AN: First Twilight story, so decided to make it on an odd, but rather intriguing pairing. Nothing wrong with the couples in the books, just wanted something different on an attempt.
For people who do find it interesting, please enjoy and leave a comment so I can know if it seemed realistic. It's "wordy" too; it just ended up like that.
Thanks to Stealthmuffin. for, well, providing that wonderful oneshot that made me want to do it more. And Flamingo1365 for beta-ing. Never got a respond from you, but to know you accepted was enough. Thank you all once again.
Wait Another Minute
Wait Another Minute
Summary: They were tired of waiting.
Genre: Romance and Angst
Pairing: Jacob and Alice
Disclaimer: I don't own the "Twilight" characters…
Though it grew into a routine, it would still cause surprise upon both of them when they would meet. Neither expected it to lead to much—what was there to build upon their foundation of resentment and snide remarks as sharp as the mountain stones?
The young man disliked—no, loathed—the bloodsucker: the girl who had saved his beloved friend so many times more than he should. When she needed him, he could never be counted on.
Should it be notified as jealousy?
Absolutely not; envious over a bloodsucker—a vampire? That feeling would be worse than death.
Then how did it lead to this? He pondered carefully, his hands now roaming along the small of her back, headily leaning upon her frail-looking shoulders, skimming lightly along the sideline of her jaw. There was no pulse from her throat, no palpitating beats. But it didn't matter—as long as she heard his. He merely continued to touch her, fisting those short, silky tendrils into his palms. Moving closer, he then tentatively brushed her lips with his—cold, yet it made him eager.
She remained perfectly still; letting him explore, enjoying the feel of his warmth scathe the surface of her skin. Eyes now closed, she leaned in, imitating every move he made—unraveling that dark curtain of hair from its tenuous rubbery bondage. He'd grown it out again; and she liked it better when it was loose, wild and free. Slowly, she pressed her hands to his chest, chiseled from age and maturity that always followed, even though he'd been like that since they met. He was now a little over two years older than she; technically.
His breath was so warm on the nape of her neck. She almost didn't catch the small ripping noise when he pulled away the simple blouse she'd worn. She did the same to him by neatly cutting his shirt, inwardly smiling with herself. He didn't look bothered either that his own clothes were torn; just continued with whatever preoccupied him. Then she shuddered from a touch along her ribs; just beneath her breasts—involuntary or not, it caused her to release a breath she might've been holding. When you're dead, you couldn't tell.
He saw it, and that made it all the more shocking, embarrassing.
Ignoring the wry chuckle she received, the woman pushed aside the rest of his shirt, watching in fascination as it seemed to slide off his arms, rippling in the dark with just the moon's light. It looked soft, even with the rippling muscles; smooth, clean from marks. And she wanted to bite it, taste his blood till it quenched the sudden thirst—but she felt like it was one she'd had forever.
The werewolf had gotten better at catching her reactions. His face turned abruptly serious; however, his dark eyes contained mirth, gentleness. Then his mouth covered hers, and it made her feel an ache this body wasn't supposed to feel. It was firm, but not demanding. As it lasted, it grew bolder, and she loved ravishing the feeling of losing some of the coldness in her. So deliciously hot…
So refreshingly icy… It felt good compared to his usual temperature. Like her body was cooling him from the outside in; he knew their skin was hard as granite, and before he'd often think it able to break his teeth if he bit down into her chest with murderous intent. There was no malicious desire behind him tonight; merely the wanton necessity from feeling her firm yet sinuous flesh pressed tightly to his. And her lips—lush and ripe—the coolness of her breath caused him to feel insane. She tastes so good. He understood now what his companion meant about their scent; it wasn't revolting at all—an aroma that couldn't be duplicated, unique and original.
The woman pulled away, noticing the need for him to breathe. In truth, even her breath became choppy. Despite that he did it first, she worried he wouldn't move because his kiss was so fierce, urgent with an incomprehensible force—like he needed her for air. She understood, flattered by the fact.
He preoccupied himself with other things. Keeping his lips barely an inch above that snowy surface, lightly teasing trails along her collarbone, the hollow of her throat, the space between her breasts, the lobe of her delicate ear. He murmured something in the liquid language of his people, and just by his tone, she shook slightly. Never had his voice sounded so appealing—huskier with raw emotion, the look in his eyes making him even older than he appeared…the way a man wants a woman.
Something tugged at her dress pants, a soft thud followed. At the same moment, she almost didn't notice her own hands pulling down his jeans in one swift, harsh movement, a quiet chafing sound against skin before they too gave a more audible rustle.
It was odd, incomprehensible, and totally against the rules of both their worlds.
This shouldn't be happening; yet they lowered themselves onto the grass, clothes discarded, his abnormally long arms roving, placed on either side as she held him closer.
The young man couldn't understand the way he was acting—tender with care, slow despite the trembles he had felt coming, from the blood rushing or his inexperience, he couldn't tell. It was ridiculous. She was a vampire, and she could very well snap him in half if she so wished at any other time before. And he reined them in, he fought to control himself, suppressed the urge to crush her in his embrace with all his might. Why? There was no need; she wasn't…alive, after all. He could hold her all he wanted, wouldn't have to worry about injuring her. And still, with these rational thoughts, he wanted to be careful. It was so stupid…but it did make some sense on this obviously nonsensical night.
She buried her nose into the crook of his neck, sliding her fingertips along that taut muscular spine, making him shudder, a pleasurable growl rumbling deep inside his chest. Propping herself up further, she grabs both sides of his face, watching his dark eyes swirl with unmistakable lust, his beautiful tepid skin alight in the silver rays of the pale orb hanging up in a sky now painted with deep blue and insignificant tiny white specks.
The vampire had seen many things in her life—things not yet known or experienced still—but he was something indescribably wonderful. He was strong and breakable, temperamental and sweet, arrogant and candid—his own polar opposite. This boy, this half-human man, was a mystery.
It made her wonder about things, the future mostly. Despite her abilities of premonition, there were so many things left uncertain, her own destiny a blurry image, this definitely proved it—having her enemy hovering above her, claws tracing agonizingly lackadaisical lines, whispering and snarling words that made her sigh. It made her mind jumble into pieces for God knows how long, run her slim digits through his coarse, shiny black hair as he suckled a taut mammilla, the heaviness of his pants sending exciting thrills course inside her being—once again flabbergasted, and albeit impressed, at how responsive this hard shell of hers could be.
He wondered if all of her kind was capable of making their skin soft like real flesh; or perhaps it's something simpler, the fact his body isn't like regular mortals. Doubt came a second afterwards. No one could be like this, so supple and fierce, exquisite beyond measure. He had longed to feel her, wanted to be more by her side, his heart acting like it would catch fire from the heat rising in the pit of his stomach, burst and go into a frenzy he won't wish to leave. She was so near, pale alabaster beckoning, her eyes a lovely honey-hue he'd never seen before—and when he looked closer, their lips a hairsbreadth away—he saw the faintest of brilliant green, like the sun shining in tall leafy canopies. It made him smile.
The way she tilted her head in perplexity made him chuckle openly, giving her the lightest of feathery kisses before he forced apart her lips and legs, his tongue darting into her mouth at the same inexplicable second he entered her, causing the pair to tremble violently.
It was impossible for them to feel some thing for one another, but the barriers had been breached finally, a friction between the two while their limbs naturally found it easy to tangle and join. It started awkwardly, and she murmured in his ears, the hushed, emollient voice easing him. He seemed more timid now, dark tendrils barely flitting over her chest, his forehead resting against her shoulder.
The pause was fleeting.
A snarl from the back of his throat escaped, his large hands clamping down on her hips, moving further inside. He wanted this, badly needed her like nothing else in the world; now.
And she responded just as tenaciously, obliging to him like she'd read his very thoughts. Might've foresaw it.
The flaring of his nostrils made hot air escape, washing upon her skin; her cool breath mingled with his, creating a smell of tang and musk that lacquers into the atmosphere; those rough, callused hands of his felt so right against the smoothness of her lithe, marble-made body, the notion of him giving himself to her should've, and did, make her head swim with arousal; indents of their love-making were imprinted, scattered wild patterns understood only by them and other animals with no conscience. Her eyes molded into a crimson shade beneath the effervescent gold, red hazes obscuring her vision when she lapped at the trickling scarlet ribbon her partner was unbeknownst to.
It was an accident—her nails had grown on their own accord—but she savored it, swished it around inside her mouth in rapturous delight. She thought he would get upset when he noticed, yet he urged her forward with a low moan, and she licked, captured his lips, had him taste the saltiness of his flesh, the sweetness of his blood. She was losing control in her abeyance. If only he knew how much he was driving her mad, right off the precipice she tried so hard to keep balance.
This was the setting he always frowned at in his wildest imaginations, the dreams his ancestry upheld and his heart cried for to end; they were supposed to include normalcy and a different girl who would never have loved him the way he had felt for her. He was glad she has found a life suitable—in her mind, anyway—enough to make her happy. It was good she was at peace and amorous with the lifestyle she'd chosen, and he accepted the fact their destinies had intertwined on entirely different reasons. Never would he have wanted it to be like this however, even with this woman who was as much a monster as he.
The young shape-shifter knew exactly how he would have wanted to claim her: a simple bedroom with a window to look at her in an evening glow, the smell of their bodies together circulating a room meant for people with real hopes, chances to make something of themselves, their lives not already carved in stone. It was wishful thinking. They could never have something so simple, so ordinary, so human, become theirs—even though they had the talent and skill anyone, everyone, yearns to possess.
Instead, they have the wind blowing over their imperative adjacent forms, the hum of crickets, small green blades rushing beneath them, the sound of creatures resounding in their ears. It saddened him a bit to know the animals, the beasts, were themselves—beings that only knew the smell of blood, appreciated the cover of night and valences of heavy, tall red and brown towers as they hunt. Didn't they deserve to prove their worth, that they were not just horrific monstrosities roaming the earth?
It wasn't an easy topic to dwell on, for the regret might get worse.
But, there was one aspect he loved about it, though at the beginning he hated it with a passion. Because she continues to exist, he will never achieve the humanity; and he feels, he knows, that should she walk away a piece of him would've been stripped from his body. And now, when she leaves, his entire state of existence will take a drastic turn, warp, become hollow with only a mere glimmer of hope awaiting her return; were he not already suffering insomnia, she'd be the very core of the reason.
He learned to love her through the hate…
Their cacophony echoed into the trees. And time seemed to come to a standstill.
Dark eyes then searched for nothing in the brown and green above him, the drowsiness of sleep long gone, while the endless stare flurtively flickering for an object lost to no one. Absentmindedly, the man twisted a spiky lock around his finger, the slender limbs thrown across his body not causing a single uncomfortable shiver. Casting a sidelong glance, he saw her staring at him earnestly, butterscotch pools reeling him from his senses as he drowned, losing himself.
Her eyes softened more explicably, cupping his face while tracing it with a long, slender finger from his hairline to the bottom of his chin. Lifting her head, she kissed him so gently; it might've been just a butterfly's wing. This did make a tremor run through the werewolf's torso, making it linger longer by responding zealously, but not ruining the timid softness.
When she pulled away, a smile was set on the full line of her lips, her teeth showing in silent glee. It gradually accustomed to becoming his favourite smile in the world. It mustn't be removed, and he swore to himself it shall not as long as he breathed.
The pink shimmer of a new dawn let its first rays peek from the horizon, catching themselves on a vampire's milky pallor form, tiny diamonds shining iridescently. The girl sighed deeply, watching it come into view for a minute then rising to her full height; in the blink of an eye, she was dressed.
She whirled around when her hand was enveloped in a warm tight lock. The woman had to laugh, the lilting sound catching him off guard just as his expression did her. Though it was amusing, she knelt down to meet his eyes directly, promising nightfall's next tryst.
He was pleased, but reluctantly released her after placing another kiss on her mouth, the hunger evident while she left. But his eyes shined as he waited, anticipating for the moon to rise again to see the true glorious suns.
It was another mystery—the time lapse of when she will belong to him for real, when they don't have to any more be secretive but just totally and irrevocably each other's. The images were still unclear, watery mirrors without surety or clairvoyance, reflecting the most blinding light. There was no certainty in the truth, because she didn't really know hers, and him, being who he is, failed to be a part of the visions.
But there had to be more behind the door she opened, something that ran deeper than just destiny and fate. That man—her past foe, friend and lover—she had to leave, unlocked things incapable of even her mind, revealing possibilities that weren't there at first. She could change things to correspond with her desire, find a way to crave overtly for the strange boy she's lusted, yearned, hated and loved for a thousand eternities since her death and birth without her knowledge. Her views just had to remain accessible.
Then maybe, just maybe, neither of them had to wait another minute.