|Twilight 25 Summer 2010
Author: SorceressCirce PM
You never can tell where a glimpse at a single picture will take a person's mind. These stories follow my train of thought for the picture prompts provided for round 3 of the Twilight 25. A mixture of one-shots and drabbles, any pairings, including slash.Rated: Fiction M - English - Chapters: 3 - Words: 11,041 - Reviews: 55 - Favs: 14 - Follows: 15 - Updated: 07-22-10 - Published: 06-26-10 - id: 6087115
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
The Twilight Twenty-Five
Prompt #: 20
Pen name: SorceressCirce
Photos for prompts can be found here:
A/N: This one-shot is most definitely slash, so please don't read it if you don't like that sort of thing. The rest of my Twi25 will be a mix of pairings, including canon ones, so please put this story on alert if you're interested in reading what I do with the photo prompts.
The curves through the mountains are dangerous, but that's why they're my favorite. The landscape is bleak – dirty and gritty with an overcast sky and so few signs of human habitation that images of Mad Max come to mind.
At least, they do to mine.
The road is in disrepair, but it holds up well enough beneath my tires. I take a turn sharply, the momentum causing the bike to dip suddenly to the right, and I smile when his arms tighten around me. I can't hear a goddamn thing with this helmet on, but I imagine that little gasp he makes when he's on his back beneath me.
We hit a straight section of road, and the bike rights itself, our weight adjusting automatically to the shifts in our center of gravity. His hands move from my waist to splay across my chest as he leans into me. His body is hot and hard and heavy, and I'm beginning to wish I hadn't taken us quite so far away from civilization because I'm going to need to have him again.
He relaxes, sitting back just slightly, and my mind refocuses on the road. He drops his hands to my thighs, squeezing once, and then he rubs them lightly. It's a habit of his – the search for texture, for stimulation. I think nothing of it the first time his thumb brushes my crotch. Just an accident – a chance happening that makes me sit up a little straighter.
The second time, I wonder. But he makes no pretense on the third pass, his hand moving boldly up my thigh to cup me. The heel of his palm seeks out the growing erection against my thigh, pressing and rubbing roughly enough to make me bite the inside of my cheek and moan.
Just like I can't hear him, he can't hear me, but the lack of response does nothing to deter him. As I struggle to watch the road, he plays a dangerous game, trying to draw my attention to every little touch of his hands. His left hand roams my body, drifting up and down my thigh, over my chest, squeezing my biceps, kneading my muscles.
I begin to curse the thick jeans and leather jacket I'm wearing that keep me from really feeling him. I know what masterful hands he has, and I am beginning to care less and less that I was the one that wanted to take this lazy afternoon drive.
Before long, he pats my thigh twice. It is a signal we've developed over long months riding together, and I know its meaning intimately.
Usually, he uses it on longer trips when he's hungry or needs to take a piss, but as I look around at the desolate landscape, I have a feeling neither of those is on his mind.
I round the bend, my eyes automatically scanning the roadside to find a good place to pull over. Other than rocky hills and a few twisted trees, the only thing in sight is an abandoned phone booth about a hundred yards away.
It draws closer as I slow the bike. The tires slip onto the shoulder with a jolt, and I can feel him moving behind me even as I put the kickstand down. The bike rises slightly as he climbs off, leaving me feeling weightless somehow even as my face turns to find him.
His helmet is already off, and he's unzipping his jacket. I take a moment to drink him in from the messy auburn hair and crooked smirk to the way his thighs stretch the fabric of his jeans. I pull off my helmet and hang it over the handlebars, standing up though I still straddle the bike.
I raise a questioning eyebrow at him – just to fuck with him – and he mutters, "Like you don't know what I want."
He tosses his jacket onto the seat behind me and says gruffly, "Get your ass over here." I take my time, lowering the zipper of my jacket slowly as if I'm not at all affected by the innuendo of his words and actions. His impatience shows in his voice. "Now, Jasper."
I can't help the half-grin on my face at the longing I can hear beneath the command. I shrug out of my jacket and let it drop onto the seat behind me before swinging my leg over the bike. I can feel the swagger in my walk that matches the confident smirk on my face, both fueled by the hungry way his eyes are watching me.
As soon as I've taken the few steps needed to reach him, his hand dips into the waistband of my jeans and he yanks me toward him. He kisses me hard, a collision of lips and tongues and teeth that gives away just how excited I am by all of this. His boldness spurs me on, making my hands insistent as I work on the buttons of his jeans. It is obvious that he didn't stop me just for a kiss…and it's equally obvious that I will do what he wants – whatever he wants.
He bites my bottom lip hard, nearly drawing blood, and smiles when I moan. I pull the last button free from its enclosure and smile in return, slipping my hand into his jeans. No other fabric is in my way as I wrap my fingers around his cock, already so stiff and ready for me. He's been fantasizing as I drove, evidenced by the slippery pre-cum that coats the back of my hand, and as I push his jeans off his hips with my other hand, I murmur, "Tell me what you were thinking about."
He kisses me again, hard and fast and frantic, while his hands unbuckle my belt and open my own pants. His lips leave me breathless, struggling to keep up with him, and he waits until my jeans are hanging around my knees, my length in his palm before he whispers, "I'd rather show you."
Before I can respond, he drops to his knees, his hands gripping my bare thighs as he licks me slowly from base to tip. He pauses there, teasing the rim of my head with the metal barbell through his tongue, and I inhale sharply as my eyes roll back in my head.
My fingers find his hair while I force my eyes open again. I need to see this – need to see him there in broad daylight on the side of the road, his mouth eager and perfect as he tilts his head, licking and sucking as he places open mouth kisses all along my length. The waist of his jeans is open around his thighs, the fabric bunched under his knees, and I can just see his glistening tip before he looks up at me, his green eyes finding mine as he wraps his lip around my head and takes me deep down his throat.
"Oh fuck," I curse lowly, taking a step back to keep from sinking to the ground.
I feel the vibrations as he hums. They make my knees weak, and I take a shaky breath as he begins sucking me in earnest. His mouth is a hedonistic heaven that leaves me panting and tugging at his hair. I'm pleading with him to stop and begging him to keep going, but he knows me well enough to interpret my rambling whispers.
When I've had all that I can stand, he pulls away. He licks his lips, which are swollen and parted, and I grab his t-shirt near the collar, dragging him up to me. He comes willingly, pressing his body close to mine. I break our heated kiss to yank his shirt over his head. I need to see him…taste his skin.
As soon as the fabric is gone, I dip my head to take his nipple between my lips. His cock fills my hand so perfectly, and I stroke him, needing to let him feel just a little of what he made me feel. His head lolls back as his hands drop to his sides. He slumps, his hips jutting forward, and I duck down to get a taste of him as well.
The liquid at his tip is salty, slightly bitter, and just one taste is enough to make my resolve waver. My head had been filled with visions of bending him over my bike, seeing sweat bead along his spine as he lifted onto his toes, but I have to struggle to hold onto it as I swirl my tongue around his head.
Rocks dig into my knees, but I ignore them as I wrap my arms around his thighs. My hands grasp his ass, my fingers slipping between to tease and torment. He rocks his hips, fucking my mouth, and I lose control as my teeth scrape along his length.
When he tugs at my hair sharply, I worry for a split second that I've hurt him, but his hand is forcing his cock further down my throat, not pushing me away. I feel the muscles in my face contract into what would be a smile even as I swallow around his head.
"Fuck me," his breathless voice grunts.
The words – while not exactly a request – make me pull away. I'm smirking as I stand, even though he looks disappointed.
"So fucking close…" he whispers. His lips are hard against mine again before he breaks our kiss suddenly, panting and working to catch his breath. "Why did you stop?"
"So I can give you what you want." I love the utterly confused expression on his face.
His eyes are palpable on my back as I turn around. The image is spoiled a little by the way my jeans around my knees make my feet shuffle, but it's only a couple of steps to my bike. I open the saddlebags and dig around inside for just a minute before my fingers close around a little paper bag.
"Jazz?" His questioning voice is more sure, the lustful haze leaving it, and that just won't do.
I turn around, sitting on the motorcycle seat as I hold up the bag. "Come here, Edward."
He grins, his eyes flickering from the bag to me, and when he reaches me, he plucks it from my fingers. "What do we have here?"
"Everything we need."
His impish grin matches mine as he leans down to kiss me. He pulls back just far enough to whisper, "You are a wicked man, you know that?"
I nod, returning my lips to his as I kiss him feverishly. I hear the rattle of the sack, and then he curses, breaking our kiss to look down. My lips move to his neck, where I lick and suck, teasing his jaw with my teeth.
He's hard at work, and soon, he's rolling the condom down my length before tearing off the top of the travel packet of lube. He pours it over his fingers and reaches down, stroking me thoroughly. I lean back, spreading my arms to either side as I focus on how he feels. The metal and leather of my bike are hot under my hands, but I don't care. It only serves to emphasize that this is really happening.
There is no question what he means this time when he murmurs, "Fuck me, baby. Now."
"Jesus…"I mumble, breathing shallowly as he backs up to give me room to stand. He wastes no time, moving straight to my bike as he pours the rest of the lube into his hand. I can't help stroking myself as I watch him bend over, putting one hand on the bike as the other slips between his legs. My eyes are drawn to his fingers rubbing his entrance, and the sight of his firm ass so ready for me freezes me in place for a moment.
His hand disappears, and I see the movement of his elbow, the flexing and relaxing of his biceps. As I close the distance between us, my eyes rake his form, appreciating the toned muscles of his back and shoulders, the tattoos, every little imperfection that lets me know that this is my man.
My left hand grasps his hip as my right guides me in. He clenches and then relaxes, and once I'm fully joined with him, my hand rubs slow circles on his lower back, my thumb tracing the edges of the tattoo there. It means more to me than any other decoration on his body, and I love that I can see it when I take him this way.
He gives me no time for musing, rocking his hips back against mine insistently as he murmurs, "Damn it, Jasper…"
From there, I know no more than the movement of our bodies, sweaty and exposed beneath the clearing sky. My breathing stutters, grunts marking the effort of my cock slamming into him again and again. My hands are on both his hips, providing me a firm grip as I make him mine.
I feel him stroking himself, see the evidence in the movement of his arm; the images and memories test my already thin control. I thrust into him harder and harder still, and finally he has to brace himself with both hands on my bike. The lube leaves a wet, iridescent streak on the leather as his hands adjust, the tendons and muscles in his forearms flexing.
He is breathing hard, his ribcage heaving as his head hangs low, and I can hear broken whispers pouring from his lips. I can't discern individual words – it's all a blur of heady stimulation that has my balls tightening and my thighs clenching.
I feel desire and release building in my gut, spreading like fire through my body until it reaches my extremities. My fingertips dig into his hips painfully as my toes curl inside my boots, and with a final thrust, I feel my world explode into countless points of awareness. Flecks of brilliant light and abyssal darkness dance in my eyes, despite the fact that they are open and staring blankly at the smooth skin of Edward's back.
When sensation returns, I feel it all – the brisk breeze cold against my moist skin, the gritty sand it brings, Edward's body squeezing mine nearly to the point of pain as he nears his own release. The return of hearing brings me the hollow sound of wind through the mountains, punctuated by Edward's panting breath and desperate grunts.
Still buried inside him, I bend over his back, brushing his hands away. My wrist knows the rhythm he likes, and he groans when I take over. With my other hand, I reach between his legs, cupping his balls before pulling them gently. His cry of "Oh, god," is muted, half-masked by his plaintive moan.
I feel him grow impossibly harder in my hand, feel the evidence of his impending orgasm in the tightening of his balls, and pull my hand away, cupping it over the head of his cock. With a few final strokes, he comes, sending a thick, pulsing stream into my palm. The movement of my hand slows, but I keep going, stroking him as I kiss his back and shoulders gently.
When I feel him shudder and lower his forehead to his hand, I know he is coming down from his high. I kiss the nape of his neck, nibbling a little too roughly, and he chuckles as I hold the base of the condom and pull out.
I take a few steps to the side, moving awkwardly with my pants around my knees, and pull off the condom, tossing it into the dust. I can't help laughing as I shake my other hand, getting rid of as much of Edward's mess as I can before walking back to him.
He turns around, reaching for my hips as he tilts his head to kiss me. His eyes gleam mischievously when he says, "Damn good thing you were prepared."
"Learned I had to be with you. I figured we'd make it to some bathroom or something, though." I smirk, and he raises one eyebrow before shrugging. The expression on his face is supposed to be innocent, but I know the man too well to fall for that. Holding my messy left hand to the side, I dig into the saddlebags again with the other hand, and he laughs outright when I pull out a travel pack of baby wipes. "Learned that shit from you, too."
I grin, handing the pack to him, and we spend a few minutes cleaning up. Our clothes are back in place, and he's cleaning his hands with a wipe when he finally looks around.
"Jesus, Jazz…think you could've picked a more open place?"
I follow his gaze, snickering when I realize he's right. We stopped in the middle of the straightest section of road we'd seen in miles. Just further up, past the phone booth, there are trees and a few bushes, things that could've provided us some cover. I shrug, pulling him back into my arms, where I murmur against his lips, "Didn't hear any objections from you."
"You never will either." He grins, kissing me lightly as his arms encircle my shoulders.
A/N: So yeah…that's perhaps the smuttiest thing I've ever written, at least in less than 3k words. *blushes and clears throat* Hope you enjoyed it – let me know in a review, please?