|In the Midst of Sorrow
Author: Jessypt PM
Torn apart by misperception and brought back together when a good friend and brother dies, this is the story of two desperate souls trying to find their way home. Entry for the Slash Backslash 3.0 contest.Rated: Fiction M - English - Drama/Romance - Edward & Emmett - Words: 7,958 - Reviews: 56 - Favs: 50 - Follows: 25 - Published: 08-31-11 - Status: Complete - id: 7342827
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
SLASH BACKSLASH 3.0 CONTEST
Title: In the Midst of Sorrow
Rating, Disclaimer, and appropriate Warnings: M for slashy boy love. I don't own them, but I love them all the same.
Word Count: 7646
Please see all entries at:
http: / / www . fanfiction . net /community/ Slash_Backslash_3_0 / 74941/14/0/1/
Summary: Torn apart by misperception and brought back together when a good friend and brother dies, this is the story of two desperate souls trying to find their way home.
Thanks of epic proportions to einfach_mich for encouraging me to write my first real slash and for prereading.
Love and hugs to kikikinz and mycrookedsmile for beta'ing!
To see images and the banner behind this story, visit my blog: http : / jessyptff . blogspot . com/2011/09/in-midst-of-sorrow . html
The air was heavy and thick, almost suffocating. I could already feel sweat rolling down my back and my shirt starting to stick to my skin. It had been a long time since I'd had to endure a Texas summer evening, and this was not the warm welcome I yearned for.
With each passing step, the little glowing dots all over the park and the very large crowd of people that had turned out came into view. They milled around in mournful silence and within seconds, I knew it was going to be almost impossible to make it through this. When I flew in the day before, I was dead set on moving through the chaos of Jasper's death with speed and focus. I knew Mom needed me to be the rock Jasper had always been. She was practically falling to pieces, and I was the only one left who could pull all this shit together.
I looked to the left and saw the sorrow and grief etched onto her beautiful face as she took in the scene before us. She looked so small and broken, and I wanted to beat the shit out of Jasper for doing this to her, for leaving her – us – behind. A sob caught in her throat, and her eyes filled with tears as I reached for her hand. She took it, hers soft and warm, and without a thought, I enveloped her in my arms.
Her body shook against mine, and as hard as I tried to swallow it down, the lump in my throat grew.
"Mrs. Cullen, ma'am, people would like to pay their respects. Would that be okay with you?"
I looked at the soldier standing next to us, and part of me wanted to wring his neck. Did it look like she would be okay with that? She was falling to pieces in my arms. No, she wasn't okay with that, and neither was I. But my mother, with her always-perfect Texas manners, simply nodded.
I handed her the handkerchief I'd tucked in my pocket before we left the house. She dabbed her eyes and blew her nose.
"I probably look affright, don't I?" she asked in a soft, worry-tinged tone as she brushed a hand over her hair.
I held her at arm's length and examined her with a soft smile. Her mascara was a bit smudged, her nose red, and her face showed the signs of her tears, but even with that, she was beautiful. She had always carried herself with a quiet dignity that glowed from the inside out. It was just who she was.
"You look lovely, as always, mom."
She gave me that disbelieving smile she always used when she thought I was talking out my ass. Only this time I wasn't. She really was beautiful.
"All right, then."
The next hour passed by in a rush of hands, heartfelt condolences, and praise for my brother's service to this country. With each passing mourner, I felt emptier, more alone, and more desperate to get the fuck out of there.
I felt angry.
How did this happen? How did I end up in this place, among hundreds of people I didn't know, who knew my brother in name only?
I knew exactly how it had happened. The goddamned war had taken my brother – my best friend – and I wanted to scream. I didn't want to celebrate his life. I wanted to kick his ass for doing this to us. I wanted to beat the shit out of him for enlisting when he knew full well he was going to be shipped off to war.
My brother's high school friends came to the front of the line, and I could tell they were at a loss for words. And for once, I was grateful for the silence. These were the guys I knew, had hung out with, and were just as broken up as I was.
"I'm sorry, man," Peter said as he clapped my back and pulled me into a hug.
I nodded. "Thanks. It's good to see you," I replied.
"Will you be around for a bit?"
"Yeah. I'm here until Mom's okay with me heading back to San Francisco."
"The guys were thinking about grabbing beers tomorrow after the funeral. We'll be at Stan's, if you want to join us."
"I'll try to make it."
He clasped my hand and hit my shoulder before moving on to hug mom.
Marcus, Jack, Joe, and Ben all came through, shook my hand, and welcomed me home. No one really touched on Jasper's absence. We didn't need to. It was obvious to fucking everyone he wasn't here, and if he had, we sure as hell wouldn't have been in this park with candles glowing all around.
I looked down the line, expecting to see Emmett, Jasper's best friend and college roommate, but he wasn't there.
"Hey, Ben, have you seen Emmett?"
He shook his head. "No. I know Peter called him, but I don't know when he'll be here."
I nodded, my stomach sinking at the thought of him not being here. Not just for mom… but for me. He was the one person I knew I could talk to about this fucking nightmare, and beyond Mom, the only reason I came back here.
The evening came to a close. Mom was tired, and I was desperate to get out of there. I scanned the crowd one last time as disappointment unfurled like a sheet flapping in the wind. I couldn't believe he didn't show.
As I lay awake that night, I let my mind sift through all the memories this room drudged up.
Jasper and Emmett roughhousing, knocking over my final art project, and me beating the shit out of both of them.
Emmett practically moving in with us when his parents separated.
The three of us jamming on our guitars until Mom pounded on the door and told us to go to bed.
The day Emmett walked in on me jacking off to thoughts of him. A fact he still had no clue about it.
The day I realized I had a crush on him. And even worse, when I realized I couldn't do a fucking thing about it.
"This is really fucking good, Edward," Emmett said as he stared at the canvas in my studio.
I watched him walk up to it, taking his time to look – really look – at what I had attempted to create. I'd spent most of the semester working out the concept and then actually building it. I don't know how many canvases I'd trashed, but as I stood there taking it in, watching him take it in, I realized how fucking amazing it was.
He turned to look at me, a huge grin plastered on his face, and something inside me, something I'd been pushing aside and denying for months, reared up.
I couldn't take my eyes off him or his broad shoulders or the white t-shirt stretched tight across his back. The curve of his jaw and the way his lips curled up in a smile, his eyes twinkling mischievously. The way his shorts sort of hung low on his hips, not leaving much to the imagination, an imagination I most definitely had.
I subtly adjusted myself. I had no desire to explain why my dick was so damn hard. Hell, up until a few months ago, I'd never really even given him much thought. He was my brother's best friend, and he practically lived with us. It just felt weird and wrong to be crushing on him.
Just as he turned to face me again, I jammed my hands in the front pockets of my jeans, a sheepish grin and a fucking blush filling my face.
"How the hell did you come up with this, man?" he asked as he walked back to stand next to me.
From that point on, things got weird. Well, weird for me, because every time he was around it took herculean effort not to think about him that way. Not that I was that successful at it. I spent an inordinate amount of time imagining us kissing on his bed, me sucking his dick in his Jeep after a football game, him fucking me in my art studio, and every other combination until my hand practically ached, and Jasper was pounding on the bathroom door.
Talk about embarrassing. That continued all through his and Jasper's senior year. I never told him how I felt, and I'm pretty sure he never suspected anything. There wouldn't have been a point. He wasn't gay.
I watched him from afar, his exhaustion evident as his shoulders fought to stay straight against the heaviness of his grief. He was trying to be strong, to push aside his own loss for his mom's sake.
I wanted to go to him, to hug him, to do something, anything, but I couldn't. I took a step and then stopped myself from crossing the open field and murmuring words we both knew weren't enough, that wouldn't convey a fraction of what I was feeling. Jas may have been my best friend, practically my brother, but there was something deeper, more profound about my feelings for Edward. I didn't want the grief we both shared to dictate how they came out.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and leaned against a nearby tree. As the crowd shuffled past, I watched him. He accepted hugs from strangers, gave half smiles, and graciously listened to what I could only assume were words of condolence and sympathy. I had no doubt they were all heartfelt, sincere in the way only strangers who'd never known Jas could offer. I was at once buoyed by the overwhelming display of grief and praise for our fallen soldier, my best friend, and my brother.
The evening came to a close and as I trudged the five blocks to my hotel, I felt that niggling guilt from earlier sitting in my stomach. Twice I turned to go back to him, but each time I stopped myself, the battle raging within.
I should have gone to him.
He needed me.
I'm an asshole.
Sleep was fitful at best that night as I tried to imagine what it be like to see him tomorrow in the light of day, what I would say to him, especially after ignoring him for five years.
The funeral came early, but the sun was already high and the air thick and muggy. I stood in line with all the other mourners and slowly made my way to a pew in the small church.
Elizabeth, or Mom as she'd told me to call her countless times, had been a faithful churchgoer there for years. She, like Jasper and Edward, were well loved among the people there, and I knew even though they couldn't begin to comprehend the sense of loss we felt, they felt it just the same.
The first few rows were open but reserved, and I knew that's where they'd be when they were ushered in. By the time the music from the organ shifted to a new hymn, the place was completely packed. I craned my neck to watch as Edward escorted Mom down the aisle, along with other members of their family.
As his strong body wrapped around her frail one, I sat transfixed. Guilt and regret for not making my presence known last night ate away at me. I should have been up there with them. Not for me, but for her. She had practically raised me after my parents separated and then divorced. Home with Jas and Edward was a sanctuary, and when my mom said she needed a new start, they took me in.
Edward held Mom's hand as he led her into the pew, seating her exactly in the center. A hush washed over the crowd as Pastor Weber welcomed all in attendance. He talked about the loss to this community, to the church, but mostly to this family. The whole time he talked, and even when others got up to speak, my eyes never left the back of his head.
I don't really remember much of what was said or how long we sat there. Over and over in my mind I replayed all the times Jasper and I had hung out, tossed a football back and forth, played tricks on Edward, and just chilled.
A hand reaching in front of me with a Kleenex jolted me out of my reverie. I took it from the blonde haired girl next me and murmured a quiet thanks. I should have cared I was crying, but I didn't. It was becoming apparent that this was hitting me harder than I thought it would, and as Mom had told me the night my own mother dropped me off for the last time, "There's no shame in crying, Emmett. We all do it, and it takes a true man to let his emotions show."
I never forgot that. So, as the tears fell, I allowed all the thoughts and emotions from years with this family come unhindered.
Going to church with them each Sunday morning.
Sharing meals and chores.
Playing football or videogames with the boys.
Harassing Edward in his art studio.
My arm slung over his shoulder as he told me about his final art project.
The night he came out to us over Thanksgiving weekend.
The way I responded.
The heartbroken look on his face.
The look that had haunted me for five years.
The look I wanted to erase and replace with one of happiness, support… love.
Music started and he stood, Elizabeth's hand in his as they moved down the pew to exit. As he waited for her, he looked up, and our eyes connected for the first time since that weekend.
Hurt. Surprise. Anger. Resignation.
I looked down and then quickly back up, but it was too late. His eyes were elsewhere – straight-ahead and stoic – as he slowly walked Mom up the aisle and to the car waiting in back.
My stomach churned. I needed to apologize, to do something. Anything. But this wasn't the time or the place.
"I thought you were into Rose, man?" Jasper asked, confused, searching.
We had just gotten back from Thanksgiving at his house, where Edward dropped the bombshell that he was gay. I was still furious with myself for not saying something. I guess I didn't have to, because the look on Edward's face fucking sucked.
But to be honest, I was pissed that he'd waited all this time to say something. I had my suspicions he was. He never dated chicks in high school, perfectly content to chill with the guys or work in his studio.
I should have put two and two together. But after he came out, it all made sense. The way he looked at me, longingly. That quiet shyness that was always under the surface or the way he was always shifting or tucking his hands in his pocket.
"I was… I just… things are different now," I replied vaguely.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It just means… fuck, Jas, I don't know what it means. It just means I'm not interested in her. Something changed for me this weekend, and I'm confused, okay?"
He stared at me for a beat, his cool grey eyes penetrating, questioning, observing, understanding.
He nodded. "I get it. You need to fix it."
We both knew what his cryptic words meant. I needed to fix the way I had broken Edward this weekend.
Shuffling next to me jolted me out of my reverie, and I immediately stood and moved into the aisle and out of the church. The whole time my mind was warring at the bitter way my feelings for Edward had festered over the years.
I never got in touch with him. I never told him I felt something too. It was just too weird, too unexpected. I never thought I was gay. I'd never even given it a thought, but when Edward said he had something to share and put his fork down, when he finally said, "I'm gay," something inside of me changed.
When his eyes met mine, unflinching and honest that night, butterflies stirred. I looked at him differently. It took me another two years to admit to myself that I was gay, too. The process was long and hard, and for the first time in a long time, my whole life really, I finally felt whole.
By the time the service and internment was over, I was exhausted. Mom was anxious to get home. She had reached her limit, and she needed some time to grieve in private. Hell, we both did.
At some point after getting Mom settled, I fell asleep. It was dark when I woke up, and I felt more rested than I had since I'd gotten that fucking phone call.
I sat up, my feet resting on the cool hardwood. Aside from the creak of my bed, the house was silent. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand and saw it after nine. I really had slept a long ass time.
Groaning, I flopped backward and scrubbed my hand through my hair. I wasn't tired, but I didn't feel like getting up or going out. I knew the guys were at Stan's, and even though I hadn't seen them in a long time, I didn't quite feel up to it.
The only person I wanted to see, even if it hurt like hell, was him. Emmett. Seeing him at the church had caught me off guard. I should have known he would be there, but it didn't change the reality of what had happened between us. Or what didn't happen between us.
Unbidden and unwanted thoughts of him, the way he looked flitted through my mind. I didn't want to admit he looked good, even though he did. His broad shoulders seemed bigger, his blonde hair was cropped close to his head and mussed just the way I always seemed to imagine him in my dreams.
"Ugh," I muttered as I sat up, pushing aside those thoughts.
Twenty minutes later I was up, showered, fully dressed, and headed to Stan's. I needed to get him out of my head.
The crowd at Stan's was overflowing, and I had to push my way in. It took a bit before I found the gang and even longer for me to wade through the bodies to their table.
"Hey," I said, stuffing my hands in my pockets.
A chorus of "Edward," "Hey man," and "Good to see you," were shouted over the thump of the music.
Three or four beers in, I was finally feeling good. I felt relaxed. We were all telling some of our favorite stories about Jasper and the good ole days. It felt good to laugh and remember. I knew it wouldn't always be this easy, but it felt good all the same.
A chair scraped against the floor, and I looked over to see Emmett sitting backward right next to me. I shifted away, not on purpose, but out of surprise.
He smiled nervously at me, and I tried to return what I could only imagine was a grimacing half smile. He greeted everyone, and they did the same. Conversation immediately picked up where it left off as another round of beers arrived at the table. Emmett ordered one and leaned forward in his chair.
He licked his lips like he was going to say something, and I felt that familiar tightening in my stomach. He was sexier than ever – his eyes that gorgeous baby blue, his pink tongue peeking out as he wet his lips, and his biceps on full display as he wrapped his arms around the back of the chair. He laid his head on the tops of his arms and looked at me. Really looked at me, and I had to swallow the knot that had formed in my throat.
"Hey," he finally said, his eyes burning into mine.
I swallowed again and replied the same.
He stared at me a bit longer before he turned back to face the group. We continued that game for the next two hours – him staring at me, searching, anxious, curious – and me desperately trying to ignore the vice that had tightened in my chest, stomach, and throat.
I kept waiting for him to say something, to acknowledge what had happened between us that night, but he never said anything. He sat there, joking and laughing with everyone, and the longer it went on, the angrier I got.
With every pass of his eyes over my face, down to my lips, I felt more confused, more frustrated. Ever since I'd come out, I'd felt confident in who I was, but something about the way he was looking at me made me feel vulnerable, raw, open. I looked at the pile of beer labels strewn across the table and hated myself for allowing him to make me feel that way.
It was the same feeling I'd felt when he studied my art the day I realized I felt more for him than just friendship. Sitting next to him and hearing him laugh was like gasoline on barely burning embers.
I glanced at him and shifted uncomfortably. My dick was hard as a fucking rock and had been since the minute he said 'hey'. He was still sexy as hell. His jaw was sharper with hints of stubble, and his hair fell just above his ears, curling slightly. It was adorable and hot, and I had to get out of there. I couldn't let my mind go there again. I had wanted him since my junior year of high school, and now that I was a grown man, I didn't have it in me to play games or mess around.
He didn't say anything to me. He didn't have to. The tension between us was thick, like freshly poured cement, and I just wanted to get out of there.
"I'm gonna call it a night," I said, barely restraining my anger, to everyone at the table as I stood and threw a couple of twenties on the table.
They all murmured their goodbyes. There were no promises to stay in touch. We all knew we wouldn't.
As I barreled my way through the crowd and out into the thick, humid air, all I wanted to do was curl up in my room with a bottle of Jack and drown in my sorrows. Alone. Without Jasper. Without Emmett. The two men I wanted most in my life. But I knew I couldn't. My mother needed me.
My heart was in a panic as I watched him walk away from the table. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to tell him I was sorry. Not just about Jas but for everything. For the pain I'd caused him, for the denial I had been in that night and the years that followed it.
As the waitress came for another round, I bowed out, threw my money on the table and said my goodbyes. Everyone was sort of looking at me strangely, but I didn't care. I was beyond caring about anything at that point. I had some business that needed tending to, and I wasn't going to let my pride stand in my way.
Once outside the bar, I jogged toward Edward's house. The front porch light was still on, and I took a chance. I turned the knob and found it unlocked.
As I opened the door, I heard a glass break and saw Edward whirl around, surprised.
"What the fuck, Emmett?" he said, his voice angry.
"Sorry. I just… I didn't mean to freak you out."
"You didn't. What do you want?"
"I wanted to say I'm sorry."
"You already did," he said bitterly.
His tone caught me off guard, and I took a step back.
"Not for bursting in here. Although, I am sorry about the glass and catching you off guard."
"It's fine. Whatever."
I paused. My mind was whirling with so many thoughts it felt like I was traveling at warp speed. I wanted to say I was sorry and sad and devastated about Jas. I wanted to say I was sorry for that night long ago, for not being man enough or smart enough to know who I really was or what I really wanted, but all of that seemed inconsequential at the moment. I couldn't very well say those things if he wouldn't even look at me.
The scraping of glass into the metal dustpan pulled me back into the moment.
"Why are you here, Emmett? Mom's already asleep. You'll have to see her in the morning."
I hated the cool, roughness of his voice. I didn't want to cause him any more pain or frustration.
I took a deep breath and ran my fingers through my too-short hair. I was still pissed that my stylist had convinced to go this short. Why the hell am I thinking about this right now?
Another breath and a step forward. "Look, Edward, I didn't come here for her. I want to see her tomorrow, but I'm here for you, right now."
He snorted in disbelief. "Like you were five years ago? No fucking thank you."
He slammed the dustpan on the ground and angrily began sweeping the glass into it. When he was done, he turned, without a glance in my direction, and walked into the kitchen with the pile of rattling, broken glass pieces.
My initial reaction was fear. I didn't want him to walk away. I couldn't let him. I had already done that once, and I wasn't about to make the same mistake again.
I followed after him. This ridiculousness had to stop.
I grabbed his arm, my fingers wrapping around his bicep. "Come take a walk with me," I said firmly, more order than question.
"Get your fucking hands off me. I'm not going anywhere with you," he said, his voice tight and crisp, the anger and hurt evident in his eyes and the screwed up look on his face.
I immediately let go of his arm. "Please, Edward. I have some things I need to say. For old times' sake?"
I had no idea what it would take, but I needed to walk and talk, be out of this space, the place I'd screwed everything up, in order to get all this shit out.
We stared at each other – my gaze unwavering and firm, his just as firm and angry.
He brushed against my shoulder as he pushed past me. It was like being hit in the chest by a truck. His dismissal was crushing. Painful. And yet, I wanted more.
I followed after him. I was always following after him, at least that's how it seemed.
"Dude, wait up, man," I hollered as I jogged after him.
We walked side by side in absolute silence. It was nerve-wracking and frustrating. I was the one that wanted to do this, but now that the moment had finally come, I had no idea how to say what I needed to say.
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He was gorgeous, even more so than I remembered. His hair was a mess, his jaw tense and tight, and his eyes were narrowed in frustration and focus.
I toyed around with words, words I had thought about for years, but I couldn't make them form. I couldn't do anything with them. And so we walked. We walked until our pace slowed and we were back where I'd watch him struggle the night before.
There were a handful of people holding a vigil, and the soft, yellowy shine of candlelight filled the air. I looked at him, this time stopping full out. He kept walking until his footsteps faltered. He just stood there, his back to me, his shoulders tense and hard.
"I'm sorry, Edward."
Nothing. Not a single movement or response.
Until his shoulders slumped and his head fell forward.
Seconds, minutes, I don't know how long passed until I saw his shoulders shake with sobs.
Broken, ragged, devastating sobs.
I didn't hesitate. I just moved. I pulled him into my arms and wrapped them tightly around him as he buried his head in my neck, into my shoulder. He cried, body-wracking sobs, and I held him, oblivious to the people around us, to the scene we were making, and to the quiet questions I knew they were probably asking.
I didn't care about any of that. All I cared about was him. Comforting him. Giving him exactly what he needed.
His body stilled, and the air felt suddenly charged, as if we finally realized what was actually happening between us.
More. So much more.
And that's when I felt his lips against my neck. It felt so damn good. I couldn't help the shudder and involuntary moan that fell from my lips.
I pulled him back. I had to see his eyes. They never lied. I had to know this was what he wanted.
I had to let him see that it's what I wanted.
His red-rimmed, bleary eyes met mine, and the world stopped. This was it.
When Emmett's arms wrapped around me the relief I felt was palpable. All the anger, tension, and grief melted away as I cried for Jasper, for my mom, for me, and for everything that would never be between us. All the pent up loss and regret, longing and emptiness poured out with each tear that fell.
I relished the warmth of his arms, his chest, the pulsing in his neck. I wanted him. I always had, and even in the midst of my sorrow, my body was betraying me, telling, showing him exactly what I wanted, the needs and wants I'd never voice, knowing they'd lead to nothing but more regret and rejection.
Despite all that, I kissed the spot on his neck I had thought about a thousand times. I felt him shudder underneath me, and his sharp inhale stopped me cold. He pushed me back, and I immediately stepped away from him.
Shame settled over me like a wet blanket, and fear churned in my stomach. What the fuck had I been thinking? I wasn't.
I felt like I was going to throw up.
He called my name.
I swallowed, afraid to look up at him.
"Edward. Look at me."
I did, and what my burning eyes saw was enough to knock the wind right out of me.
Everything I was thinking, feeling, reflected back at me.
I didn't think. I just acted. Leaning in and crashing my lips against his. His arms tightened around me again, this time differently than before. I lost myself in the taste of his mouth, the way his lips felt firm and perfect against my own, the soft, velvet of his tongue. Our lips slid, pushing and pulling, giving and taking, and everything in me felt like it would explode.
My fingers slid through the short hair at the nape of his neck, and his ensuing moan told me just how good it felt. Over and over I traced my fingers against his neck, into his hair, until his body was pressed so tightly against mine I could hardly breathe. Desperate for air, I pulled back.
Our eyes locked, and I knew. There was definitely something between us.
Emmett licked his lips and blew out a breath. "I'm so fucking sorry, Edward. For everything. But mostly for the way I handled things that night."
I stared at him, dumbfounded. My world tilted on its axis. Everything I had thought was wrong.
"What?" I asked, still stunned and not quite sure I wasn't imaging this whole damn scene.
"I want you. I have for a long time; I just didn't realize it. When you came out, I… I was so confused."
I tried to process what he was saying.
"Em, the way you looked at me, like you were disgusted, that… it fucking sucked," I finally said after a pause.
"I know. You don't know how many times I've relived that night, how many times I have imagined changing it. But I can't. And I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry," he breathed, his voice ragged and rough.
Tears filled his eyes, and I knew this was my chance. Whatever I said or did next would make or break any chance of something between us. As I watched tears roll unhindered down his cheeks, I couldn't hurt him. I didn't want to. I just wanted him.
This time it was me who wrapped him in my arms. It was me that whispered I was sorry over and over again as my arms tightened around him as my fingers traced soothing patterns over his back.
We parted, and together we walked, our fingers tangled together. I didn't ask where we were going; I think, subconsciously, we both knew.
Inside the hotel we walked, oblivious to the stares of people in the lobby or the other couple in the elevator. He led me to his room, where he fumbled with the key, his hands shaking with nerves.
I put my hand on his.
"Hey," I whispered, keeping it in place until he finally looked at me. "We don't have to do anything, Emmett. I just want to be with you, okay?"
He swallowed and then nodded, some of the tension and nerves dissipating. If I were honest with myself, which I generally was, I was nervous too. Being with Emmett, in whatever capacity he agreed to, was something I had fantasized about for years. In some ways all this really felt too good to be true.
Inside, he tossed the keycard on the desk, and we both stood there awkwardly staring at each other.
The air crackled around us in anticipation of the first move – whatever that may be. I wasn't sure if he would, but I had started this mess, and I needed to follow through. So, with the weight of the world on my shoulders I took a step, then two, then three forward until I was standing right in front of him.
I reached out, my fingers skimming across the tight material of his shirt. His breath hitched and then released in a short, tight gust. His eyes met mine, and I saw desire and longing in his normally light, but now dark blue eyes.
I licked my lips. "I want you, Emmett. I have for a long time."
There. It was out there, hanging like an air ball waiting to sink into the net.
And with a whoosh his lips were on mine, his hands in my hair, tugging until my body was fully flush with his. My fingers dug into the material of his shirt as I fisted it tightly, afraid to let go. But my fears were unfounded, because together we walked backwards to the bed, the backs of my knees hitting, sending me toppling over and Emmett landing on top of me.
Shirts came off.
Lips found hot, needy skin.
Breathless voices whispered how long we'd both wanted this.
"Edward, I," Emmett attempted, stumbling over words as I dragged my tongue along his neck and sucked on the skin at the edge of his jaw.
He moaned. And I did it again.
He looked down at me, and his gorgeous baby blues sparkled dangerously. His lips brushed against mine before he whispered, "I need you."
Clad only in our jeans, he hovered over me until his body was pressing me fully into the mattress. We rocked against each other, and I could barely breathe. I wanted to feel him. All of him. I fumbled with the button at his waist until his hands, this time the steady ones, brushed against mine and slowly unbuttoned and unzipped. He stood up and tugged off his shoes, socks, and pants until he was standing in front of me in a pair of grey boxer briefs.
Sitting up, I reached out and cupped his dick, hard and ready. He groaned and his head fell backward. I tugged him toward me and kissed the skin just above the waistband. I tugged the boxers over his hips. His dick bounced. I stared. He was perfect. Long. Thick. I reached out and wrapped my hand around it, and groaned at the realization that this was really happening. Silk and steel. Emmett's dick was in my hand and my mouth as I flicked my tongue out to taste him. He tasted like man – heady, musky, man.
His hands found my hair and dug in as I swirled my tongue around the head. Over and over I pulled my lips up and down, my teeth scraping lightly, my tongue tracing the vein on the underside. His hips thrust forward, and his voice, so deep and raspy, told me he was close. I sucked harder, swallowing around him at the back of my throat until he was pulsing and crying out guttural, unintelligible words.
Ever so slowly, I released him from my mouth, kissing my way up his hipbones, the V of his abs, his chest, and his mouth. He moaned as my tongue touched his.
It felt so fucking good to do that to him, to show him, to leave no doubt.
His hands worked their way down my back, tracing lightly, then digging, kneading and massaging my ass.
"I want you, Edward," he murmured, his breath hot against my neck.
"Then take me," I said, my head falling back as his tongue swirled around my Adam's apple.
It felt so fucking good. So fucking right. Finally, it felt right.
He lowered me onto the bed, his fingers tracing, playing, exploring until they found my entrance. His fingers skimmed against me, and I shifted, pushing my hips upward in invitation.
"Please, Em," I begged.
"Is this what you want, Edward? Me? Inside you?" His eyes were blazing.
"God, yes," I breathed. "Yes."
He climbed off the bed and was back in a second. I heard the snap of the cap and felt cool, smooth lube as he inserted one finger, massaging preparing. I whimpered, already wanting more. It had been a long, fucking time since I'd been with anyone, and I wasn't even sure how long I'd last. Two fingers. Three, until I was panting, practically begging him to get inside me.
I watched him stroke his dick, preparing himself, rolling the condom on and coating himself in lube.
"Scoot back," he said, and I did.
And then he was there, hovering over me, his eyes seeking mine, trying to be sure this was what I really wanted.
I lifted my head and kissed him. As my tongue brushed against his, the tip of his dick pushed inside me.
"Fuck," I moaned, breaking our kiss and falling back onto the bed. It felt so fucking good even though it hurt like hell.
He waited and inch by inch, slowly pushed inside me, waiting until I was ready and he was fully seated.
He moved, in and then out, achingly slow, but with every pass, his dick hit me exactly where I needed it, and it was blinding, bliss. He grasped my dick, moving, gliding, tugging, teasing me. With every pass of his hand over the head, I felt my balls tighten.
My fingers dug into his shoulders. My eyes never left his.
His hips slammed into mine, and over and over he gave me exactly what I needed. Sweat dripped. Whimpers and moans filled the air. Stroke for stroke I matched the rhythm of his hips until I grunted, my dick pulsing in his hand as cum covered my stomach.
He continued to move, riding the wave of my orgasm. Just as I was coming down, his movements became frantic, jagged, as he rocked into me. Seconds later his head tipped forward, and my name fell from his lips as he found his release.
Exhausted, he collapsed on top of me. His skin was slick against mine as we lay there together, breathing, coming down. The air around us, thick with the scent of our sex, was intense and surreal. Had we really just done that? Had Emmett actually fucked me? Had I actually sucked his dick?
I tried to think about what had gotten us to that point, and even though all the pieces were there, it still didn't make sense. I thought he was straight. I thought he didn't want me, didn't like the fact I was gay.
He rolled over, disposed of the condom in the wastebasket by the bed, and then reached out and pulled me to him. My head was resting on his chest, rising and falling with each breath he took.
"I know you probably have questions. I've got answers, but can we just stay like this, still and quiet, for a little while?" he asked quietly.
I nodded my head and his arms tightened around me as he kissed my temple.
Light poured into the window, blaring almost, and my body was sticky and hot. I shifted, my arm asleep, and realized with a smile that last night actually had happened. Edward was really here. He was with me. We'd been together. Made love, fucked, whatever kind of label we wanted to put on it.
I pressed a kiss against his forehead and ran my fingers down the warm skin of his arm, enjoying the way the light danced and shadowed the muscles of his arms. He truly was gorgeous. On the third pass, his eyes fluttered open and a tentative smile formed on his lips.
"Morning," he rasped, his voice still thick with sleep.
I leaned forward and kissed him chastely, acutely aware of my own breath but undeterred nonetheless.
"Morning," I whispered.
We stared at each other until his face flushed pink, and we both started laughing.
"Wow," he said. "This was uh, unexpected."
I laughed heartily. "To say the least."
His fingers skimmed my chest, down to my belly button and back up again. I groaned at the sensation and the way my dick twitched at the hope and thought of a repeat of last night.
"So, you're gay?" he asked, his eyes refusing to meet mine.
I shifted so I was sitting and tipped his face so his eyes would meet mine. When they did, I saw all the questions, the uncertainty, the fear of what was to come, and I smiled.
"Yeah, I am. I came out about three years ago."
He blew out a breath. "But I thought…"
"I was confused, Edward. When you told us that night that you were gay, I was just confused. It was unexpected, and while I'm sure my response made you think and feel one thing, I can assure you it wasn't judgment. You made me question some things I'd buried deep inside, and I was scared.
"It wasn't until later in college when I met Stephen that I really knew. He helped me realize what I was feeling was normal, that all the confusing thoughts I had about you coming out were simply my misplaced uncertainty and doubt about myself.
"I'm sorry, Edward. I wish I could redo that night. I should have called, come see you, anything to straighten up the mess I made of our friendship, but I was just too chickenshit to do it."
I picked up his hand and brushed his knuckles against my lips. "I'm asking you to forgive me. I don't know if there's a chance for us or how we'll make it work, but I'm asking all the same."
I watched his face closely, trying to discern what was going on inside his head. His eyes, tear filled and on the verge of spilling over, met mine. I saw nothing but hope and forgiveness, acceptance and warmth.
"Thank you, Emmett. That… makes a lot of sense." He paused and this time picked my hand up and brought it to his lips. "And you're forgiven. Most definitely forgiven," he said as he kissed each knuckle and chuckled against my skin.
We spent the rest of the day making love, holding each other, and catching up on lost time. At some point in there, I called my mom and gave her a brief explanation of where I was. The warm acceptance and happiness in her voice told me I was doing the right thing. That we were doing the right thing.
I looked at the man sleeping next to me, and sighed. Who would have thought in the midst of my sorrow the one person I had longed for would find his way back to me. I closed my eyes and said a little word of thanks to Jasper, telling him how much I would miss him and how I happy I knew this would have made him.
Emmett rolled over and looked at me.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah, I just wish Jasper was here. I wish he could have seen us… like this."
Emmett laughed. "Um, I'm pretty sure Jas would not have wanted to see us lying naked in bed together."
I grabbed the pillow underneath my head and smacked him in the face.
"You know what I mean, you idiot."
A pillow fight of epic proportions ensued and followed with us collapsing into a tangled, sweaty mess of sated limbs. We didn't figure everything out that weekend, but we got a good start.