A/N: First and foremost, thanks go to Squalloogal for purchasing and requesting this outtake in The Fandom Gives Back auctions. So many people wanted to know about Jasper's past with men, so here it is. I hope you enjoy it.
Thank you to spargelkun for the late-night occupation suggestion and last name for our male protagonist. Thank you to adorablecullens and algonquinrt, for their critical eyes and feedback.
Thank you to TwilightMundi for her most excellent beta services.
All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is all mine. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without my express written authorization.
Edward and I moved to Chicago so he could go to U of C, and I could play soccer for the Fire. It was an exciting time in our lives, to say the least. After our disastrous senior year of high school, things seemed to be back on track with our friendship. I was mindful of Carlisle's words, and I kept my word to myself that I would give Edward time and space.
When I wasn't training, I made an effort to be with Edward. Unfortunately, he was so entrenched in schoolwork, that meant many nights alone. I got sick of it after a few weeks, so I decided to find my own life. Find my own way.
Despite my disastrous experiences at the gay clubs in Seattle, I actively sought out the scene in Chicago. Boystown was like nothing I'd ever experienced before. The sheer number of people there on any given day or night meant that I had a much wider pool of people to interact with.
At first, I went simply to people watch and check things out. I had come to accept, over the last half-year, that I was firmly bisexual. I didn't prefer men or women, I enjoyed them both equally. Frequently. Sometimes I went to the regular bars downtown, and sometimes I found myself in a gay bar. Sometimes I went home with a beautiful woman, less often, a beautiful man.
We'd been in Chicago a year at that point. It had been a mixed bag of fun, depressing, and interesting new experiences. Edward was either too wrapped up in school or in extreme denial, because I was sending out the most strong, but still subtle, signals I could. My frustration levels were reaching all-time highs. I'd gotten a not-so-subtle off-the-record talk from my coach about being seen in Boystown, so I was asked to lay low for a bit, which was fine by me. Empty sex was getting a little old, if I was honest with myself.
I was still nervous and hesitant to figure out all of the mechanics of sex with a man, and I was certainly not ready for “full blown” sex with a dude. I'd been good about being clear with my intentions, making it obvious that I was only looking for single-night companionship, with both women and men. I simply didn't need the complications a relationship would bring to my life.
The second year seemed to pass in a blur. I continued to play for the Fire, Edward continued to be studious, and the unspoken tension lingered in the air between us. I was content, however, to be alone for the time being.
Isn't that always when the perfect person drops into your lap and life, shaking things up beyond any expectation?
Early one Saturday, I decided to surprise Edward with coffee and donuts. I bundled up over some sweats and ran down the street (literally, since I needed to get cardio in anyway) to get the donuts first. By the time I got to the coffee shop, I was sweating a bit, and distracted with thoughts of Edward's mouth around the aforementioned pastry.
Ordering our drinks, I felt someone looking at me. Not just looking at me, staring. Once I gave the barista my order, I turned and was met with a stunningly beautiful pair of eyes. Lost momentarily in the eyes that reminded me of maple syrup, I had to fight the urge to shiver as my skin prickled under his intense gaze. Only when I heard the cashier clear her throat did I realize I was staring.
I turned, embarrassed, and paid for my drinks. As I shuffled to the side to wait for the coffee, I couldn't help but eavesdrop. His voice was thick and deep, and resonated through my body. He laughed at something the cashier said and my body moved on its own, turning so I could watch him again. His mouth was wide, perfectly white teeth straight behind his lips. He had slight lines at the edges of his eyes, and he reeked of genuine kindness.
Watching his hands move to the employee's to pay, I noticed the way he seemed to move with authority, certainty, and confidence I only wish I had. He reached for his change, dropping a generous tip in the bucket, and took a step closer to me. I could smell him then, the heady mix of man and cologne. Wondering where he was going to, or coming from, I caught myself staring again.
His rich baritone voice seemed to embrace me. I was momentarily stunned, speechless.
“Hi,” I managed to sputter out.
“Out for a run?”
Nodding, I allowed my eyes a temporary glance down his body, and back up. He was wearing a long, dark jacket over a grey pinstriped suit. His button-up shirt was being choked by a blue and brown patterned tie that played off the lightness of his eyes.
Played off his eyes? What the fuck was happening to me?
“Off to work?” I asked, finally able to form a coherent thought.
He nodded, not bothering with words. We were looking at each other, appraising, but something more, too.
The barista called my name and I collected the drinks, pressing each cup into the holder I'd asked for. I'd placed the bag with the donuts between the cups, making everything easier to carry back to Edward. A pang of guilt flooded through me at the thought. I'd never, ever thought about someone in the way I was thinking about this man in front of me, aside from Edward.
“Home to your wife, Jasper?” he asked.
Laughing, I shook my head. “No wife.”
I decided to leave him with fewer details. He was a perfect stranger, after all, and I had no reason or desire to explain my life to him.
“You?” I chanced, turning to leave.
Except that I really didn't want to leave. I wanted to sit, sip my hot coffee, and listen to him talk.
“Nope,” he replied, once again seducing me with his voice.
Our moment felt over. The barista had called his name and I was so fucking preoccupied I hadn't even overheard it, like he obviously had mine. He walked in front of me, holding the door open.
“Thank you,” I said as I walked past.
Was I really going to let my last words to this man be “thank you”? I wanted to be thanking him for so much more, but maybe I was just reading the signals all wrong. Guys were friendly with each other sometimes, right?
The rest of my trip to the apartment was spent walking, afraid I'd spill hot coffee all over myself. I alternated between kicking myself for not asking his name and kicking myself for thinking some random guy in a coffee shop was even giving me a second glance.
When I was inside, I pulled the bag of donuts off my tray and a business card tumbled onto the table, face down. My stomach clenched. Had the man in the coffee shop slipped me his card? I debated with myself, unsure if I even wanted to look at it. I'd never know, either way, until I made some contact with him. What if it had been a random advertiser, and I called looking for my coffee shop man?
Noise came from Edward's room and I decided not to chance it. I slipped the card from the table and pushed it into my pocket. There'd be time to look at it later; right then I had some coffee to deliver. I eased each cup from the pressed paper holder, careful not to spill, and picked up the bag of donuts. Knocking softly on his door, I waited for Edward to answer.
We were so close, so fucking close to each other when he pulled the door open. It was a charged moment, on top of my already charged experience from earlier, and my hormones surged. Edward was wearing a tight t-shirt with flannel pajama bottoms, and when he saw the logo on the cup, he smiled wide and true.
“And donuts,” I said.
I held up the bag and we sat in the living room eating our breakfast together as the business card burned a metaphorical hole in my pocket. The guilt piled onto my conscience as I waited for my moment to escape to my room and look at the card. Never before had I wanted to speed through the precious little time Edward and I shared.
The expulsion of air from my lungs was audible when I finally made my escape, to the bathroom no less, and stole a peek at the card. My eyes went straight to the name and occupation, printed in bold.
Peter Omanson, Forensic Accountant
I recognized the corporate logo and sighed. There was no way this guy would just give me his card, was there?
Deciding there was only one way to find out his intentions, I resolved to send him an email later that day. I tucked the card back in my pocket and finished up, walking out to sit with Edward again. When he left to study, I opened my laptop and composed a hundred different email messages, each trying to sound more casual than the last. I finally settled on a message and pressed send before I could change my mind.
My heart skipped a beat when I heard my laptop chime with a new email just a few minutes later, only to drop when I realized it was spam. I needed a distraction, so I went back to the living room and turned on a movie. Stretching out on the couch, I thought about Edward. And Peter, if that was his name.
After the movie was over, I checked my email again. Sure enough, there was a reply. My hand moved and hovered the pointer of the mouse over the subject line, the anticipation of clicking and reading it making my heart beat faster. I finally clicked, pulled my desk chair out and sat, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves.
Yes, we did meet in the coffee shop this morning. Yes, I dropped my card in your drink holder on purpose.
I'm glad you emailed me. I hope it doesn't seem too forward, but I was hoping you might want to intentionally meet up in a coffee shop sometime? Or, perhaps, if you're interested, lunch?
I was surprised by the formal tone of his email. Was he asking me out, or trying to get me to buy some financial services? I had no idea what the hell a forensic accountant did.... Maybe he was investigating me for something?
Sighing, I clicked reply and composed a message back. Did it really matter what his end-game was? The truth was, I wanted to see him again, so I said just that. I agreed to coffee or lunch, his choice. Explaining that most of my mornings and some afternoons were free, I gave him a few day and time options to pick from, then pressed send before I chickened out.
That time, the reply came quickly, and I was grateful. We'd set a lunch date for the following Tuesday, at a place downtown. The next three days were excruciating. I just wanted to get through the weekend and go to lunch.
Over the weekend, Edward and I hung out some, but mostly he studied, as usual. We got Sunday brunch at Toast, Edward's new favorite place to eat, and talked about the mundane details of our lives. It was nice, predictable, but not enough, I had come to realize.
I needed more. I deserved more.
Peter and I exchanged no more email after he confirmed the date and time for our lunch. What was I going to do, email him back to say, what? Thanks for setting a lunch meeting? I hadn't clarified what the lunch was for, so it felt awkward to reply and carry on casual conversation.
By the time Tuesday arrived, I'd convinced myself he was just trying to sell me something. Not wanting to dress up exactly, but also not wanting to look like a complete slouch, I wore a fairly nice pair of jeans with a long-sleeved polo shirt. It was still freezing outside, so I was bundled in my jacket, scarf, hat, and gloves when I arrived. He was there, waiting for me, and again wearing a suit that looked tailor-made for him.
As the hostess walked me to the table, I thought about how to greet him, settling on a handshake. It was... awkward. I sat across from him and he smiled so easily, so comfortably. His demeanor only added to my conviction that it couldn't possibly have been a personal lunch date.
“Hi,” I greeted, putting on my best chipper face.
His voice was just as I remembered, rough and deep, but somehow soothing at the same time. My face probably noticeably eased at the sound of it, some of my tension drifting away.
“Have you been here before?” he asked.
Shaking my head no, I repeated the question for him. “You?”
“Yeah, actually I'm here a few times a week. It's close to my apartment and I like to bring clients here sometimes.”
Nodding, I wondered again if that was what I was: a client. The server arrived and took our drink orders, then left quickly, giving me a short window of opportunity before he'd return to take our lunch orders.
“Is that what this is?” I asked, my voice slightly lower than it had been.
Peter looked at me from above his menu, half his face masked by it. I could see the lines at the corners of his eyes again, and knew he was smiling.
“Do you have some financial indiscretions you need to confess?” His tone was light and playful.
Laughing, I shook my head again. “Nope, none that I'm aware of, anyway. You'd have to ask my advisor. I don't play with money, I pay someone to do it for me.”
“Safe to say, then, that this isn't a client meeting.”
His menu had been lowered to the table, but his eyes followed, chin tucked into his chest as he seemed to ponder the choices in front of him.
“You know what I do for a living. What is it that you do, Jasper?”
The lower his voice got, the more ragged it became, and I found myself almost lost in it.
“I play soccer,” I replied simply.
“Soccer?” He arched a brow, eyes tilted up just slightly to meet mine.
I shrugged and nodded. “Yep, soccer. For the Fire.”
We talked casually about MLS and the way soccer seemed to be picking up as a sport in the US.
Our server came back, took our order, and had brought our salads out, all in the time it took me to explain the basics of playing for a pro soccer team. Peter seemed genuinely interested, although he confessed a lack of experience with organized sports in general.
As we ate, I couldn't help the few glances I stole. If we weren't having a client meeting, was this a date? Do guys have lunch dates? That always seemed so oddly high society to me. Tea and sandwiches with the crusts cut off.
“So what is forensic accounting, Peter?”
Okay, I may have asked just so I could watch his lips move. Hear his voice wash over me. As he spoke, I gathered that he was a few years older than me from his experience and education. I tried to listen in a qualitative way to the words he was saying, but mostly, I just watched. When he was done explaining, we shared an uncomfortable silence and I was no closer to understanding what the fuck he did all day.
Our food arrived and I stared at my plate, suddenly not hungry. I pushed my food around, growing more confused as the minutes passed.
“Is something wrong?”
Looking up at him, I decided to go for direct. “I'm just confused. I'm not exactly sure why you asked me here.”
He chuckled softly, bringing his white napkin to his mouth. As the fabric brushed his lips, plump and pink, I was envious.
“I thought we could get to know each other better,” he finally answered.
It took me a minute to figure out what he was saying, my mind having lost track of the last question I'd asked. My brows furrowed as I took a few bites, contemplating this new information. I only had dates with women to compare, and I'd never have asked a woman to lunch if I was interested in her.
“The season just began, would you like to come to a game on Thursday?”
My eyes stayed low, focused on the plate in front of me. Another forkful of lunch was lifted to my mouth and I chewed, waiting for his answer. Chewing. Waiting. Chewing. Waiting.
Then I felt something bump my foot under the table. I nearly choked swallowing my bite. I hadn't moved my legs at all, so it couldn't have been the table.
“I'd like that, Jasper.”
I didn't even have to look up to see his smile, the emotion came through in his voice so clearly. It wasn't like he was playing footsie with me under the table, either, he simply rested his foot against mine. It was an odd gesture, but I imagined it as one of the few that were deemed publicly acceptable in a place he frequented for business. I had no idea if he was out or even gay at that point, and I certainly wasn't, and had no plans to be, especially after the lecture from my coach.
We finished without many more words exchanged between us. The silence had shifted and become mostly comfortable, however.
Later that day, I emailed him the information he'd need to give at the Will Call ticket booth in order to get into the stadium. I left him a ticket for a seat next to Edward. Warning Edward I was inviting a friend had sparked a conversation about who he was, where we'd met, and other minor details. The slightest hint of jealousy crept into Edward's voice, and I couldn't help but feel smug, and more than a little depressed. I'd waited all this time for him, he couldn't really be jealous now, could he?
Before the game, I went to the seats and was surprised to see Peter in casual clothes. Both of the times I'd seen him, he'd been dressed for work. It was nice to see him in jeans and a thick sweater, cheeks pink from the chill in the air. I introduced him to Edward and spent a few minutes talking to both of them before I had to go warm up for the game. I shot Edward a slight warning glance, letting him know I expected him to be on his best behavior with Peter.
The game was great. We won, and I'd gotten plenty of time on the field. I felt the same euphoric high I always had when I played.
Nervous to find out how things had gone between Peter and Edward, I showered quickly and made my way out to where we'd agreed to meet. The three of us went to a bar nearby for a quick beer. Since it was a work night, I knew we wouldn't be out late, but it would give me another nice chance to talk to Peter and spend time with him.
We talked and drank, snacking on some wings. It wasn't the easy, light, post-game beer drinking I'd hoped for, but it was a start. When we parted ways, it was just that – a parting of ways. There was no handshake, no man hug, nothing.
Edward was silent the entire way back to the apartment, but once the door was closed, the interrogation began.
“Jasper, is Peter your....”
As he spoke, his eyebrows came together in the middle of his forehead, the deep line there speaking volumes about his concern.
“I don't know, Edward. I mean, no, he's not right now.”
“Do you... Do you want him to be?” he asked, his voice growing smaller.
“I don't know.”
It was the truth. I wasn't looking for a boyfriend or a girlfriend. I wasn't looking for anyone. I'd found what I wanted. Sometimes, life just doesn't work that way, though. Sometimes the person you love the most doesn't love you back. I had to accept that my love for Edward wasn't enough to create a relationship where none existed, or was wanted.
“Huh,” was the last thing Edward said before walking to his room. He closed the door quietly and I didn't see him again that night.
Ironically, I had an email waiting for me from Peter when I got around to checking.
I had a nice time at the game tonight. Congrats again on your win, and thank you for inviting me.
I feel a little foolish, though. I had no idea you were dating someone already, and I apologize for pursuing you when you have someone in your life. I wish you all the best.
My fingers flew on the keyboard, composing my reply.
Thank you for coming to the game.
I'm a little confused, however, at your assumption that I have someone already. If you're referring to Edward, trust me, there's nothing there. We're simply life-long best friends. Well, it's a little more complicated than that, but I'd love the chance to explain. Dinner?
The moment I hit send, I set the laptop down on the desk and flopped back onto my pillows. A perfect stranger could pick up on the connection we had, yet Edward refused to acknowledge it. I wondered if he'd ever even thought about it, or if he was completely and entirely oblivious?
Grumping around my room, I changed into sleep clothes and curled up wrapped around a pillow. I woke the next morning cramped up in the same position I'd been in the night before, upset with myself and the circumstances of the last day. Edward was banging around in the kitchen, so I walked out to talk to him.
“Morning,” I said.
He just grunted back at me, not even dignifying my greeting with real words. That only made me more pissed.
“Are we going to talk about this, or are you just going to be an asshole? I don't even know what you're so mad about!”
Leaning against the counter, I watched him move around the tiny space. Finally, he gave up and leaned against the counter opposite me, looking at the floor.
“I feel like you have this whole other life without me,” he said softly. “I know I'm busy with school, I guess I just –” he stopped to sigh. “I don't know.”
“Edward, I don't know what you expect of me, or what you want from me.”
“Me either, Jazz.”
He wandered away, back to his room to get ready for class, I assumed. I went to mine, remembering the email I'd sent to Peter the night before. I had an email from Esme asking the usual questions and filling me in on the happenings around town, one from coach about weekend practice times, and a reply from Peter. I saved the email from Peter for last, then quickly skimmed it before going back for a second in-depth read. He'd agreed to dinner, inviting me to his apartment that evening.
Knowing I'd be spending the latter part of the day with Peter meant I needed to get my workout and errands done earlier than usual. The apartment door slammed shut and I knew Edward was gone to class for the day.
I worked out harder than usual, taking my frustration out on the track, then weights. My muscles burned by the time I was finished, and more than once, I'd thought about sweating with Peter. I wondered what his skin would feel like against mine, the texture of his fingers on my skin, his lips kissing my body. It was the first time I truly wondered and thought I might want to go there with a guy, too. The thought both thrilled and terrified me.
Edward wasn't home when I got back, so I texted to make sure he was okay. I wouldn't delay living my life anymore, but that didn't mean I'd stop caring about him, either. He texted me almost right back to let me know he was going out with some friends and would be home later.
After my shower, I changed into jeans and a t-shirt, putting my winter wear on over. I scanned Peter's email for his address again and used Google Maps to navigate there. Nerves were threatening to make me heave; what did you bring to a date like this? Beer? Wine? Condoms?
Probably some combination of the three, and there I was, showing up empty-handed. Knocking lightly on his door, I shifted my weight and took one last deep breath in an attempt to calm myself. It didn't work.
Peter answered, looking just as good as he had at the soccer game, in jeans and a form-fitting tee. He had stubble on his cheeks and I smiled. In my past forays into the area of being with men, I'd never been one for kissing, but I wanted to feel his stubble on my cheek... and elsewhere.
“Hey,” I greeted.
Smiling, he stepped back and to the side of the open door, ushering me inside.
“Come on in. I was just finishing up dinner. I hope you like paella.”
“It smells great,” I reassured him, and it really did. I wasn't the best cook ever, and Edward had stopped cooking meals, I imagined in reaction to the recent tension between us.
“I have a Spanish red over there,” he said, pointing to the bottle resting on the counter opposite the stove. “Can you uncork it and pour us some?”
The entire night was one big cliché. It was as if I had been transported into some chick flick, only I was there, sitting on the couch opposite a devastatingly handsome man. We were sipping our red wine and sharing facts and information about ourselves in typical first-date style.
It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. And I thought I'd experienced an awful lot in life.
I learned about Peter, his childhood, his disastrous dates with women, coming out to his parents, coming out to his employer, his slightly-less-disastrous dates with a few men, a couple failed relationships, and then some. Doing the best I could to explain my life without garnering pity about my family and circumstances, I shifted on the couch, my body turned toward his. I offered just enough details about my sexual experience so that he'd know I'd been with men and women before, but didn't go into detail.
Familiar with all of the typical signs of seduction, I felt a nervous flutter when Peter's hand lifted to the back of the couch, resting inches from mine. He set his glass on the table, then took mine from me and did the same. My breathing picked up as he leaned forward, the heat from his body radiating into mine.
His pants slid up against mine, the texture of denim on denim causing a strange sensation. One of his hands cupped my face, the other resting on the outside edge of my body as I laid back. His thumb brushed across my lower lip first, a tease of what was on its way. Parting his lips, his eyes stayed focused on my mouth. I watched as he tentatively brushed his lips over the surface of mine. His tongue darted out to taste and wet mine before he brought his lips back for more.
After the first hesitant kiss, he pressed his body into me, lips sinking against mine with more pressure. His whiskers both tickled and scratched against my skin, and the hand that had been on the couch at my side moved, snaking its way under my shirt. Curling it under my back, he pulled me tighter to him. His hips pressed into mine, and he groaned. The depth of his voice made it sound vaguely like a purr and the noise went straight to my cock.
His lips left my mouth, nipping at my chin and across my jaw. Our lower halves continued to move against each other, the friction relieving the want only slightly. Peter's hands went to the buttons on my jeans, undoing the first few quickly. As he shifted to slip his hand beneath the denim, my body twisted to get closer, and we ended up falling off the couch.
Thankfully, we both landed without too much injury. After our laughter died down, I pinned Peter to the floor beneath me, straddling his hips, and treated him to some of the same teasing he'd gifted me with. Trailing nips and kisses down his jaw to his neck, then over the top of his t-shirt, I quickly tugged to remove it. I sat up as he lifted the fabric off his body and threw it somewhere. His hands flew to my hips, pulling my own shirt off, and we resumed making out like teenagers on the ground.
Finally, his hands moved south again, circling my waist. My pants were loose and he took advantage, slipping beneath them and running his fingertips over my boxer briefs. Squeezing, he pulled me closer and I moaned against his neck, muttering a few obscenities.
Shoving my pants down my body, I realized I was falling behind and began to undo his jeans. I slipped my body lower, taking my weight off his, so I could tug his pants off. My nerves crept up when we were down to our boxers and nothing else. What was I going to say if he wanted more than what I was comfortable giving in that moment?
Giving me no time to over think, his hands were at the band of my boxers, dipping below. Grabbing me firmly, a slow smirk crept across his face.
“God, I hope you taste as good as you look and feel.”
My body reacted immediately, and I couldn't wait to get to the next step. We arranged our bodies and I was face-to-face with his naked erection. The truth was, I'd never spent much time simply enjoying another man; most of my interludes were quick and purpose-driven. I wanted this time with Peter to be different – it already was so different in so many ways. I realized I felt comfortable with him. I felt safe.
Taking longer than normal, I touched and loved him, tracing patterns and lines along his thighs and everywhere in between. We were lying on our sides, which meant no one was crushing anyone and I was enjoying his own leisurely pace exploring my body. I'd had enough genuine-sounding compliments to know that I was decent at giving head, but that moment was about so much more.
Licking my lips, I used my hand to cup his sac and tease him as I placed a wet kiss at the tip of his head. My tongue swept out, licking the pre-cum that had collected. As I flicked my tongue out again and swirled around, it landed in the divot of space that was beneath his head. His hips arched his body closer to me. I wrapped my lips around the same space my tongue had just been, then pulled up, allowing a little suction to form before he slid out from my mouth. Kissing, licking, even gently biting, I explored the length of him, teasing and testing to see how he responded to each movement.
Not long after we began, his warm, wet lips wrapped around me and he began to work in earnest, distracting me from my exploration. I mirrored his movements, play time over for the moment. Even though we were definitely driving each other to the edge quickly, it didn't feel like either one of us was rushing. The languid pace we'd begun with was still dictating our movements and each of us would stop now and then to lick or kiss and bring each other back from the brink.
When neither of us could take it anymore, our bodies slick with the sweat and effort of our lust, we picked up our pace. Peter's fingers crept slightly lower, pressing gently against my opening, and my entire body went rigid with my orgasm. I'd never come with someone before, and the strange sensation of having his body in my mouth hit me as I moaned around him, desperate to make him feel as good as he'd just made me feel.
Once I'd regained the ability to move, I hooked both arms around his hips as best I could, bringing his whole lower half closer to me. Without realizing it, my pace had quickened and I was moaning around him. I could feel his hands still on my body, touching and caressing my skin as I drew him closer to his climax. His hips moved rhythmically with my actions and he came moments later, quiet whispers of words slipping from between his lips as he did.
I was struck immediately after, again, at the differences between this experience and every previous sexual interaction I'd had with a man. Peter seemed in no hurry to leave my body, to kick me out, to clean up and pretend what had happened hadn't. His lips dragged on my skin, his fingers trailed paths, his body vibrated with his hums and little noises of contentment.
Turning so that our bodies were the same direction, I laid on my back next to him, our arms touching. His fingers laced into mine, and I knew it wasn't just the sex that would be different with Peter.
Over the next few weeks, we saw each other regularly. He became a fixture at my games, like Edward. They'd come to some sort of silent understanding, and I was glad.
I knew my time avoiding the next step in things with Peter was limited. I didn't want to avoid it any longer, either. We'd fallen into a comfortable routine of Friday night dinners at his apartment, and we'd just polished off most of a roasted chicken with roasted garlic potatoes when I decided the timing was right. We were washing dishes, well, Peter was washing, I was drying and putting them away.
Turning to look at him when we were finished, I wrapped my hands around his waist and brought him closer. Nuzzling my nose at the juncture of his neck, I inhaled deeply, drinking him in.
The truth was, I had no idea what the standard amount of time was before penetration became an issue, I just wanted more. More from Peter, more from his body, more from my own. I knew he'd sensed my hesitation several times before, so I took the initiative and led him back to the bedroom, kissing and groping each other the entire way.
Clothes were stripped, landing wherever they fell as he walked backward to the bed. Knowing enough to know I'd need lube, I whispered my question, hoping he would catch on to what I wanted to do. He climbed up onto the bed, opened his bedside table drawer, and grabbed a condom and a small, black bottle. We were naked, physically and metaphorically, and ready. We'd talked about safe sex, talked about STDs, we knew each other's bodies as well as we could.
Reminding myself I was ready, at least for this portion, I ripped the condom wrapper open. My eyes looked up to his for guidance, reassurance, anything, and just as I'd hoped, they were wide with everything I needed and more. His soft smile reminded me of what we hadn't yet been brave enough to say: we were in love with each other. We trusted each other.
He unscrewed the cap of the bottle in my hand, then placed his over mine, tipping the slippery liquid out onto my condom-covered erection. Both of his hands surrounded me, slicking me up, but also repeating the unspoken reminders. Leaning back, he began to stroke himself. The sight was more than I could take, and I shifted my body forward onto his.
This couldn't be much different than what I was used to, right?
Except that it was. As I penetrated Peter, I realized this was nothing like what I was used to. His hips moved with mine, slowly accepting me. I watched my body disappear into his and had to stop my movement for fear I'd come on the spot. Once I was composed, I lowered my upper half, needing the connection to him again, and kissed him. His kiss had shifted from the time in the kitchen and was filled with need. He was murmuring, alternating between cursing and begging. Moving slowly, I pulled back and pressed into him at a frustratingly slow pace.
“Please, Jasper. Please,” he begged again.
“Am I hurting you?”
“God no. Harder, baby, please.”
My eyebrows shot up, and I was glad his eyes were closed. I complied, moving faster, thrusting deeper, provoking noises and movements from his body I'd never experienced. Embarrassingly quickly, I came. My forehead rested against his and I began to quietly apologize.
“Christ, I'm so sorry. I had no idea... I mean, I just... It was just too good...”
Peter laughed, so hard and intensely that his muscles tightened around me and I groaned, the sensation overwhelming. How could I already be getting hard again?
“Jazz, have you never done that before?”
Here we go, I thought.
Backing up, I pulled my body from his and got up to dispose of the condom. I walked back to the bed feeling stripped of my defenses. I had no choice but to be honest, and hadn't I just seen his love and trust for me in his face? Didn't I feel the same?
“No, I haven't,” I said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Sitting up, his arms looped around my waist and he pulled me back to the bed with him. We were spooning, that delicious post-coital spoon where you're each weighing whether or not you have the stamina or energy to try for round two. Except that he hadn't even had round one, I realized.
“Why are you turning all pink and mushy in front of me? It's not that big of a deal, you know. My fingers have been, uh, exploring for some time now, and you don't seem to have minded. Not that my cock is the size of my fingers,” he finished, laughing.
“I'm just scared. Nervous.”
“Understandable. You trust me though, right?”
I nodded. I did trust him. His hands went to my shoulders, turning me to face him.
“Do you want to? It's up to you. It's your choice, Jasper.”
The fact that his hands had begun to roam my body wasn't lost on me, the lust creeping over me like a foggy San Francisco afternoon in the fall.
“Yeah,” I breathed. “Yes.”
His lips fell on mine, and I was grateful it seemed like he wasn't going to just dive right in. He was right, though, he'd penetrated me with his fingers before, and that eased my mind more than I imagined it might. My body relaxed beneath his, hands, fingers, lips, and tongue, roaming and exploring. Teasing me, bringing me back up to a high level of anticipation and desire.
My eyes were tightly closed, but I heard the drawer next to my head slide open, then closed again, as he grabbed what I assumed was a condom. I hadn't even noticed when he began to use his fingers moments later, it had become such a regular part of our intimacy. Only when he added a third finger, something he'd never done before, did I realize he was moving on. My body tensed momentarily and he brought his mouth back up my body.
“Relax, baby. Trust me. Let me make you feel good. I promise I won't hurt you.”
Stroking my face with his other hand, I turned to look into his eyes.
“Take a deep breath,” he said, lips against mine. I felt his fingers glide in and out a few more times, then pull back slowly. “I love you, Jasper,” he mumbled against the skin on my neck. “Open your eyes. Look at me. Watch me.”
The hand that had been on my face moved to hold his body up, his other trailing the head of his cock up and down, teasing me. I pulled my knees up and he pressed forward slowly, as promised, taking his time. Just as he moved forward with precision and care, he would pull back and allow my body to grow accustomed to him. Teasing me like that was working. My head was tilted back, breathing rapid, and I just wanted him to get on with it.
With a groan, I rolled my hips against his the next time he moved forward, only to yelp slightly and pull back quickly. Seeing the rationale of his slow movements, I took a breath to relax my body again. His hand that had been up on the bed moved to rest on my stomach lightly and his movements stopped. He was on his knees, leaned back, looking at me. Smiling at me. Filled with lust and desire, for me.
Moving my knees up and apart, he lowered onto me again. His hand guided his lower half back to mine and he pressed forward, not pulling back that time. The sensation was uncomfortable for a moment, then grew pleasurable as I felt him hitting spots deep inside, at different angles than I was used to. He'd done his best to prepare me, there was no pain from the stretching, just pleasure as he began to move.
His hips moved in slow and steady strokes, and eventually I got brave enough to move mine again. Our bodies pressed together farther, and it was the closest I'd felt to someone, anyone, ever.
“Touch yourself,” he whispered.
Our bodies were already gliding together, and I slipped my hand between us to do as he asked.
“Fuck. You are so fucking sexy right now, beneath me, Jasper.”
The last impetus I needed, his words threw me over the edge for the second time that night. I came all over my chest and heard him swear again as he followed close behind. I could imagine the sensation he felt of being inside me as I came, remembering the brief tightening of his muscles when he laughed.
He stilled, my hand trapped between us, foreheads touching again, and whispered “Thank you.”
Our eyes met again, and I smiled. I felt light, free, happy. The proverbial birds were chirping above my head as we climbed out of bed and showered together.
The next few months were spent in a sort of lust-filled, blissed-out haze. We went on more discreet dates, we made love, we fucked. He came to more games, we had beers with Edward, we talked about his job, which I never fully understood, despite his repeated attempts to explain. We laughed about never having to deal with tampons, periods, PMS, or chick flicks, although I did point out the benefit of breasts and reminded him that I loved pussy just as much as his impressive cock. He pouted for a few minutes about that.
Each time my thoughts dove into wondering about what we were, what we were doing together, where it was all going, I yanked them back. I was tired of living in some unspoken future, waiting around. I needed to live in the now.
And just like that, just as unexpectedly as he'd fallen into my life, Peter was taken from it.
I should have seen it coming, should have felt it coming, but I had mastered the art of denial. We'd begun to fight because he was far more out than I was, and it frustrated him that I couldn't (or wouldn't) attend company functions with him. I wasn't willing to risk my career.
That was what it came down to, in the end. I wasn't willing to risk for him.
The doubt crept in, then. Why? Why wasn't I willing to risk it for him? If Edward had asked the same of me, would I have done it? Would I have told my coach to go to hell?
I knew the answers to those questions, and so did Peter.
We tried to be civilized about it. Logical. Rational. Reasonable, even. Tried to stay friends. It was just impossible. Every time I saw him, the raw feelings came flooding back and I wanted so badly for him to be the one I'd leap off the bridge for... and knowing he felt the same way only made it worse. I was that person for him, but he would never be that person for me. Just as with Edward, love wasn't enough to make it work.
Cutting off all contact was brutal, but we both thought it was the best plan. I went from seeing him several times a week to nothing. I was depressed, lonely, alone, and desperately horny. My game suffered, my life suffered, and my heart was broken.
Something began to shift in those post-Peter months. I spent more time around the apartment. Edward and I saw each other more. Throughout my dating Peter, I'd grown more comfortable with myself, with my sexuality, and with whatever role Edward played in that.
So subtly I couldn't tell you exactly when it happened, things with Edward changed and became easier. It had been almost a year and a half since Peter and I had broken up. Edward was just about to graduate with his undergrad degree. I'd begun to walk in on him in the shower, taking the brief chances I had to talk to him whenever and wherever they appeared.
Finally, one morning, I realized I wanted more. I was ready to take the risk. Carlisle had warned me not to push Edward, but he never said not to try, right? The bathroom door was unlocked, and I smiled. Edward may have felt trepidation, but his actions spoke much, much louder.
Closing the door quietly behind me, I began to remove my clothes. I folded them neatly, wanting to take my time and calm my own nerves. Instead of the talking we normally did, I opened the door and stepped into the shower behind him.
“Jasper, what the fuck?”
I laughed. It was almost adorable how his words spoke the opposite of his body, leaning against me unconsciously.
“Let me make you feel good, Edward,” I said softly, Peter's words ringing in my ears.
His body was slippery with soap and I took advantage, running my hands down to his cock before he had a chance to over think. I gripped him tightly, the culmination of years of fantasies playing in my head in that moment. My other hand wrapped around his waist, pulling him against me, allowing him to feel just how turned on I was. Leaning forward, he placed a hand against the wall, pressing back into me even more, and I groaned.
Moments later, he came hard and loud. My hands caressed him gently as I turned to walk away. Wanting to tease him, to pleasure him and make him confident in us, I left.
Grabbing my clothes and a towel, I made my way to my room, where I laid on my bed and pleasured myself. Thinking about the weight and feel of his skin in my hand, the way he slid between my fingers and against my palm, I came almost as quickly as he had, into a wad of tissue.
I threw it away, my stomach in knots of terror. Had I pushed too hard? He responded, his body responded, and that was something. I just needed his brain to catch up to us. Hiding in my room, we avoided each other that night. I grew afraid. What if I had fucked up over twenty years of friendship for ten minutes of pleasure? I barely slept that night.
Finally, I got out of bed the next morning, unable to lie horizontal beating myself up for another minute. I had a game that day. I needed to be at my best. I needed to eat, fuel my body, workout, and prepare my mind.
Entirely lost in thought, I hadn't even heard Edward enter the shower. The relief that shot through me was immediate and complete as I felt his hard body behind mine. Where he had protested slightly the morning before, I yielded entirely to him.
His hands touched and rubbed me, stroking and loving me, bringing me to an orgasm equally as epic as the one I'd delivered to him the day before. As I had, he left the bathroom immediately after, and I assumed he was wrestling with the same demons I'd had years to fight. I made the choice to let Edward work through what he needed to on his own, knowing my biased influence in the process could possibly come back to bite me in the ass.
Edward attended my game that night, smiling at me from the stands. We went home and talked, really talked, for the first time in months. Not about what had happened between us, just about our lives, how school was going, the team. I slept so soundly, so peacefully, a train could have run right through our apartment and I'd never have noticed.
Something shifted that week and forever altered who we were, both as individuals and together. I had no idea when I stepped into the shower just what an impact it would have on us. Maybe we'd have gotten there eventually without that morning, but the timing allowed us to grow comfortable with each other before Bella showed up, tilting our worlds on their axis once again. Nothing would be the same, and I couldn't have been happier.A/N2: Please review/comment; I would love to know what you think.