Title: Passions Evoked by Debussy
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters mentioned herein. Thank God Stephenie Meyer isn't as weird as Anne Rice, otherwise we wouldn't be allowed to even post fan-fiction about Twilight on here.
Rating: M rated. This will be a two-parter. The M-Rated stuff comes in the next chapter, but this one is pretty adult themed, too.
Author's Note: Well, I should apologise. Evidently I'm somewhat slow on the uptake; 100,000 fan-fictions archived before I discover the world that is Twilight. Anyway, I am still only reading the first book but I have watched the film. I don't know which books are more popular for fan-fiction or even what genre. In short: I'm a newbie. Be kind, please. This is an Edward/Bella fic, naturally. I find this whole vampire thing indulgently sexy so I'm going to write about it. Please do forgive any mistakes I make, and inform me of them so that if I write any more in the future, I won't make them again. Please review. Thanks!
He was playing Clair de Lune again.
It seemed to be his favourite and the stroke of his fingers across the ivories was precise and indolent. The still, mountainous night air was filled with the undulating notes, played with such perfection as to make my tired mind overcome with a hypnotic urge to sleep.
I lay on my back, sprawled across the floor at his feet. He wore no shoes, the balls of his feet tapping the pedals intermittently. The notes reminded me of my own emotions pertaining to him; sometimes jumpy and heated, other times lulling and lethargic. The latter applied tonight as I closed my eyes and let his presence warm me; an odd thing to feel given that his skin was icy cool to touch.
We had been playing this game for some time now. I wanted him and he wanted me but I allowed him to practice his resolve and spend endless hours of our time together playing the piano. His family didn't seem to mind the music that drifted, seemingly relentlessly, around the house. I suppose Edward never needed to worry about keeping them awake. The thought made me smile.
He had played it so many times before that he no longer required the sheet music. I opened my eyes again and turned to look up at him.
"How many years have you been playing this for?" I asked, reaching out my hand to touch the elegant protrusion of his ankle bone. How ridiculous, I thought to myself. How can an ankle be elegant? I should have known by now that as far as Edward and his kind were concerned, their beauty was an entirety. Not limited simply to eyes or noses, lips or hair. Each inch of their marble-like skin was flawless as though they were carved my master artistes. He brought his playing to a close and suddenly the room seemed awfully silent.
When he turned on the piano stool to face me, his eyes looked almost like polished copper, and glinted in the lamp light of the music room. I knew that for all intents and purposes, I ought to have been afraid of those eyes – of this man himself. But I was not.
"About seventy years or so," he remarked. It occurred to me that an outsider eavesdropping on our conversation might think that Edward had simply lost his mind – and that I too was riding a slippery slope into the same oblivion of madness. But I was used to this now; to the stories of his past, sordid and otherwise. I knew that his existence went back decades, nearly a century and that he was young compared to others. Whole millenniums had passed for some vampires. Edward, in all his refined and glorious beautifulness, was still young. Immortally young.
One day I would be old and this person who I so lusted after would look young enough to be my son... then my grandson. Those feelings would be immoral then; like a sickening pervert lusting after young flesh. I shook my head, clearing the murky cobwebs of doubt. Edward was looking down at me, wishing, I knew, that he could read my mind. His inability to do so, still frustrated him.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked, slipping off the stool and positioning himself next to me on the floor. "Sometimes you get this... sad look on your face. I can't place it." Of course he couldn't – I was the unattainable mind that would never, could never, be probed. I felt a flush of insecurity as I wondered if he could read my mind, as he could read everyone else's would the novelty of me wear off?
No! He loved me and even if he could magically see into my mind tomorrow, read the deepest darkest intimacies of my desire and insecurity, I had to believe he would still love me.
His fingers touched my cheek. I had grown accustomed to the chill of his skin, and even to enjoy the sensations it evoked. His thumb stroked across my lower lip, a soft as velvet. Edward made me acutely aware of every hair on my body – of each nerve ending that prickled beneath my skin. My eyes fluttered shut of their own accord, and I could feel my own eyelashes skim my cheeks and then his fingertips brushing across them, too. He was studying me, noting every slight movement of my features and my body's response to him. His gaze was intense, even if I couldn't actually see it. I could feel his honeyed eyes probing me, gauging me and for once, I wished he could read my mind.
Kiss me, Edward.
He kept refraining. Kissing me could be disastrous for his will-power. His passion, when unleashed, could pull him into a frenzy and he could easily – so easily – pierce my skin and make me as inhuman as he. I found myself tilting my head, offering the milky column of my throat to his roving eyes. My heart was beating fast, pumping blood at an accelerated rate around my veins. When I opened my eyes, his own had developed the glint of dangerous possession. He could sense my increased heart rate and he could undoubtedly smell my blood. His gaze was lulling, drawing me deeper into the intoxicating daze that so often left me spellbound. I wanted to taste his cold kiss, sink my fingers into his hair and tighten my fist around the bronze locks. I wanted him to lose his control and sink his teeth, so immaculately perfect, into my skin.
My breathing was laboured, suddenly. He was bending towards me, his mouth close and his supple lips ever nearing my own. I was numb with anticipation, as I always was when he kissed me. These instances were too few and far between. We had limits and boundaries. He had never made love to me, as I desired at nights when I lay alone in my bed. I wanted him to explore my body with painstaking slowness and even though I ought to have been terrified about what such exploration would do to Edward as a creature, I wasn't.
I couldn't stop now – I reached for him, crushing my lips to his with a ferocity I didn't recognise in myself. He was surprised, feebly trying to push me off. He had superhuman strength and I knew, if he really and truly wanted to, he could dislodge me in a second. His attempts, were mandatory for his own peace of mind – but feeble nonetheless.
His lips tortured me, his kiss so exquisitely divine that I felt myself tremble from the effects of it alone. His palms were flat on the floor, on either side of my head. As fierce as our kisses were, he had thus far abstained from touching me. I could sense his urging to, however. The recklessness of my own mind, brought on by the trance he lulled me into, made me claw at him with an urgency I had never experienced before. I gasped when his mouth slid over my neck, his lips suckling on my skin and his kisses growing in intensity.
Dangerous, I thought. I lifted my hips, leaning into him, seeking out his body. His muscles were solid beneath his tight, alabaster skin. My fingers tore at his maroon shirt. I wanted him.
No! It was beyond that, now. I had slipped too far into the hypnotic trance into which his glorious eyes and musical voice led me. I needed him. I needed to know what it felt like to have my skin against his, to have his hands bring me to the unparalleled heights of pleasure. Vampires were legendary lovers, the books said. They possessed skills unattainable to a mere mortal. I knew instinctively that with Edward, this would be true. He would take me to the kind of euphoria I could only imagine.
His teeth touched my skin. Only in passing but I could sense the hesitation – the mounting desire on his part to break the flesh, to feast on my blood. I felt a prickle of fear that was eradicated by the torrent of desire that followed. I was incapable of stopping now; my hands were all over him, trailing over his bare, smooth back, stroking the planes of his chest and digging my nails into the taut, ever flexing muscles of his abdomen. I pulled at his belt – brazen and in control, suddenly. Wasn't he supposed to be seducing me?
He is, I reminded myself. I could feel his arousal, physically and emotionally. Take me... I thought, then I remembered that he couldn't read my mind. I had to verbalise my wishes, my desires, my urges. My throat was dry. Perhaps with anticipation, perhaps with fear. I couldn't quite decipher my own feelings – only understand the predominant, ever present cascade of unstoppable desire.
Edward stopped suddenly, pulling back and leaving me on the floor, breathing harshly. My chest rose and fell, my midriff alluringly exposed by the roughness of our kisses. "Please," I found myself begging aloud. "Don't stop, Edward."
"Someone might see us," he replied softly, again stroking my face with a tenderness that was the complete opposite of the fiery intensity of seconds ago. I looked to the windows above my head, momentarily confounded. Who would see us, high in the mountains away from civilisation? Then I remembered his family, and their ability to scale trees like cats. Better than cats, even. My frustration mounted and I pulled my shirt down over myself, embarrassed by my own lack of composure. Edward snagged my wrist, halting me. His touch caressed me, setting me on fire. "I didn't say I was going to stop," he told me in a voice that made my body do things it never had before. I didn't feel like an adolescent experiencing her first love. I felt like a woman and the emotions evoked by Edward, and the passions ignited by his touch, were by no means juvenile. "Lets go somewhere a little more... private."
I got to my feet at a speed that almost rivalled those that Edward was capable of.
He took my hand and led me out of the music room.