When I saw the option of 'Fireman Edward' on jayliwood's page, this story immediately came to mind. My father was in one of the Twin Towers at the time of the 9/11 attacks (thankfully, he survived), and I wanted to portray the utter horror and helplessness that the family members of the victims felt during this dark time.
Jayeliwood's Sexy Edward Contest
Type of Edward: Fireman Edward
Character Type: I'd like to think of it as IC, but I imagine it veers more toward OOC
Story Type: All human
September 11, 2001
I stared at the faint green luminescence radiating from the digital clock on the bed stand and sighed in contentment. I had another eleven hours and twenty-eight minutes to spend with my husband. I snuggled closer to him, squeezing my arm around his waist a little tighter, and reinstating the place my thigh had on his hip, running my foot suggestively up his leg.
Edward had come off duty from the fire station two hours ago. Those two hours had been filled with mind-blowing, animalistic sex that had left us both sweaty and breathless. It wasn't that we hadn't had sex in a long time. No, it was more that we hadn't fucked in a long time: real hard fucking staccatoed with carnal grunts and no sign of mercy from either party. We had both come, several times in fact, and even though I could feel my muscles already becoming sore from the intense exercise, I wanted more.
That was why I was stroking his leg with my foot.
He smiled down at me with a smile that stopped my heart, even after two years of marriage. We had been high school sweethearts in the tiny, wet town of Forks in the northwest corner of Washington State, and had married just as soon as Edward's birthday passed. We had moved, however, when Edward had been accepted to an army-training program all the way in Florida. I followed him out there, gaining a degree in English literature at the local college. In the end, Edward had decided that couldn't bring himself to kill, but didn't want to waste his excellent physical training, and instead took a fire fighting course. He had been offered a great job up in New York City, and he leapt at the chance. We moved up here eighteen months ago, living in a pretty, but tiny house in Brooklyn.
His career choice had broken my heart, I'll admit; I was a selfish person, and didn't want my Edward out there, risking his life for people we didn't even know. I knew that he loved his career; Edward's father was a wonderful and revered doctor, and I believe Edward had inherited his love of helping people from his father. That was why I couldn't let my egotism take his passion away. I think that he was aware that it affected me, due to the fact that I cried every time he left to fight another fire, but I never said anything to him, not wanting to repress his passion for his job.
I returned to the present when Edward's arms tightened around me. He turned us over so that he was cradling my torso in his large, strong, coarse hands – his fire fighting hands. I automatically wound my arms around his shoulders and lifted myself to press our lips together. Just as the kiss began to deepen, the passion slowly building to a stage of self combustion, Edward pulled away, eliciting a frown and a pout from me. He laughed happily – he was so carefree when he was off duty – and bent his head down to whisper in my ear, in a voice of the softest velvet, "I want to imprint you onto my memory."
I shuddered in pleasure as his nose followed the line from my jaw to my collarbone, touching my skin with barely a whisper.
Edward inhaled at the crook of my neck, his arms sliding out from underneath me to stroke my upper arms. I lay there utterly still, absolutely entranced by his movements.
His nose continued its path across my chest to my other shoulder, his wet tongue dipping into the hollow by my collarbone.
I shuddered again and tried to pull him back to me. Instead, he seized my wrists and pushed them down to my sides.
"Please, be still, for me," his eyes pleaded, the forest green sparkling in the dim light.
I nodded, tears filling my eyes at the overwhelming emotion flooding my body. How did this wonderful man love me?
Edward's hand, already on my wrist, lifted my arm, making it easier for his nose to maintain its smooth path down the inside. His impossibly soft lips replaced his nose as he reached my hand. He let his tongue taste my palm, before touching each finger tenderly with his mouth.
The tears decided to spill.
He noticed my sudden display of emotion and dropped my hand in alarm, pressing his lips gently to mine.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his emerald gaze penetrating my soul.
"I love you," I stated, my confession so true it made my teeth hurt.
His smile was so blissfully euphoric that it made my heart fill up and overflow with pure happiness.
"You are my life," he stated plainly, before picking up my other hand and kissing it softly.
His nose now skimmed down to the valley in the middle of my breasts. He smelt the skin there, his hand still in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze before continuing.
I stopped breathing as his nose was once again, replaced by his velvety lips. They ran up to my left breast. My nipple puckered as his hot, wet tongue flicked it softly.
When his warm mouth enveloped the hardened peak, however, the carnal moan I had been stifling escaped, sending my back arching up, and pushing my breast further into his mouth. He, instead of suckling harder, pushed my now frustrated body back down into the mattress.
"For me," he whispered again.
His finger traced an invisible line down the middle of my stomach, which circled my belly and then stopped at my womanhood. His nose followed the same path, but continued on its own, pushing its way slightly into my (now wet) folds. Edward breathed in, closing his eyes and grasped my ankles, pulling them up over his strong shoulders.
All necessary bodily functions ceased in anticipation as I realised Edward's intent. My hands instinctively went down to grasp his hair, which was a shock of copper against my creamy thighs.
"No, love," he commanded, "please, be still. Let me have my moment."
I drew my hands out of his thick locks and clasped them into fists at my sides; such was my concentration of letting Edward get his way.
His tongue now ran up my slit, sending an involuntary, but nonetheless pleasurable, shiver up my spine.
I didn't need to see his face to know that he was smiling.
His tongue now ventured further, before reaching my core. He ran his tongue around the edges, which made me squirm slightly, before his hands went to grip my hips, keeping them still as he explored deeper.
Another animalistic groan escaped from my mouth as his warm tongue touched my aching clitoris – the pleasure was too much.
Edward now applied his broad, flat tongue to my womanhood, with some pressure. My hands found themselves in his hair again, bringing him closer to me, making him love me harder, with more than he was giving, and he didn't complain.
I don't know what happened in those next few minutes. All I remember was the unbelievable pleasure that seemed to be winding a spring in the pit of my stomach, tighter and tighter until—
Until everything exploded around me, in vivid colours, which personified Edward: tan for his skin, pink for his lips, bronze for his hair and green for his eyes.
He was all that filled my vision that time. Everything was centred around him and him alone. His smile, his anger, his laugh, his tears, his joy, his triumph, his unending love and compassion for everybody around him.
When I came down from my high, I opened my eyes to find Edward's intense stare suddenly gazing down at me. Our noses were less than an inch apart.
It seemed that as soon as our sights met, his lips met mine, his tongue seeking for a companion. I gladly complied – I wanted this as much as he did – and our tongues met in a flurry of activity, playing with each other, touching each other in ways that made my knees quiver and my hands shake.
Edward's hands made their way down from cupping my cheeks, down my shoulders and arms to my hands, bringing them up to our faces. He touched my cheek tenderly with his knuckle, kissing my thumb before letting go. I instantly mourned his touch.
Any emptiness I felt was subsided as his hands went to bend my legs, which had fallen to the mattress from his mind-blowing. He spread them slightly apart and arranged himself between them.
He pulled away from our kiss and took my right hand again, his left forearm supporting his body. Our gaze was unbroken as he slipped into me.
The feeling of being whole, of completion only lasted as long as Edward and I were one; when we were together in the most carnal, most simple, most natural of ways. My other hand came up between us to stroke his cheek, to marvel at his strong jaw and crisp cheekbones, his soft lips and perfect nose.
We had set up a proper rhythm now, our moves becoming more feverish and desperate as we came further and further to the edge. I knew it was nearly over – neither of us could last much longer – but fought the urge to close my eyes in the intense bliss that gripped my body in that moment. The most erotic thing was keeping locked gazes with Edward as we came; it ensured a simultaneous climax, something that brought us, if possible, even closer together.
All at once, Edward sped up, his thrusts becoming more urgent – a contrast from the long, luxurious moves of before – which elicited a giant groan and moan from me. I knew that Edward was less than a second away from coming. He twitched once inside me and then filled me with his hot, flowing seed.
Edward coming was one of my favourite sights ever. His head was thrown back, the cords of his neck standing out; his jaw was tense although his mouth was relaxed; his eyes were peacefully shut while his eyebrows were furrowed. I loved the fact that he was happy and that I had satisfied him; it was a huge self-esteem boost for me to know that plain Bella Swan could fulfil this beautiful, marvellous creature's physical needs.
I loved him. So much that it was hard to bear. It was almost painful, my love for this wonderful, caring, compassionate man.
The tears started to fall once again.
I was broken out of my reverie by Edward's head falling down into the crook of my neck, his cries muffled by my shoulder. I hugged him tighter to me, desperate not to let him go, desperate for him not to leave me empty once again.
His arms encircled my waist, bringing me onto his chest so that we were lying in the same way as before.
"Are you all right?" he asked. His voice sounded concerned and he wiped the tears off of my cheek.
I thought about it for a minute, "I am okay," my voice broke as I answered, "I love you."
He kissed the top of my head and pulled me in tighter.
I sighed contentedly into his sternum and glanced at the clock again.
I smiled, revelling in the fact that I still had ten hours and forty-three minutes until Edward had to go back to work. We could sleep for a few more hours and then go grab something to eat at the local diner. We'd walk there, hand in hand, talking and laughing. We'd probably share a giant breakfast: the 'American Deluxe', complete with greasy fried eggs, golden hash browns and a huge side of bacon sandwiches. Even though it was disgustingly oily, we'd joke that we needed to replenish our energy, and perhaps store some for later. I would bite my lip in anticipation and Edward's eyes would darken. On that note, we'd pay hurriedly and return to our tiny bedroom for another round.
As I lifted my head to proposition a greasy diner breakfast, Edward's pager started to buzz. Why were they calling him? This was his day off! This was the time that he was meant to be with me, spending time with his lonely wife instead of risking his life for somebody he didn't even know.
He groaned and extricated himself from the tangle of sheets and limbs, giving my hand a gentle squeeze as he got up. He sighed heavily as he looked at the alert.
"It's an emergency. I'll call them to see if I'm really needed," he said sadly before going downstairs into the kitchen to use the phone.
I sat up, leaning on my arm, sulking. My whole perfect day was ruined. Of course they'd need him. They wouldn't contact him if they didn't.
I lay back down on the pillows for a while, stewing in my misery.
Edward still didn't come back. I listened for his voice, straining to hear it in the kitchen. I couldn't hear the words, but his usually dulcet tones sounded shocked, disbelieving and terribly afraid.
I was about to get up to see what was wrong when he came rushing back into our room, rummaging in his drawers for a pair of underwear and socks.
I watched him for a while, waiting to see if he would initiate the conversation.
"How long do you think it'll take?" I asked him, my brow furrowed.
"I don't know how lo-- I have to go, Bella. It's, it's—" his voice faded off to the end, immediately striking fear and panic into my heart.
"What is it, Edward? Tell me, please," I begged.
He was already out of the bedroom, heading downstairs to the front door. I wrapped the sheet clumsily around me and followed, still imploring him to tell me the gravity of the situation.
I started to cry at his distance.
"Edward, what's wrong?"
He had already grabbed his keys and wallet, shoving them into his back pocket. The door was open and his hand was already on the knob, ready to close it behind him.
"Jus- just turn on the TV."
I stood in the hallway in the sweaty sheet, absolutely flabbergasted.
I started to cry in confusion and frustration and fear. Why was he reacting that way? Why didn't he communicate with me? Was it really serious? Was his life in danger? Of course, Bella -- he's a fire fighter. His life's always in danger.
I went back upstairs to throw on one of Edward's t-shirts and a pair of cotton panties. I decided that I needed the physical and emotional comfort of one of his warm sweatshirts as well, and put that over the thigh-high t-shirt.
I headed back downstairs and flung myself on the sofa, pulling the afghan over my knees and turned on the TV to the local news, my usual source for Edward's jobs.
As soon as I saw the enormity of the situation, however, I switched over to the mainstream news channel – this was no local house fire.
I was speechless as I watched the clip of the plane flying into the building.
I was speechless as I watched the clip of the plane flying into the building next door.
I was speechless as I saw the fire.
I was speechless as I saw the first building collapse.
I was speechless as I realised I had lost my husband.
There was no chance he would survive this. They were already reporting hundreds of deaths, deaths that they had barely signed the certificates off to.
And lots of them belonged to fire fighters.
I started to hyperventilate.
Those words brought a flurry of painful memories to the forefront of my mind. Edward spoke those words to me during our first dates and lovemaking sessions; I got so caught up in the passion and electricity flowing between us that I forgot to breathe.
I tried to distract myself by looking at the clock for the third time that morning.
In eleven minutes I had gone from adored wife to distraught widow.
I didn't know what to do; I didn't know how to react.
I didn't know if I was even reacting.
Everything was gone: every emotion, every feeling, and every sound. I was no longer a human being – I was undead, a living corpse.
The only thing I could see were the two planes flying into the buildings.
The disaster zone where my husband was right now, probably lying dead underneath a pile of rubble.
I ran to the bathroom to vomit at the thought of Edward's corpse. I shuddered into the toilet bowl at the thought of going to identify his body. I cried at the loss of such a wonderful creature, my husband, Edward Masen.
I walked back into the living room, a zombie.
The plane was still flying into the skyscraper.
The people were still screaming.
And they were still dying.
I sat there, huddled into the old afghan, gripping onto Edward's sweatshirt as though it was my lifeline. No, not 'as though' - 'because' it was my lifeline.
I sat there, watching people die on the small, crackly screen in the home I had once shared with my husband.
I didn't hear anything for a long time.
The phone rang. I didn't want to answer it. I didn't want to hear friends' or family's condolences or apologies.
I wanted to hear my husband's voice again.
'I want to imprint you onto my memory', he had said. Did he know that he was to die today? Had he had an ominous feeling that something tragic was going to happen? Did he know that that tragic something was going to be his demise?
No, no, no, no, no.
The phone rang again.
I ignored it. The caller hung up after a few rings.
Again, the irritating trilling drilled into my brain.
I walked over to pick it up and answered with a hoarse "hello?"
"Mrs Masen?" a businesslike, yet apologetic voice asked.
My knees gave way to uncontrollable sobbing. I was right. He was dead. He had been taken when all he did was give.
"No, ma'am, no," What did he mean 'no'? Did he want to prolong my misery by drawing it out? Did he want to send me photographic evidence before giving me the truth?
"There's someone here to speak to you," Who, the coroner? The pathologist? The insurance company?
"Hold on, please. One second."
I heard some sort of fumbling and apologetic male voices in the background and considered hanging up, before--
Relief flooded my veins at the sound of my name. Well, not the sound, but the voice that spoke it.
It was that familiar velvet tone, as smooth and as sleek as honey. But hadn't it left me?
The voice was frantic now.
And then it clicked: he was alive.
He would come back to me.
"Edward," I gushed, reprieve saturating my tone.
The respite turned quickly to sheer panic and worry.
"Are you hurt? Are you in hospital? Are you all right?" I demanded, my hands clutching the phone, the ear and mouthpieces wet from my tears.
"Bella," I could hear a relieved smile from the voice I knew so well, the velvet cracking for a minute as he started to cry.
"Bella, I'm okay," his voice broke as he answered, "I love you."
I know I might have overdone it on the angst, but this is exactly how I felt while we were waiting for my dad to call. I only found this out later, but my mom had resigned herself to the fact that he was dead – thank god he wasn't.
I also know that many people are going to think that Bella's insanely jealous. In fact, I think she is – think of 'Eclipse'. She couldn't bear the thought of Edward being in danger, so she made him stay behind. Although, in this case, he couldn't stay with her.
Thanks for reading. I had been planning to do a story like this for a while.
Thank you, Jayeliwood for giving me the opportunity!