my hand flying faster over my own cock, swollen and
needy and about to erupt. "Gonna make me cum, baby," I warn him, sucking in a
deep breath.

"Me too," he says. "Fuck. Me too, Jake. Fucking cum with me, please, " he begs,
slamming into me over and over again. I couldn't hold off if I tried.

I can feel my own cum spilling out onto my hand and my stomach, but the
orgasm feels like it's coming from deeper inside me. It's like my whole body is
shaking, tensing, exploding. I can hear my own voice but I have no idea what I'm
saying-my brain seems to have temporarily shut down. All I can feel is Edward
over me, inside me, on top of me.

He says my name when he cums. Screams it.

When it's over, when we're both spent and sweaty and sticky, he pulls out and
collapses on top of me.

"Wow," he says, his face buried in my shoulder again.

"Yeah," I answer, not able to find the words to tell him how I feel. Not just yet.

He rolls off of me, onto his back, and my body follows him automatically. I curl
into his side and he tucks me under his arm, holding me close. We lie like that for
a few minutes, until we both catch our breath. Edward strokes my back lazily and
I drop tiny, reverent little kisses on his chest.

"It's definitely better," he says, finally, breaking the silence. He kisses my
forehead, and I look up at him.

"With a guy?" I ask.

"With you," he says. "With someone I love," he clarifies, his eyes flickering
around my face. He looks really fucking vulnerable, and I realize that I didn't say
it back to him before. I feel like I've been loving him so long he should just know.
I think those words a thousand times a day.

But he doesn't just know. He needs to hear it, too.

"I love you," I tell him, tracing his lips with the tip of my finger.

They curl up slowly, into my favorite smile.

"Love you too, Jake," he says.

~*~

It's not the first time someone's called Edward a faggot.

Hell, the first time was probably 15 years ago, on a playground, playing
basketball with some other little kids that didn't even really know what the word
meant. They just knew it was mean.

At my high school, guys threw words like that around like they meant nothing:
"You coming to the party, queer?" "Stop being such a fag and drink it." "This
faggot over here called his mom to tell her he's going to be late."

I got into a lot of fights in high school.

I don't hear it much anymore now that I live in a city... now that I've packed on
forty pounds of muscle.

Edward and I got called fags a few times when we were roommates. Loading
groceries into the car at Costco, walking home from a club together, marching
defiantly in a demonstration for equal rights. He let it roll off his back then. He
kept me calm, told me to ignore it. Told me that those people were ignorant and
what they said didn't matter.

It's not the first time someone's called Edward a faggot.

But it is the first time someone's called him a faggot since he started dating me.
Kissing me, loving me, fucking me.

We're at the farmer's market, looking for some goddamn ridiculous herb that
Edward wants to try, and he's getting annoyed because he can't find it.

"I swear, it was here fucking last week," he grumbles.

"Why didn't you buy it fucking last week?" I tease. He rolls his eyes at me.

"Shut it," he says, but I can tell he's not mad. He pushes me aside, wiggles his
way between me and the display, and continues poking through the poorly
labeled herbs for sale.

He's so close to me that I can't resist-I do it on instinct. Just one little kiss, one
little brush of my lips on the back of his neck. I know he gets nervous about PDA,
but he likes this kiss. He shudders and inhales sharply. Just as I'm thinking about
teasing him some more, dragging him home, and kissing every inch of his neck
and his shoulders, I hear it.

"Get a room, faggots," a man spits, the hatred in his voice making the word even
more bitter than usual.

Edward turns to face him, and I place a steadying hand on his lower back. He's
angry. He's fucking furious.

He throws the first punch.

Last night we covered some new ground. We've covered a lot of fucking new
ground in the four months we've been together, but this was big. Uncharted
waters.

We were sitting on Edward's bed in our boxers, playing the new Mortal Kombat
game on his PS3. I was kicking his ass.

It was fun. We were joking around, taunting each other, talking shit. He kept
trying to elbow me and throw me off my game, but I retaliated by smacking the
controller out of his hand every chance I got. I egged him on. Edward likes
competition-it makes him horny. It makes him... aggressive. I fucking love it
when he's all sexy and demanding.

When the game was over and Edward conceded in a huff, he turned off the TV
and tossed his controller to the floor.

"So do you wanna grab dinner, or-" I asked, but he interrupted me. Tackled me.
Kissed me.

He covered his body with mine, squeezing roughly at my shoulders, my sides, my
ass. He pulled away, leaving me gasping for breath, just long enough to say,
"Fuck dinner."

I twisted my fingers in his hair and pulled his face down to my neck.

"I fucking love how horny you get when we play video games," I told him,
spreading my legs to make room for him. He was already so fucking hard-when
he thrust against me I could feel my dick catching up.

He kissed down my throat, over my collarbone, and down my chest. He lingered
at my nipples, pinching and twisting at one while he sucked on the other.

"Feels so good," I told him, writhing underneath him already. The way he was
kissing down my body made me desperate for his mouth. He had eased himself
into blowjobs slowly, but he was getting pretty fucking good at it.

At first he'd just given my cock a few kisses while he jerked me off, just little
innocent pecks. I didn't push him, just waited for him to explore on his own. I
gave him a lot of fucking feedback though-the first time he wrapped his lips
around the head of my dick, I used every swear word known to man. I told
Edward he was a fucking god and he made me feel like one too.

"Bite it," I begged him, pushing him down against my nipple. He complied,
nipping and sucking as his hands got more adventurous, slipping underneath the
waistband of my boxers.

He pulled them down slowly as his lips trailed down my stomach. There was no
hesitation, just hunger in his eyes when he reached my dick and started lapping
at it with his tongue.

"Want me to bite this, too?" he asked, playfully, scraping his teeth so lightly
against the sensitive head.

"You better not fucking bite me," I warned, wrapping my hand around the base of
my cock. I stroked it lightly while Edward licked and sucked at the head.

"Don't wanna bite you," he said, tapping his tongue against the underside. "Want
you to cum so hard you fucking pass out."

He batted my hand away then, hooking two of his own fingers around my cock
and angling it just right before taking it into his mouth. "Christ, Edward, that feels
so fucking good," I told him, tightening my fingers in his hair.

I grabbed another pillow and stuck it under my head with my free hand, propping
myself up so I could watch him. So hot, so beautiful, so fucking sexy when he
closed his eyes and concentrated hard on taking me deeper.

His free hand was on my chest, scratching at me lightly, idly circling my nipple
with his finger. I tossed my head to the side, overwhelmed with sensation when
he pinched me there. When I opened my eyes, I got an idea.

There was a bottle of lube sitting on Edward's nightstand.

I reached over and grabbed it, opened it quietly, and poured a little in my palm. I
let go of Edward's hair, lifted his free hand from my chest, and wrapped my slick
palm around two of his fingers. He looked up at me, startled, but he didn't stop
sucking.

"Touch me?" I asked, lifting my left knee. I pulled it back, opening myself up to
him, and Edward's rhythm slowed as he adjusts. I let go of his fingers and
watched him drag his hand down my body, watched it disappear between my
legs.

It was a little bit stunted at first, and Edward had to release my cock so he could
concentrate on pushing into me gently. Once he penetrated me with one finger
and eased a second into me, he held them still while he started sucking me
again, getting his rhythm back.

"God, yes," I sighed, my body moving automatically with Edward's ministrations.
He found a rhythm pretty fast; up and in, down and out. He worked me slowly,
building me up until I was panting, screaming, begging him to make me cum.

"Please, Edward, please, fuck!" I cried, thrusting up into his mouth. He curled his
fingertips inside me, dragging them against the spot he had grown to know so
well, and bobbed his head wildly. When my orgasm hit me I twisted both of my
hands in his hair roughly and screamed through it.

I was floating, afterward. So fucking high from cumming that hard. Edward kissed
up my body, reached over the side of the bed and wiped his hand on a discarded
t-shirt. I couldn't move, so I just laid back and let him kiss me, touch me softly,
until I came back to Earth.

When I opened my eyes again, he looked nervous. Apprehensive.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey," he echoed, smiling at me. I lifted my head, puckered my lips, invited him
to kiss me. When he stretched his body out next to mine, I could feel how hard
he still was.

"I think it's your turn," I whispered, reaching down to palm his erection. "After
that performance, baby, I'll do anything you want. You want me to suck your
cock?" I asked, squeezing him gently as I kissed at his neck.

"I want..." he started, and then paused. Swallowed. Ducked his head into my
shoulder. "I want you to do that to me," he whispered.

"Suck you off?" I asked, surprised at his sudden shyness. All of his aggression
and confidence from before was gone.

"Yeah," he said. "And uh, the other thing, too..."

Oh.

Oh!

The one thing that had been completely off the table until then was Edward's ass.
He flipped out when I just brushed my fingers between his cheeks once, and I'd
left it alone since then.

"You sure, baby?" I asked him, not wanting to jump into something new unless
he's completely on board.

"Jake, when I do it to you... Christ, you cum so fucking hard. I can see it," he
said, and I nodded in acknowledgement. "I wanna feel it too," he admitted.

I grinned, reached up, and pulled him down to me for a kiss. He pulled away after
a second though, to clarify what he wanted. "Just your finger," he said, holding
up his index finger and adding, "One."

"Got it," I told him, pushing him back against the pillow. I distracted him with my
lips, kissing him senseless until the tension and the embarrassment melted away.
I kissed and licked over every square inch of his abs, his hipbones, his upper
thighs, carefully ignoring the throbbing, purple head of his cock.

"Jake, come on, please," he whined, eventually grabbing the back of my head
and trying to guide me to where he needed me. I pushed his knee back,
spreading him open for me in the same position I'd been in.

I was careful and slow as I took him into my mouth, not wanting to build him up
too fast. I wanted him to get the full effect. I dragged out the blowjob, licking,
kissing, exploring. I teased his balls, weighing them in my hand, and tickled the
skin beneath them with my finger. Tentatively, I let it slip further down until I
was tracing his hole.

This is where he flipped out before, but now he just groans in pleasure. Pushes
against me. Moans my name.

I teased him some more, circling around his entrance, dragging my finger back
up to his balls and then down again.

I had him so lost that he didn't seem to notice my hands moving or the click of
the cap as I opened the lube again.

He jumped a little when he felt my finger return, slick and more insistent,
between his cheeks. I distracted him by sucking hard, hollowing out my cheeks
around him, and humming.

That time I made smaller, tighter circles with my finger, spreading some of the
wetness around. I pushed in so gently, just barely stretching him with the tip of
my finger, and he hissed.

"It's okay," he said, "I'm okay." I didn't know if that was for me or for his own
reassurance, but I took him at his word.

I worked my finger in and out slowly, so slowly, just a quarter of an inch at a
time. His ass was so fucking tight, so fucking hot, but I could feel him slowly start
to relax around my finger.

When it was in, all the way in, I started moving my mouth faster, harder, in the
long, deep strokes that Edward prefers.

"Yeah, oh yeah, God that's good, Jake," he said, one hand tugging at his hair and
the other hand in mine.

I curled my finger slightly, moved it in an out a little more vigorously, and felt for
the little spot that would drive Edward insane.

I expected him to swear or to shout when I found it, but he didn't. His body
tensed, his hips bucked up into my mouth, and he fucking cried.

"Jacob, oh God!" he sobbed, his face twisted in pleasure. "Don't stop, please," he
begged, his whole body quivering.

I didn't stop. I pushed him higher and kept him there, savoring his gasps and
moans and little yelps of "Jake" and "yes" and "fuck."

When his body took over and started to tremble, when his ass started clenching
tighter around my finger, I let him fall. I sucked him deep into my mouth and
swallowed around the head of his dick, fucking him furiously with my finger at the
same time.

He came for minutes, hours, days. He filled my mouth, gave me so much to
swallow, and I took it all. He clawed at his own chest and tugged at my hair,
thrashing through it all before he fell back against his pillow, spent.

I pulled my finger out of him slowly, carefully. I let his cock fall from my lips and
kissed it as it softened against his thigh. He was still panting as I wiped up with
the same t-shirt Edward had used earlier.

I scooted up to the head of the bed, pulled him close, and kissed his forehead.

"Wow," he mumbled, falling limp against my chest. "That was... fuck, that was
awesome."

"Love you," I whispered, kissing his temple.

"Love you too," he murmured, curling into me, soft and sweet.

But that was last night, when we were alone and snuggled up in Edward's bed.

Right now he's punching some redneck, straddling his chest, breaking his glasses.

"Shut the fuck up!" Edward shouts, and he struggles against me as I try to pull
him up and off the guy. He stopped putting up a fight, just laid there as Edward
beat the shit out of him, and he looks like he's gonna have two black eyes
tomorrow.

"Let me go!" Edward says, pushing me away. "Did you hear that motherfucker?"

"Yeah, I heard him, Ed," I say, wrapping one arm around his chest. I twist his
right hand behind his back, trying to restrain him and drag him away before the
cops show up.

"Didn't you fucking hear him, J? Let me go kick his ass. Hateful fucking bigoted
motherfucker," he spits.

"He's not worth it, baby," I tell him, pulling him further away from the guy.
Finally, he stops fighting me and relaxes. "Let's just go home, come on," I
prompt him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

He shrugs it off, he pulls away.

He walks with me to the car, but he keeps his distance. No fingers brushing
together, no playful elbows to the side, no eye contact.

He doesn't look at me the whole way home.

~*~

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."

~*~

Don't lose who you are, in the blur of the stars

Seeing is deceiving, dreaming is believing

It's okay not to be okay.

Sometimes it's hard, to follow your heart

Tears don't mean you're losing, everybody's bruising

Just be true to who you are.

-Jessie J, "Who You Are"

"Jake, is everything okay?"

"No," I breathe, shaking my head slowly. I lift it from my knees, so I can look
into his eyes, and I can tell that he's genuinely worried.

He closes the distance between us, sits next to me on the bed, and wraps one
arm around my shoulders.

"Jacob... talk to me, you look really upset," he says, pressing his lips to my
shoulder. I can't be this close to him and say what I need to say, so I shrug him
off, scoot to the center of the bed, and cross my legs under me. Edward's eyes
are wide, watching me move away from him, and I see them flicker nervously to
his laptop.

"Yeah," I tell him, acknowledging that I saw what was on his computer. He opens
his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. "It's okay, I'm not mad. I mean, you have
really shitty taste in porn, but I'm not mad."

"Jake, you need to listen. Jasper sent me those links. That girl? We went to high
school with her. He just thought I'd want to see it out of curiosity," Edward says,
reaching out to grip my knee. "I swear, you can read my email. I just watched it
to see if it was really Jessica."

I can tell that he's telling the truth. It comforts me a little, to know that he wasn't
seeking it out, but it doesn't change anything.

"But you liked it," I tell him, softly. "You were watching this before I came home
and it made you... it turned you on."

Edward shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest defensively. "I guess... I
mean I wasn't jerking off or anything, but it's porn. It made my dick hard."

"It's straight porn," I correct him, staring down at my knees. He cuts me off
almost immediately.

"Well I'm fucking-" he says, stopping abruptly in the middle of his sentence. I lift
my eyes to meet his. It's quiet for a minute, and I give him time to make up an
end to the sentence, to say something other than what we both know he was
going to say, but he doesn't.

"Straight, right? That's what you were gonna say," I prompt. He shakes his head,
but his mouth stays closed. He drops his head to his hands and hides his face for
a minute before sliding his fingers up into his hair.

"I don't know." His voice is quiet, sad, strained.

"Yeah, you do. You like girls," I tell him, adding in a whisper, "and I'm not a girl."

He goes from sad and vulnerable to angry in the time it takes me to blink.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Jacob? I like girls, but I fucking love you. Jesus, are
you seriously telling me you doubt that right now?" He's practically shouting, and
his anger stirs mine.

"I know you love me, but I also know I'm never going to be enough for you! If
you stay with me, you can't be a 'straight guy' for the rest of your life!" I shout
back, scrambling to get off the bed, to get some distance. I pace the length of
the room, my hand rubbing the back of my neck, trying to catch my breath. "I'm
never gonna make you happy, not in the long run. It's not gonna work. You're
gonna leave me," I tell him, leaning back against the far wall, dropping my eyes
to the floor.

"Bullshit," he says, quietly.

"What?"

"I said bullshit!" he yells. He jumps off the bed and strides over to me quickly,
purposefully. "That's bullshit and you fucking know it. You make me happy every
goddamn day; you're just making excuses. I changed everything for you, Jacob.
Everything! Do you know how long my longest relationship was before we got
together? Two fucking weeks." Edward leans into me, slamming one palm against
the wall beside my head.

"You know I'd never even thought about another man like this. And then
everything that happened with us... when you saw me jerking off, and then that
first night, in your bed... fuck, I was so fucking confused, but it felt so good, and
it finally felt right. I'd never had all these fucking feelings attached to sex before,
and it scared the crap out of me," he confesses. His voice is starting to waver and
his eyes are watering, but he still looks angry.

"Edward, I-"

"No, just fucking let me talk," he spits. "I couldn't reconcile it. I wasn't gay, so it
didn't make sense. I fucking tortured myself trying to figure out what was so
wrong with me, that I could be attracted to girls and still be fucking falling in love
with you."

I reach out to touch him, because I need him closer. His words are breaking my
heart, and my resolve. I wrap my hand around his hip and try to pull him to me,
but he won't budge.

"But I did it, Jake. I made sense of it, I made it fucking work. I swallowed my
pride and my fear and I dove into a relationship with you because... because
you're it. You're my person, the one person that has ever made me feel this
happy, or crazy, or turned on."

"And now... now you're telling me that you don't think it's gonna work? Because
I'm too straight? You're telling me that you don't think you can make me happy
when you're the only person who ever has? That's bullshit, Jake, you know it.

This is your issue, not mine." His words cut into me, exposing my fear and my
insecurity and making me feel small.

"I just... fuck, E," I tell him, wrapping my other hand around his waist, fighting to
pull him closer. I manage to bring his body closer to mine, but he holds himself
rigidly and refuses to lean into me. "Edward, I'm just so fucking scared that I'm
gonna lose you. That if you're not sure that you're gay, you're not sure about
me... and I'm gonna lose you."

"Jake, if I said to you right now 'I suddenly don't find women attractive anymore,
ever, I'm one hundred percent gay,' it's still no fucking guarantee that we'll be
happy forever. You're not being logical. If I swear off girls, what's to say I won't
leave you for another guy?" he asks, pulling away, twisting out of my grasp. The
thought makes me sick to my stomach. Edward leaving me for a girl is bad
enough, but the idea of him with another guy? I couldn't take it.

"Maybe I'm just... afraid of you leaving me either way," I tell him. Edward turns,
walks back to his bed, and sits at the head of it, leaning against his headboard. I
follow him, hoping he won't turn me away, and sit at the edge of the mattress,
facing him.

"What have I done to make you think I'm leaving? Because this is the longest
relationship I've ever had, and I thought it was going pretty fucking well. I don't
know where all this doubt is coming from," he says, sounding defeated.

I suck in a deep breath, trying to relieve some of the tension in my body. I scoot
a little closer to Edward and wrap my hand around his ankle under his soft, brown
khakis, needing some kind of connection with him.

"At the farmer's market," I tell him, and he turns his head towards the window,
breaking eye contact. "You seemed... you were so angry, and I thought you were
ashamed, and I guess it felt like... it felt inevitable then, that you would leave
because you couldn't come to terms with being gay."

Edward swallows, and I can see one single tear fall from his eye. He wipes it
away roughly, quickly, before he speaks.

"I was ashamed of how I reacted. How out of control I was. Yeah, I guess I was
embarrassed when he called us... when he said what he said. I just reacted
without thinking, and then I felt guilty for being embarrassed," he admits.
"Jake... all of this... trying to figure out who I am and how to like, define myself...
it's been really fucking hard for me. And I felt like... I felt like I couldn't ask you
for help, because it would make you doubt me."

He looks so hurt, so fucking sad right now, and I know it's because I've proved
him right. He's been doubting himself, struggling to find his way, and I've just
made it worse.

"I just don't know how we have a future," I tell him honestly. "If you're always
going to be thinking about what you're missing out on, you know?"

"But that's the thing, baby," he tells me, leaning towards me. "I'm not thinking
about what I'm missing. I'm not missing anything. You meet all of my needs,
every single fucking one. I mean, yeah, I got a little turned on by watching that
stupid video, but I didn't like, jerk off to it in secret or run out to fuck some girl. I
came to you."

"You weren't hard, after. You lost it while you were blowing me," I challenge him,
embarrassed to admit that I'd noticed, that it hurt my pride. He laughs, a low

chuckle, and reaches out to wrap his hand around mine, so we're both clinging to
his ankle.

"Jake, notice anything different about what I'm wearing?" he says, and I look him
up and down. Brown pants, t-shirt from a concert we went to two years ago. I
figured he'd changed out of his old jeans to go to the store.

"I came while I was sucking your dick," he says, his ears and his cheeks filling
with color as he admits it. "Just from... from feeling you and watching you."

"You did?" I ask, incredulous. He nods, blushing harder, and looks down at his
hand covering mine.

"You always... you just have this effect on me," he says. "You drive me crazy.
And it's not going away, Jacob. I need you to trust me," he pleads.

"I do trust you," I interrupt.

"No, you don't. You don't trust me to choose you. But I've always chosen you,
Jake. I'm not gonna stop now," he insists. "Look, I just... I can't honestly go out
and proclaim to the world that I'm gay. Maybe someday I will, but I don't know
for sure. And I can't promise that I won't ever look at a girl and think that she's
hot. But fuck, you can't say that you're never gonna look at some other guy,
right?"

I shrug, unable to deny his logic.

"Do I... do I make you happy?" he asks, quiet and tentative. "Do you still want
me?" His uncertainty hurts, makes me realize how much I've fucked this up. As
much as I've been feeling insecure, Edward's been going through the same
questions, but it must be worse for him. I've been out since high school, and I
knew I was gay for a long time before that. But for Edward to be questioning his
identity, the sense of self that he'd been building for his whole life, and worrying
about my reaction at the same time... it must have been impossibly hard, and
I've only been concerned with myself.

"Of course, baby," I tell him, sitting up on my knees. I reach for him, wrap my
arms around his shoulders and hug him hard. "I always want you. You make me
so happy, when I'm not being an idiot."

Edward folds his legs underneath him and rises up on his knees, too, so he can
hug me back. We hold each other, kneeling together on the bed, and he whispers
that he loves me.

"I love you, too," I tell him, turning my head to kiss him.

But he ducks his head and pulls away from my lips. Because he's not done talking
yet.

"I need... Jake, I need to know that you choose me over the label. You're more
important to me than being straight, or gay, or whatever. You're more important
to me than any woman or man could ever be. I need to know if you're okay with
that. I need you to choose me," he pleads.

I don't even have to think about it. I know that if we can talk about this and get
through it, that we can talk about anything. That what I have with Edward means
more to me than what anyone else thinks.

"I want you. I choose you. You're my person, too," I tell him, holding him
impossibly closer. I try to kiss him again, but he tilts his head back, still avoiding
me.

"And you have to promise me that you'll talk to me or something if you get
worried about shit instead of trying to push me away," he says, squeezing me
tightly.

"I promise," I tell him. "And you promise to come talk to me if you're feeling
confused or embarrassed or whatever, and we'll talk about that shit, too."

"I will," he says, dropping his head, burying his face in my neck. "Jake,
remember when we started fooling around? You told me to let go of what I
thought was the "manly" thing to do and just do what feels good? I think that's
what we need to do."

"Fool around?" I ask, and I can feel the apple of his cheek brush my skin when he
smiles against me.

"I just mean that we should do what feels right to us and not think about whether
it's straight or gay. We can just be... us," he says, rubbing small circles on my
lower back. It's awkward, kneeling with him like this, so I flop down onto the bed
and pull him down with me. I land on my back, with Edward held tightly against
my side.

"I think that sounds great, baby, but I have to tell you that it won't be easy.
People are gonna try to put you in one box or the other, and you'll be forced to
figure out what you want to call yourself. To friends, to family, to new people we
meet," I tell him, honestly. "And my friends are gonna want to know why my
boyfriend has a subscription to Playboy."

He laughs a little, resting his chin on my chest so he can look up into my eyes. "It
really does have good articles, I swear," he says. "But things will be okay, right?
If we talk about it? And try to have a sense of humor about shit?"

"Yeah, I think it'll be okay," I say. I'm answering his question, but I think I'm
reassuring myself, too. That despite all my worrying, all my fucking insecurity, I
really can make this relationship work. Because it's Edward. My best friend, my
boyfriend, the one person who has always supported me. I'm overwhelmed with
the need to tell him that I love him in a million different ways, starting with one.

"Can I fucking kiss you now?" I ask, tangling my fingers in the hair at the back of
his head.

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkle all adorably, and he leans up to brush
his lips against mine. "My Jacob," he whispers, just before pressing his lips more
firmly to mine. The kiss is long and deep, sweet and tender, but with an
undeniable spark of passion and the promise of something more.

Seven Years Later...

I'm driving too fast, weaving through traffic, trying to get to the restaurant on
time.

The little pink bag is wobbling on the seat beside me, taunting me and my
nerves. I think I'd be shaking a little bit too if my hands weren't wrapped tightly
around the steering wheel of my new Jetta.

I left the present at home, and had to drive all the way back to pick it up. I'm
nervous enough about today, the last thing I want to do is walk in late.

When I get there, finally, I jump out of the car. I'm halfway to the front door
before I realize my hands are fucking empty, and I have to walk back to the
parking lot to get the little gift bag. I breathe deeply and take a second to steel
my nerves.

Gift bag in hand, I make my way back to the restaurant. It's closed to the public,
open only for the private party. A baby shower.

I round the corner and look through the large plate glass windows lining the
sidewalk. I can see the tables set with party favors and festive little decorations,
a huge white cake in the corner, and two servers filling up goblets with ice water.

And I see Edward.

He looks... amazing. He's wearing dark gray trousers and a royal blue sweater. I
watch his muscled forearm appear as he pushes the sleeves of his sweater up. I
watch as he twists the band on his left ring finger, a nervous habit. I watch as he
lays his hands so carefully, so reverently on Leah's belly.

He bends over slightly, grinning at the baby bump.

He looks happy. The happiest I've ever seen him. He looks... like he has
everything he could ever want.

My heart swells with emotion, almost too much for me to bear, and I have to look
away.

I take another deep breath and make my way to the entrance, ignoring the signs
telling me it's closed. I push the door open and walk in, ducking out of the way as
a server passes by with a tray full of little sandwiches.

"Excuse me," I tell him, flattening myself against the wall. Edward looks up when
he hears my voice, and his eyes meet mine. His eyes light up and his smile
stretches even wider.

"Jake!" he says, calling to me, as if I haven't seen him. As if my eyes don't seek
him out first in every room I enter.

I wave with my right hand, the one holding the little gift bag, and he rolls his
eyes at me. Leah looks up then, knocking Edward's hands away from her belly.

"Jacob, your baby daddy will not leave me alone," she whines, crossing her arms
over her chest and resting them on her protruding stomach.

"Sorry, Leah," I tell her, setting the gift bag gently on the table behind her. I
duck down to kiss her cheek before circling around her to pull Edward into my
arms. "I should've warned you that he was handsy," I tease, tightening my grip
on him and leaning in for a hello kiss.

"I'll show you handsy," he growls, wrapping both arms around my waist. The tone
of his voice pushes the kiss from hello to hell yes a little too quickly, and I lose
myself in him. He shaved just before we left the house this morning, and I can
still smell the minty aftershave he used.

Leah has to break us apart.

"Jesus, get a room, fuckers," she says, punching me in the arm.

"C'mon, Leah, language. The baby can hear you, you know," I remind her. She
shrugs and turns away from us, snapping her fingers at a server passing by with
another tray of hors d'oeuvres.

"Look, if you guys wanted a cursing-free pregnancy, you should've asked little
Suzie Sunshine to be your surrogate," she informs us, gathering up a few mini
quiches and stacking them on a napkin in her hand.

Alice is here, somewhere, buzzing around and getting everything set for the
party-she manages this restaurant and offered to throw the shower for us. She
and Jasper have become great friends to both of us, but they've been busy trying
to have a child of their own.

When Edward and I decided to have a kid, we talked about a dozen different
options. Public adoptions, private adoptions, surrogates, egg donors... the
different ways to make a family are kind of dizzying.

In the end, we decided that we want what a lot of traditional straight couples
want; a kid that looks a little bit like each of us.

My sister Rebecca agreed to donate an egg; that way we could fertilize it with
Edward's sperm and get a reasonably close genetic mash-up of the two of us.
Rebecca offered to carry the baby, too, but she lived in Hawaii; moving wasn't
feasible for either of us, and we didn't like the idea of being so far away from her
while she was pregnant.

We were discussing our dilemma after Thanksgiving dinner at my aunt's house
two years ago when a tipsy Leah graciously offered to be our surrogate. Her
actual words were something like, "You two can put that kid in me if you want."

Her drunken offer at Thanksgiving didn't inspire a lot of confidence, but she called
us a week later and expressed a sincere desire to help. She'd been my closest
cousin growing up, and we'd always had each others' backs.

It has been long road of discussing, negotiating, wrestling with insurance, finding
the right doctor, and waiting patiently for test results.

But it did happen. It's real. We're gonna have a little baby girl in two months, one
who's a little bit Edward and a little bit me. Leah's done an amazing job of
keeping her safe and helping her grow. As much as she grumbles and complains,
I know she's been extremely careful and conscientious, even when it comes to
Edward's obsession with organic food.

"You ready for this?" Edward asks, lacing his fingers through mine. I survey the
room, watching as Alice and her staff finish up the last-minute details. Leah
wanders off in search of more mini quiche, and I can spot Edward's parents
making their way up the sidewalk. Carlisle's arms are heavily laden with gift bags
and Esme's carrying a ridiculously huge package that looks like... like a cake,
made entirely out of diapers. Jesus.

"I guess I'd better be, huh? Looks like Nana and Pop-Pop cleaned out Babies R
Us," I tease him, using the pet names his parents had decided on months ago.

"Shut up and enjoy it," he says, elbowing me in the side. "I can't believe you
forgot Leah's present!" he adds, nodding at the little pink bag I'd left at home.

"I can't believe I didn't get a speeding ticket trying to get back here in time," I
tell him.

"You really think she'll accept it?" he asks.

"Either she'll feel pressured from everyone watching her and accept it easily, or
she'll throw a huge fucking fit and cause a scene in the middle of our shower.
Either way, she's not driving that piece of shit back and forth to the rez
anymore," I promise.

Leah had refused any sort of compensation for her efforts; she let us pay her
medical bills and buy her some maternity clothes, but that's about it. The car she
drives, though-an old Chevy Cavalier-is definitely on its last legs.

I wanted to buy her a brand new car, but Edward talked me out of that plan. He
knew she'd flip out if we did that. So I bought a new Jetta and worked on my old
car, replacing the tires and the brakes. It wasn't brand new, but it was still about
ten years newer than her Cavalier. The little pink gift bag held the keys, a picture
of the car, and a note begging Leah to just shut up and take the gift.

"My boys!" Esme squeals, dropping the ridiculous-looking diaper cake on the
table next to us. "Nana's here!" she pulls us both into a hug, ruffles Edward's hair
and kisses my cheek.

"Hi, Esme," I greet her, grinning at Carlisle as he rolls her eyes behind her back.
Edward unloads the gift bags from his arms, lining them up on the table.

"Where is she?" Esme demands, walking off to find Leah. The two women have
formed an unusual friendship, spending hours together shopping and having a
"ladies' lunch" every time Leah visits us in Seattle.

"Take a deep breath, son. No matter how many men you invited, I'll tell you this:
women own baby showers. Get ready," Carlisle says, slapping Edward on the
back. Edward reaches out for my hand again and grins as he wraps his fingers
around mine.

"I'm ready," Edward says.

"Done," I announce, flopping down onto our bed. Edward is in his boxers, leaning
back against the pillows, reading What to Expect for the First Year for the zillionth
time.

He closes the book, drops it on his nightstand, and rolls over onto his side to face
me. "Are you satisfied now?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

He wanted to give up on putting away the shower gifts an hour ago, rationalizing
that we still have two months before the baby comes.

"Yes, yes I am. Come on, you know that we would've put it off-if we didn't do it
today, we would've waited 'til the last minute, and then we would've run out of
time. The baby would come home and like, trip over all the glittery pink bags on
the floor in her bedroom," I argue.

"She's gonna trip? You think she's gonna walk home?" he teases.

"Yeah, of course. Newborns can walk, right?" I ask, feigning ignorance. "I mean,
I've only read that book once, so I probably don't remember. Hold on, let me

check." I lean over him, crushing his chest to the bed with mine, and grab the
baby book.

"Get off me!" he says, laughing and pushing roughly at my shoulder.

"Hold on! I'm looking it up. Do you think it would be under W for walking? Or E,
for Edward's an idiot?" I tease, flipping through the index as he grumbles and
squirms underneath me.

Edward manages to get a hand free and pluck the book from my grasp, dropping
it back on his nightstand.

"How about G for get the fuck off me?" he says, flipping me over onto my back.
He throws one leg over mine and straddles me, leaning forward to press both of
my forearms into the bed.

"Truce?" I ask, bucking my hips up lightly against his. He's feeling playful, and
playful Edward usually leads to awesome sex.

"Truce," he says, leaning down to kiss me. I think he intends for it to be a sweet
kiss, a chaste one, but I capture his lips with mine and tilt my head up for more.
It gets hot pretty quickly, and Edward pushes me down further into the bed,
aligning us so he can grind his hardening cock against mine.

"That's some fucking truce," he growls, pulling away to kiss down my jaw. He
kisses and nips at my neck, scraping his teeth over my Adam's apple before
kissing down to the collar of my t-shirt.

"Take it off," I beg him, struggling to free my arms from his grip.

"No," he says, kissing my lips again before pulling away abruptly and flopping
down onto the bed beside me. "You do it. Get up and strip for me, do it slowly,"
he commands.

"Seriously?" I ask, trying not to laugh at his request.

"Yeah, come on. Strip for me," he prods, tugging at my t-shirt. It's a silly
request, and I feel stupid doing it, but I roll off the side of the bed anyway. I turn
my back to him and cross my arms, grip the hem of my t-shirt, and slide it slowly
up my torso.

I do it because even if it makes me feel a little silly, I love that I can turn him on
like this. I do it because everything we do together is perfect, even the silly stuff,
the awkward stuff, the mortifying moments that every sexually adventurous
couple has to deal with at some point.

I do it because we promised each other seven years ago that we would always do
what feels good, what feels right for us.

I tease him, lifting my t-shirt up a little and then dropping it again. I twist my
neck so I can watch him, and let him see me rub the outline of my hard-on
through my jeans.

"You look fucking hot," he tells me, his own hand snaking down inside his boxers.

"Yeah?" I ask, flicking open the buttons at my fly.

"Fuck, Jake," he says. I turn my back to him again, lifting up my t-shirt. I pull it
up and over my head, ball it up, and toss it over my shoulder. I sneak a glance

back at Edward just in time to see it hit him in the face, and I can't help but
laugh.

"Alright, stop teasing. Come here," he demands, tossing my shirt to the floor.

"I thought you wanted me to tease you, baby?" I ask. I push my jeans down over
my hips, revealing the tight black boxer briefs that Edward loves to see me in. His
groan tells me that he's enjoying this, even if he's impatient now.

I bend over slowly to push my jeans down my legs, lifting one foot at a time to
tug them off over my feet. He's so easy to tease-just a little wiggle of my ass and
he's up off the bed, flying over to me, pressing his cock against me.

"You like it, don't you?" he asks, wrapping one arm around my waist to pull me
upright. His palm skates over my abs, my chest, and up to my shoulder so he can
hold me tightly against him. "Showing off for me?"

"I like turning you on," I tell him, pushing back against his erection. "How do you
want me?" I ask, reaching up behind me to wrap an arm around his neck. I pull
his face to mine so I can plant a rough, deep kiss on his lips, giving him a clue
about what I want.

"Come here, bend over," he says, turning us around to face the bed. He walks me
forward a few steps and then pushes me down so my hands are flat on the
mattress. Slowly, he trails kisses down the back of my neck, my shoulders, my
spine, until he gets to the waistband of my underwear. He hooks his fingers in the
elastic and pulls them down slowly, inch by inch, covering the cheeks of my ass
with little kisses.

Edward's on his knees, behind me, reaching between my legs to tug at my
already throbbing cock. He strokes it a few times but leaves me wanting, pulling
his hands away all too soon. I can't help but whine when I feel him move away
from me.

"Just getting lube, baby," he says, moving the bedside table to pull out supplies.
When he returns to me he drops to his knees again and nuzzles his face against
my thigh. His slick fingers drag up and down between my cheeks, quickly zeroing
in on where I need him.

"Faster," I beg him, pushing back against his hand as he prepares me. "C'mon, I
need you."

He pushes another finger inside and I whimper. The stretch is familiar; it's painful
but promising, the good kind of hurt that sparks all the right nerve endings in my
body. His soft, tender kisses over my hips and thighs contrast with the rough
movements of his fingers. No matter how playful, rough, or downright kinky
Edward gets, he always keeps me grounded with affectionate little gestures.

"Ready?" he asks, biting playfully at my ass cheek.

"Fuck, yeah," I groan, wincing as his fingers slip out. He stands up, grips my hip,
and walks me forward a little.

"Here, put your leg up," he demands, patting the bed in front of me. I lift one leg
up and rest my knee on the mattress, opening myself more to him. He strokes
my hips, my sides, my back, making me wait. I can feel his cock pressed up
against me, sliding through the wetness he's left between my cheeks, and I
whine in frustration.

"I told you I was ready, baby," I tell him, pushing back against him. He chuckles
and lifts one hand from my body, using it to hold his cock steady as he pushes in
slowly, and gently. Even though we've done this a thousand times, even though
he prepares me thoroughly, he's still always careful at first.

"God, you're so good, you feel so fucking good," I tell him, panting as he works
himself inside. He gets ahead of himself, pushes a little too hard, and I hiss at the
sudden intensity.

"Okay, it's okay, sorry," he says, rubbing small circles over the small of my back.

"I'm alright, just a little slower," I tell him, twisting my neck to look back at him.
He bends down low to kiss me, holding his cock steady. "Really, babe, keep
going," I tell him, wiggling my ass playfully so he knows I'm okay.

He pulls out slowly and drizzles some more lube where we're joined before
pushing back in. It's so much better the second time, when my body starts
remembering that it actually loves this push and pull. When he finds a rhythm
and starts fucking me, my head falls between my arms as I relax and let the
sensation take over.

"Jesus, Jake, you're always so fucking warm," he says, his palm flat against my
back, between my shoulder blades. He curls his fingers and scratches my skin
lightly with his blunt fingernails. I arch my back and he chuckles, asking, "That
feel good, baby?"

"So good, so good," I tell him.

"Can I go faster?" he asks, reaching up to curl his fingers around my shoulder.
I'm so relaxed now, my body accepting him easily, that my answer is immediate.

"Yes!" I cry, pushing back against him. He laughs, inches us forward on the bed,
and props his knee up behind mine for leverage. When he starts fucking me
earnestly, I moan and curse and thrash, letting him see how much I love it.

"Fuck me harder, Edward, please," I beg, turning my head to brush my lips
against his knuckles.

"Jake, if you talk dirty to me, I'm gonna cum too fast," he pants, digging his
fingers into my skin as he complies with my request. That sounds like a fucking
challenge to me, and I'm dying to see him lose control.

"I can't help it, baby, I need your cock. I need you to fuck me hard like this, to fill
me up," I tell him, gasping for breath as he fucks me relentlessly. "I don't care if
you cum too fast. I want it. I want you to cum for me, to cum inside me."

"Fuck, Jake!" he says, slamming into me, grunting as he cums. "Fucking.
Cumming."

I drop my head to the bedspread and smile, loving the low, growly tone his voice
takes on when he's having a mind-blowing orgasm. I let him fuck me through it,
not complaining when he rests against my body while he recovers.

When he pulls away, though, I'm empty and hard and so fucking desperate to get
off that I can't stop myself from groaning.

"C'mere, baby," he says, dragging me backwards by my hips. He backs me up
until I'm bent over the bed again, with both feet on the floor. I look down and
watch Edward sit down, settling on the floor with his back to the bed and his head

between my legs. He tilts his head back and smiles at me, winking before he
turns his attention to my cock.

I open my mouth to provide some more verbal encouragement, but I can't think
of any words. Edward is working me expertly, flicking his tongue against the tip
of my cock before he slides it deeper into his mouth.

I know I'm not gonna last when his arm wraps around my thigh and his fingers
push inside me again. He coordinates their movements with the bobbing of his
head, and it's a matter of seconds before I'm a panting, moaning mess, bucking
my hips into his face and cumming down his throat.

When I'm spent, Edward turns his head and lets my cock fall from his lips. I roll
to the side, panting and coming down, and Edward climbs up next to me.

"Damn, Cullen," I tell him, reaching over to wipe a drop of cum from his bottom
lip. He laughs and kisses the tip of my thumb.

"Love you," he says, lacing his fingers through mine.

"Love you too," I tell him, pulling his hand close and pressing it flat against my
heart. "Always."

This is for einfach_mich, who had a dream about a late-night feeding...

"I'll go," Edward mumbles, untangling his legs from mine. He starts to roll away
from my side of the bed, where he's been sleeping with his chest pressed against
my back.

"No, 'smy turn," I mumble, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. "Go back
to sleep." He doesn't argue, just closes his eyes and clutches my pillow to his
chest. I sigh, knowing I'll have to wrestle it away from him when I come back.

I stumble down the hall to her room, open the door, and switch on the dim
nightlight.

"Shhhh, Gracie girl, shhh," I whisper, making my way over to her crib. She's
beautiful, a little bit Black (tufts of straight, black hair cover her little head) and a
little but Cullen (her baby blue eyes are getting greener evey day). Her tiny,
perfect little face is twisted in anger as she wails, hungry and pissed off that we
haven't managed to figure out how to get the bottle in her mouth within five
seconds of her waking up. I slip one hand under her neck and the other under her
bottom, lift her up, and cradle her in my left arm.

"Shhh, let's not keep Daddy awake," I tell her, stroking her cheek gently with my
finger. She turns her head, her lips pursed and searching, and I let her latch onto
my knuckle while I walk her down to the kitchen. It gets tricky, though, when I
have to make her bottle; I shift her to my shoulder so I can use my hands, but
she starts fussing immediately.

"Gracie is the quietest girl," I sing, making up some nonsense lyrics to keep her
calm. "Gracie likes to let her Daddy sleep, oh yes she does, and she loves to
snuggle while Papa makes her bottle." I pour the special nursery water Edward
buys into the bottle, mix in some formula, and set it on the stove to warm. While

it's heating up, I distract her with more silly songs and let her suck on my finger
some more. By the time the bottle's ready, my tricks are failing and she's crying
again.

I decide to feed her in the living room, thinking maybe Edward will sleep through
her cries if we're far enough away. We sit on the couch and I hold her close to my
chest, getting comfortable before I hold the bottle to her lips. She won't stop
crying long enough to latch on, so I give up after a few tries and hold her up to
my shoulder again. I stand up and make a few laps around the living room, doing
the bouncy walk she likes, and wait for her to quiet down.

The thing is, as soon as I sit down again, she starts wailing. I check her diaper
and it's dry; she doesn't feel like she has a fever or anything, so I have no idea
why she isn't eating. I try the bouncy walk again, combine it with another song,
and wait until she's completely settled to try the bottle again. I'm sure it's gonna
work.

It doesn't. The second my ass hits the couch, she's crying again.

"Honey, I don't know what you want," I sing-song, rocking her back and forth,
hoping she'll calm down this way.

"Lemme try," Edward says, shuffling around the corner. He's all sleepy and
rumpled, his hair messy and sticking up in all different directions. He's really
fucking cute.

I hand over the baby without question. At first I would worry when she preferred
Edward to me, thinking it must be some deep-down acknowledgement on her
part that he was her biological father. After our first month together, though, I've
learned that there are times when our daughter prefers me, too. That she loves
us both, needs us both.

"Baby girl, are you giving Papa a hard time?" he asks, ducking down to kiss her
forehead. He walks her around the room, bouncing her just like I did, and then
reaches out for her bottle. I hand it to him and watch as he offers it to her, still
swaying gently. She takes it immediately, latching on and drinking like a champ.

"Seriously?" I ask, annoyed that I didn't think of that. "That's all it took? She
loves you more."

"Hmmm, she wasn't too fond of me when I tried to give her a bath last night,"
Edward reminds me.

"Oh, yeah, she loved me more then," I tease. I lean back against the corner of
the couch and make space for Edward to sit in front of me. "C'mere."

"You can go back to bed," he offers, but I shake my head no. It's hard for me to
fall asleep without him anymore. He sits down and leans back against my chest,
his head lolling against my shoulder.

"She's pretty cute, isn't she?" I ask, watching her little eyelids flutter as she
drinks.

"Yeah," Edward sighs sleepily. "I think we should keep her."

"Mmm, me too," I agree, kissing the curve of his neck. "I might keep you around,
too. Since you're so good with the baby and all."

"Oh yeah?" he teases. "That's so kind of you. I can cook, too, don't forget that."

"You are a man of many talents," I concede. "I guess I'll keep the both of you,
then."

Edward turns his head and presses his lips softly to mine. "Yeah, I suppose I'll
keep you, too," he says, his lips twitching up into a smile. I wrap one arm around
his waist, resting it just under his, helping to support the slight weight of our
baby girl while I stroke her cheek with my free hand.

Even though it's two in the morning, even though I haven't had a full night's
sleep in over a month, I've never been happier than I am right now. This has to
be athe best moment of my life so far-sitting here, in the quiet, dark living room,
with my family in my arms.