Edward is an unabashed pleasure-seeker, one of the club kings of the Seattle gay community. One night at his favorite club, he meets an enigmatic man who rocks the world he has created.
Disclaimer: I don't own Edward or Jasper, or anything Twilight-related. Only Stephenie Meyer does. I, however, happily dress them up in fine-knit sweaters and low-slung blue jeans, and make kissy noises as I press their faces together.
The dance floor is a seething mass of flesh, swaying in sync with the bass that shakes the club to its foundations. Topless boys gyrate with the heavy rhythm, reflecting the colorful club lights that dance over the sheen of sweat glistening on their smooth bodies.
From my vantage point on the mezzanine, I can see most of the club: the beefy bartenders in their standard uniform – tight black pants and little else; the DJ in his booth, ignoring those who tap on the glass in an attempt to request their favorites; the club dancers, their rolling hips all clad in tonight's matching outfits of white briefs, and topped with sparkling silver halos and downy wings.
But mostly I see the boys. We're men, really; well, most of us are, anyway. But when we're here, we're boys. Twinks, bears; tops, bottoms, and switch-hitters; the odd leather daddy has strayed from the leather bar down the street. And then, there are the beautiful ones. The ones who could take home almost anyone in the club, from the front door to the back room. The ones who've been around for more than a couple of years, have gone home with almost everyone at one time or another.
Tonight they're all here, each sweating and pounding out the beat in one long, continuous movement. My eyes sweep across the faces I've seen here so many times before; and I wonder whether I, too, have already been with every bottom here. Not that it matters all that much; a few were actually decent fucks. In the absence of other options, I decide to seek one out for a repeat engagement, something I rarely grant.
I spy one of them on the dance floor. He's already looking up at me, and when we make eye contact he smiles and licks his lips. Subtle as a sledgehammer, even for a meat market like this place. I manage to stifle a sigh by reminding myself that he gave great head, an art in which many boys are woefully unskilled. I acknowledge his flirtation with a slight thrust of my chin and a lift of my eyebrow; and I turn to make my way through the crowd, to the stairs that will lead me to the dance floor.
I start down the stairs, passing an acquaintance on the way. "Hey, how's it goin', Edward?" I nod and continue down the stairs, not interested in conversation. I look again to the dance floor, to be sure of the location of my conquest before I'm submerged in the heaving sea of bodies. He's waiting for me, out in the middle of the floor. I'm about to step off the bottom step when something catches my eye on the far side of the club, across the dance floor.
The club lights are glinting red and blue off a mop of curly blonde hair. The hair belongs to a tall boy who stands at the edge of the writhing mass of the dance floor. He holds a drink and appears to be unaffected by the music's pounding beat as he observes the activity on the dance floor. He's new here; and not some underage twink who came out of the closet yesterday and just hit the clubs for the first time – this boy is 25, maybe 26. Around my age.
I stop for a second, weighing my options. I'm easily one of the better-looking tops here, but this boy is an unknown; definitely not a sure thing. I decide to hedge my bets, and gesture to my waiting conquest on the dance floor, that I'm going to grab a drink and be back with him. He smiles broadly and returns to dancing, confident that I'll return.
I move in the direction of the bar, thinking a drink isn't a bad idea. I order my usual double Glen Livet, neat, keeping an eye on the boy at the edge of the dance floor. He hasn't moved from the space he's been occupying since I first spied him. It won't be long till the sharks here smell fresh blood and start to move in. I pick up my drink and move in his direction, debating the best method of approach.
I take a wide berth around him. He hasn't yet made eye contact with me, and for now I'm glad; I don't want to have my hand forced before I'm sure. I slowly approach him from behind. I take in the dark blue jeans that cover his long legs and slim hips; the soft-looking grey sweater that fits snugly, showing off his broad shoulders; and the way his blonde curls tumble towards his chin, tucked softly behind his ears, ending in a shorter cut at the back. As I near him, I can see that he's a couple of inches taller than my 6'1".
I decide that if I'm going to have this boy in my bed tonight, I need to pull out all the stops. I step in close to his back, lift my chin a bit to meet his ear, and deliver the line that has never failed me.
"I want to make you sit on my nine-inch cock."
I take a small step back to allow him room to turn to look at me. He does turn, much more slowly than I'm hoping for; and finally looks at me. My breath catches and I'm looking into the most beautiful, finely-featured face I've ever seen in my life. He has high cheekbones, a small cleft in his chin, and sparkling, deep-set eyes ringed with a fringe of dark eyelashes. His mouth is wide, with delicate, exquisite lips. I feel my cock twitch as my eyes trace the lines of that mouth.
All of this I process before realizing that his splendid face is registering no emotion whatsoever. He is regarding me with utter calm, and my cards are now on the table. Worse, he hasn't spoken. I make a valiant effort to mirror his lack of expression, though I have no idea whether he finds me attractive, repulsive or even mildly amusing. We are standing only inches away from each other, and the long seconds are ticking by.
From the corner of my eye, I see the twink from the dance floor. He's clearly been looking for me; and he's found me, in this bizarre stand-off with the impassive blonde. And now he's coming towards us. Inwardly, my confidence is beginning to wane, and I'm not sure how much longer I can maintain a façade of outward calm.
The twink is standing beside us now, looking between me and the blonde. Neither of us have moved or made any effort to acknowledge his presence beside us. Dance Floor Twink finally whines, "Edward, I thought you were coming back to dance?"
The blonde blinks, and slowly turns toward the twink, breaking our gaze. He casts his eyes deliberately downward, to meet Dance Floor Boy's gaze, at least six inches below his own. "Fuck off," are the only words he spares to let the twink know he's not welcome in this small gathering. He then returns his gaze to me and for the first time, his eyes move downward over my body. My body responds to his appraising eyes, and my cock begins to lengthen and harden.
Dance Floor Boy hesitates a moment, as though he might protest the loss. The blonde doesn't bother to look at him again as he calmly says, "Don't make me say it again." The twink accepts his defeat and departs – in which direction, I can't say.
The blonde's eyes return to mine. For the first time, he directs his words to me. "Nine inches, Edward?"
I'm not confident that I can speak without losing the demeanor I'm desperately trying to maintain, but I realize I can't remain mute indefinitely. "Nine inches…," I trail off, not knowing his name.
"Jazz," the blonde supplies.
"Nine inches, Jazz," I confirm.
He steps to close the very few inches between us. His free hand circles my waist and pulls me towards him. His body is angled to mine and his upper thigh presses against my cock, which is now uncomfortably hard in my slim jeans. For the first time, his face registers interest as his eyes widen slightly and one eyebrow rises.
"I hope you aren't exaggerating. I hate to be disappointed," he cautions. I don't respond. I'm certainly not used to being challenged on that question, I suppose because most of the boys here already know I'm well-endowed.
Instead, I offer, "My place?"
He nods and says, "Mine isn't unpacked."
As much as I suspected. We head towards the front door, setting our glasses the bar as we pass it. "You're new to Seattle." It's not a question. He's never been to this club before, at least not in the four years I've been here.
"I'm from Seattle originally, but I haven't lived here for years." This is all he volunteers, and I don't push. I'm looking for a fuck, not researching a book.
We reach my Volvo. I'm grateful for the short trip to my apartment, as we spend it in complete silence.
Not bothering to wait for the elevator, we climb the two flights of stairs to my loft. I unlock and open the large, heavy industrial door, holding it for Jazz and then closing it behind him. I wait for the inevitable, "This is a great apartment," but this time it doesn't come.
I ask, "Do you want a drink?"
"No, thanks," he replies curtly.
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and chug half of it before the headache from the cold water forces me to stop. He is still standing near the door, watching me.
"Bedroom's that way," I gesture with my head. He kicks off his shoes at the door, and heads in the direction of the bedroom. I follow, taking in his lithe, graceful movements as he casually crosses the room and mounts the two steps to my room. The lighting is better here than the foggy, pulsing lights of the club; and I can better appreciate the muscular definition of his thighs and shoulders through his tight-fitting clothes.
He turns to face me, still regarding me dispassionately. I reach out to trace the deep V neck of his soft grey sweater, crossing the smooth, pale skin of his chest. My fingers continue down towards the button of his jeans, sliding over the six-pack I can feel through the thin knit. Down, crossing the waistband of his jeans and gliding the back of my finger towards the base of his zipper. His face may be calm; but his hard cock betrays his excitement. I'm tiring of his cool demeanor now; it's time for this boy to realize what he's got here. I grasp his hard cock, firmly through his jeans; and I'm rewarded as his eyes close, his head lolls back a bit and his exquisite lips part slightly.
I need to taste those lips and what's behind them. I grasp the waistband of his jeans and pull him, hard, towards me; my other hand goes up to tangle in the soft curls at the back of his head and I pull his face to mine. His still-parted mouth opens wider and a soft moan escapes from him as I trace his lips with my tongue. His tongue comes out to meet mine, and they tangle together.
His hands slide over my back and down to my ass, kneading and cupping it as he pulls my hips to his. I break our kiss and my lips and tongue slide down his neck, sucking and nibbling towards his collarbone. He moans again, louder and huskier, and grinds his hard cock against mine. I need to see more of him, and my hands hook under the bottom of his sweater and push upwards. He releases my hips to raise his arms. When he's free of his sweater, my own follows quickly, and we're skin-to-skin. He's smooth, only a few hairs decorating the small valley between his pecs, and a small trail leading south from his navel and disappearing under his jeans.
My head dips down and I suck on his nipple, pinching the other between my fingers, and they both turn to small marbles under my touch. He allows me to continue for a few moments, resting his cheek against the top of my head; then he pulls away and drops to his knees in front of me.
He's panting as he unbuttons my jeans and slides them down over my hips. My boxer briefs follow quickly, and my cock finally springs free, rock-hard and aching with need. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of me, and it's clear that his earlier warning about disappointment is unnecessary here. My cock twitches as this realization takes hold, and in impatience, my hands cup his face and I stroke his cheeks with my thumbs, encouraging him to take me into his mouth.
Finally, his tongue snakes out and he licks the underside of my shaft from the base to the tip, collecting the small drop of pre-cum that has gathered there. He smacks his lips a bit and, finally, I see a beautiful smile light up his face as he tastes me. He has deep dimples in his cheeks, and his mouth is impossibly wide in his grin. He doesn't make me wait again; he opens wide and sucks the head of my cock into his mouth. I groan as his tongue swirls around the glans, and when he increases the suction my knees buckle and I realize I won't be able to take this standing up.
I break contact for a brief moment, moving onto the bed and pulling him with me. We each quickly shed the rest of our clothing; he pushes me onto my back and, leaning over me, resumes his attentions to my stiff cock. He quickly takes my entire length down his throat; I gasp as I feel his lips brush against my pubic hair, and my hips involuntarily thrust forward. Slowly he slides his lips back up towards the head of my cock, holding there for a moment as his tongue dances around the glans, then quickly plunges downward again. He is an exceptionally talented boy, and I'm realizing very quickly that he can work magic with that beautifully wide mouth.
One of his hands comes up to grasp the base of my cock, the other goes to my balls and starts to stroke them. He establishes a rhythm, sliding my cock in and out of his mouth. His lips are incredibly soft and smooth. He keeps a steady vacuum of pressure, and the sensation of fucking his mouth is unbelievable. After only a few moments of heaven, I can feel the tension building in my balls; I won't last long under his adept ministrations.
He senses my impending release and, unbelievably, he stops. I groan as he pulls his head away from my cock and grins wickedly at me. "Not yet," is all he says, and tugs on my legs to indicate that I should raise my knees, my feet flat on the bed. He lies on his stomach with his head between my legs, and leaning in, slurps one of my balls into his mouth. The sensation is sublime as he rolls it around his mouth, massaging it gently with his tongue, lightly pulling the sac away from my body.
"Fuck!" I groan loudly, and in response, he brings one finger to his mouth, moistening it; then slides it down to my ass and massages the puckered opening. I pull away slightly at first; I'm firmly a top, and the very few times I allowed myself to bottom, shortly after coming out, were rough and very painful. I haven't done it since; it's been years.
He releases my balls from his mouth. "Shh," he soothes. "Gentle – I promise." I bite my lip; this is not something I ever allow, and many have tried to convince me to let them. This boy, new to the community, obviously doesn't realize this. I should enlighten him.
Instead, I find myself reaching to my nightstand, where a bottle of Wet is always at the ready. I hand it to him and he applies it liberally to his fingers and to my ass. I relax into the sensation as he resumes his massage of my asshole; the lube both eases and heightens the motion as his fingers glide over the sensitive tissues. My mouth is open, panting as he inserts one finger, then two. Slowly he starts to finger-fuck my ass, easing his fingers in and out, massaging my prostate as his fingertips move past it. Soon my hips are bucking in response, and I'm astonished at my own reaction. I lift my head to look down at him, and he's grinning widely back at me, clearly enjoying the sight of me getting off on his fingers in my ass.
He winks and his mouth returns to the head of my cock, sucking it like a lollipop, before again taking my entire length down his throat. He establishes a steady rhythm between my cock and my ass, sliding his fingers out as his head bobs down, then thrusting his fingers back in as his lips glide upwards. I put a couple of pillows under my head so I can watch his beautiful mouth work over my shaft.
My senses are overloading with the incredible combination of both feeling and watching what he's doing to me. In just a few moments, my entire body tenses and I shout my impending release. The orgasm takes hold of me, and I have never experienced something so intense. My entire body is racked with spasms as the waves of pleasure wash over me again and again, and the beautiful boy sucking my cock takes every drop of cum I give him. Watching him swallow my load is the sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life, something I know I'll relive in fantasies for a long time to come.
As my climax finally subsides, he releases the hold he has on my body, flashes that impossibly dazzling smile, and slides his body up so that his head rests beside mine. I grab his face in my hands and pull his lips to mine, invading his mouth with my tongue, tasting myself in him; wordlessly thanking him for the gift he's just given me. His hands slide into my messy bronze hair as our tongues do a slow dance.
Gradually we break our kiss, and my breathing starts to return to normal. He leans into my chest as he reaches toward something on my nightstand; I hear him fishing around in the bowl of condoms that never leaves my bedside. Jesus, I think, what does he think I am? A machine? He can't possibly expect me to be ready to put on a condom yet, mere moments after one of the best orgasms of my life.
I arch an eyebrow at him, and he mirrors my expression back to me, as though asking what I could possibly object to. He's going to make me say it.
"You're hot, Pretty, but even I can't get it up again that quickly," I say, trying to be nonchalant. It comes out as more of a sneer than I want it to, and his face hardens slightly.
"It's not going on you, Pretty," he hisses, and raises his body to kneel on my bed. I experience a moment of confusion, then dismay as I realize what he's implying. He confirms my suspicions as he slowly strokes his own cock, his eyes never leaving my face. He expects to fuck me. My post-orgasm glow evaporates rapidly as I silently curse myself for allowing him to put his fingers anywhere near my ass.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing? Do I look like a bottom to you?" The sneer is no longer unintentional – I need to adjust his expectations, and quickly.
He leans forward, hands palm-down on the bed, his face hovering over mine. "What you look like is a gay boy who just had a mind-blowing orgasm thanks to the fingers that were stretching your ass and massaging your prostate. You think you'll ever come like that again if you don't let anyone near your ass?"
"I'm. Don't. Bottom," I repeat slowly, trying to leave no room for misunderstanding.
"You've never done it?" he asks, looking highly skeptical even as the words leave his mouth.
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. It's something I'd rather not think about, but he's just not going to let this go. "Yes, fine. A couple of times, when I was a 16-year-old twink and didn't know any better than to let some middle-aged closeted asshole tear my ass to shreds."
I open my eyes again and he's still inches away from my face, looking unwaveringly into my eyes. "So you were naïve when you were a teenager. Join the club. You're going to allow yourself to miss out on the most intense physical sensation you'll ever have, because you made a few bad decisions a decade ago?"
I vaguely register that his eyes are nearly the same color green as mine, even as I wonder what his motivation is in this. There's no way he could have mistaken me for a bottom – I came on to him and made it clear that I intended to fuck him. And yet he came home with me; he must have known that I, like most tops, would reject attempts to get near my ass. It doesn't make sense. By now, most boys would have given up and stepped back into the Prada shoes that would carry them back to the club, where there would be at least twenty boys waiting with open mouths. Certainly for this boy, it wouldn't be difficult for him to just get his rocks off with some nameless twink who would be happy to spread his ass wide. What the fuck kind of game is he playing with me?
Hope you enjoyed this chapter - some hot lemons to start off with. I'm a sucker for boy-on-boy action.
If you're a QAF fan, you'll notice some crossover. I was definitely picturing Babylon when writing the club, and Brian's loft is the inspiration for Edward's apartment.
Please, please review if you enjoyed it! :)