Rie: Hey y'all, I am incredibly excited to bring this outtake to you from my friend, frol223 (Mer)! This is her first bit of fanfiction; and it is so damn sexy and pure Jazz, I know you'll enjoy.

Mer: I want to thank Rie for writing such an awesome story and inspiring me to write something for the first time. Thanks to the girls on Bad, Broken and Dead threads for bringing sunshine into my life and words into my soul. Kari, Tosh, V, April, Amanda, Gillian; you are goddesses!

V, baby, thank you, most lovely, most fastest beta!

Disclaimer: This is our Jazz. Our Jazz! The rest of the Twi stuff belongs to SM.

*Warning: This gorgeous story contains slash.*


Searching for Oblivion

Want.

Desire.

Fear.

Anguish.

Hate.

Regret.

Wave after fucking wave crashes over me, threatening to toss my ass to the ground. I push back with calm. I so do not need this shit harshing my mellow. I have my own troubles to spin my mind into chaos. Memories of bloody fields, piles of smoke, tearing up the bodies of crazy fucking newborns and setting them alight. I have feasted on thousands. Maria's little General. Plotting, fighting, winning, destroying. Not now. Now I try to let the negative wash over me, water off a vampire's back. If I could keep dear Eddie's deluge from capsizing me, all would be bliss.

I push myself out and off Bubba's dank porch couch. The bent coils are reluctant to let go of my ass, but I use my legs to propel me forward and away from the moldy upholstery. I need to sink into something else. Soft, hard, wet, tight. I want to hear pants and groans and feel nothing but the fucking and friction that will quell the maelstrom of emotions that swirls above me like prairie storm clouds. As I amble slowly toward my truck, I feel a last wave shove at me, force its way into my awareness...protectiveness? What the fuck? Eddie's emotions are all over the place. They sway more than our undershorts in the breeze on wash day at Maw Esme's. I look back at Eddie, still sittin', sullen as ever on that damn couch. His amber eyes settle on me, but they don't actually see. I raise my eyebrow at him, mutely asking, "What's up with you lately, bro?"

Eddie shakes his head once, vigorously to clear his thoughts, then a tense shake to push away my question. I shrug, whatever. Not going to let him get to me. He's been a swirling mess since he laid eyes on Bella and I got people to do.

The boy is waiting in his truck outside my trailer when I arrive. His nerves are buzzing me like outhouse flies as soon as my vintage Ford bounces on the cracked and rutted driveway up to Casa de la Whitlock. I have to have my own place. What with Bubba's insane lust and blueballs for Rosie, and Eddie's...well, being Eddie, I need some damn space away. Away from the shitstorm of emotions that our family can't control. Plus, I don't want my every thought heard while I'm balls deep in a distraction.

"Hey," he says to me. I feel his anguish along with his lust. He's scared and feeling guilty, nervous as a steed about to breed. Panicky as a rabbit in an open field with a rifle trained on its fluffy ass. Gotta love the closeted ones. Fighting themselves the whole way, just like I do, but for different reasons. I send a current of my own want straight at him; let it slide over him just like I'm going to. His eyes glaze for a moment and he licks his lips. I smile wide, venom at the back reaches of my throat, testing the tastebuds of my tongue, and only now I sense his desire. Good. Much better, darlin'. I don't need the rest of it. Just your skin and your ass. Keep your inner demons to yourself. I have plenty of my own.

He follows me inside, past worn history books and empty beer cans. My laundry is piled on the table, newly acquired from Maw Esme; as ever she is spitting nickels at one wrongdoing or another of Eddie and Bubba. Always the outsider, the Rough Rider, the Cullens brand me as one of their own, but I feel misplaced. Loved and dignified, but always with lasting distaste as a bitter tincture, like dandelion greens on the tip of my tongue. I take his hand, this nameless boy, and lead him to the back, to my bed. Still scrubbing him with desire to keep his fear and guilt somewhere in the weeds. Swaying and greedy, his knees and legs muscular, reedy, I ply him with the passion, forgetting, absconding, oblivious, meeting that I need.

Again, I have my own victory in sight and this is not about trying to dispel any of his fucking uptight Bible-Belt guilt. Churning up mud from the riverbed while I baptize him into the all-cocking, ever-sucking revival of Jazz-love.

Once inside the tiny room, I turn and grab his belt buckle. I chuckle at the mud-flap girl that adorns it and pop it open with my thumb. Hmm. No chrome tits here sweetness, all cock and no talk.

I yank his zipper and hear his breath catch. I keep working the calm and the lust. It wraps him like a blanket, covering the low-cuntry shame of "man shall not lay with man." I don't want anything else taking up room. This is mine. No other emotions welcome here.

I don't need that shit.

He pushes his jeans and briefs down to his ankles and bends over to divest himself of them as well as his dusty boots. Once upright, he reaches for my waist and fumbles, his hands shaking as he repeats my actions and gets rid of the denim and dirt. I pull on his t shirt and lose sight of him for a moment as I yank it over his head. I remove my own, not wanting to distract him with having to do something else other than think about fucking. His pinpoint, young eyes are too weak to see the scars of battle that weave a thousand stories of a thousand deaths over my torso. I can see their shimmer and I shake back the tintype photos of dead comrades in arms laying in the orchard; spilling their youth into the soil. My own adolescence frozen in my veins for eternity; a silent monument to war and death.

I grab his cock in my hand and pull him with me until I am sitting on the edge of the bed and he is standing in front me, bobbing hard-on at eye level. He's my freak on a leash and I'm not letting this shit go. I pull my hand up his shaft and swipe my thumb across the top. He shudders and I feel the weight of guilt ooze and sag into the anxiousness of want. Much better. I lean forward and swap my thumb's movements for my tongue. Teasing a drop of liquid from his head, I suck it down. Not as sweet as blood, but it'll do. I open my mouth and slide down onto him, feeling his hips thrust forward slightly as he glides further down my throat. My lips twist into a grin around his cock and I decide to up the ante. Slurping down his shaft, my tongue twists on the sensitive skin just under the head and I move my hands around his waist and down the cleft of his ass. Fingers touching, teasing, squeezing, and coaxing him into the kind of frenzy I need to drown out the horrid images of blood and bodies and fighting.

My digits dip, pushing back light curls that surround the tight pucker of his hole; divide, divulge, discover. Moving in small circles, I tease the ridged rim to add the tips of fingers, stretching, strategizing, bringing his emotions to a fever pitch. All the while, my mouth assaults him, my tongue breaking trails through his fear and leaving no room for anything but moans and slurred curses.

"Shit, Jazz....shit!"

I don't speak but douse him with a calming wave from inside me. I need this; I need his release, and I need my own. No other traitorous emotions clanging their death knell into my skull. Just this. Just sweat and panting and prodding and fucking.

His hips buck faster and I execute my next maneuver. I turn him, hands on hips, pushing him onto his back, unto the threadbare quilt of the bed I never use, except for these moments.

I grab a condom and Wet from the cracked night table, to keep the venom to myself and it's helluvalot easier than explaining any weird stains to Ma Esme. I slide the condom onto my pole and grab the bottle of liquid pleasure. Squeezing a few drops into my hand and over my palm, soothing it hotly around my dick, I then push some, sweetly, savagely, into the rim of his ass to get him ready. Hitching his long feet over my shoulders, his wide dilated human eyes have said goodbye to reality and are maddened fragments reflecting the horrifyingly needful, erotic magnetism to have my dick all up his beautifully taught, straining, young ass.

I get ready to ride. Yeehaw, babe.

I push the head of my cock against his ass, the muscles denying me at first, as if! I thrust forward past the resistance and wait, giving him a moment and a dose of tranquility to relax him into the feel of me buried deep against his ass cheeks. "Ah...yeees," I hiss quietly.

After what seems like a fuckton of time, he moves his hips like an anxious filly, urging me forward and I kindly oblige. Holding onto his strident structured-with-muscle hips, the tendons pure jaunty jutting striations of ligature that I want to suck, squeeze, bite, devour, I pull back, making sure not to grab him too hard lest I scare him in this little indoctrination to the underside of lust and ruin my moment of single-emotion silence.

Forward and back, my cock slides in and out, slick with lubrication, clasped in the most rigid of escapes. He is tight and hot and squeezing, and my mind is drinking in the only emotion in the room. I can smell the sweat on his skin, acrid juxtaposition to my own never-ending acrimony; along with the road grime and the beer he drank before coming to meet me, seeking to drown his edginess in brew. Grunting, pushing, pulling, grabbing, he shoves his fingers deep into my hands, between my deadly fingers; cold, ice, hot, human, gripping right down into the skin that joins digit to palm that used to be valleys of soft flesh, but was now caverns of the Arctic, although no less sensitive. Even more hyper-aware of the caress, stroking the bloody baggage of my hands, my palms, while I abrade his sweet sexy ass with my turgid huge cock. I can feel my balls tighten as my climax grinds closer.

Enervation meets saturation. Oblivion unto asylum. Within the dark, gripping, groping, fastening of my dick inside of him, this innocent and nameless boy, I feel compelled to peel my eyes off of his heaving chest, topped with deep brown paps that I lurch over, pressing my lips, my full-open mouth, the blade, the weapon of my tongue. If I flicked that young pebbled skin fast enough, I would inflict him with venom. Kill him. Or make him mine for eternity.

"Stroke your cock, babe, I need you to come with me," shunting utterances that were husky, rocky, undiscovered roads of the past. All the torture that no one wanted to know.

A quiet. A still. A cascade. Waterfall and the laden pails of a windmill toppling over. Sex. Future. Blinding. Unseeing and seeing something more than I really wanted to know.

Hush now, darlin'. I speak these words to myself, and to him.

He does as he is told, his mind incapable of anything else. Perfect. No feelings of love, fear; nothing but his lust as he jerks his cock chasing his own climax. In these moments, I am able to enjoy my own brand of silence. No intruding bullshit into my brain or across my nerves. Then, as the moment of pure white ecstasy arrives, I feel something else, something forcing its way through the slow haze of sex.

Fear.

Anger.

Pain.

Love?

Dammit, no! What the fuck? My multitasking, mellowed-the-fuck-out, vampire brain is able to cope with this shit in seconds, and I realize it's not coming from the gorgeous distraction groaning against my gorging thrusts. Reaching across miles and screwing with my screwing, this is someone else entirely! Feminine. Slight. Dark to my bright orgasm on the horizon. I push faster and harder, trying to fuck away this intrusion, get back to the task, or cock, at hand; to let this other shit go. My writhing boy groans louder while I sink in and suck out, hitting hard so that our skin slaps, our balls sway and suck against his ass and the base of my cock, wetness crawls down around us; his sweat and leaking cum to my poison. In the throes of fucking him so hard that I could easily crush his pelvis, his ribcage, rob him of breath, take him right down into my own death, I am strangely calmed by feeling only one emotion and it's definitely here in this place and nowhere else.

He comes across his stomach and curses. His muscles jerk and squeeze along my shaft. The feeling of his ass gripping my cock inside pulls my orgasm from me and I shoot into the condom, shit fuck yeeesss. I sigh.

In that moment, when if I were human I would stop breathing for just a second and my eyes would cross and my dick still throbs, I feel it again. Just a fucking flash of longing and anticipation; almost a scream.

JASPER!



I beg you to show some huge love for this stunning gem! Let Mer know what you thought, it's her first time out of the paddock.

Obviously, if you're reading this, you should be reading Dead Confederates, right?

Finally, I started a very short story…Incarcerated. It is sultry southern slash (not at all like DC's); angsty and dark and sexy Edward and Jasper. Chapter two will be up soon, JPOV.