UPDATE SEPTEMBER 8th, 2013: Hello my sexay slashy lovers! You will find a new addition at the end of this fic. My first m/m romance was published by Grand Central-Forever Yours in August! It's amazing what several more years of writing and NYC editing can do for you ;). Chapter five is a sneak peek at my original novel, In His Command, the first in the Don't Tell series. All my links to social media and book info are updated on my profile!
This is completely dark and slash and dank. DO NOT even read Dead Confederates into this (which, by the way, you should be reading as it features gorgeous gritty Eddie, Bubba, and our beloved Equal Opportunity Fucker, Jazz). Aside from the setting, this stands alone and will be short, two to three chapters at most.
Warning: This is very dark. This is very slash. Consider yourself warned.
Inspired by Mer and the genius work of C-Me-Smile (of Begin Again fame); many thanks to you two lovelies as well as RedVelvetHeaven for putting up with my ramblings.
Cheers, as ever, to the most beautiful, fabulously skilled, confidant and beta a girl could have, V!
Disclaimer: I think I can say I own this worrying beautiful sensual tale. However, I do not own Twilight.
And so it begins.
I left. I left my family. I left their lives. Left my life. The screechy images made torn, ragged holes in my demon heart that never beat.
Jesus was no friend of mine.
Neither was God. And Lucifer was just a figment of the hell I needed to fire around me in inferno. My spirit, my corpse, my guts were a dark copse, alone in a black hole. A void, a vacuum, twisting in my ever-sin, avoiding inhumanity and humanity alike. An only son amongst a coven of vampires coupled up, tasting flames and incinerated by the yearning of an emptied body that had beaten its hasty retreat to Hades upon black-bedecked plumed knife-sharp wings.
Flesh that did not belong to this earth. And would never know Heaven.
A spirit departed, one hundred years ago.
With hate. Hate for my salve, my balm, my sire, my savior. And my mother, my birth, my death, and my infinite, indestructible life that went on….and on.
At first there was blood and thirst and gore. Veins and throbbing arteries and hearts pumping with life. I needed to kill it all. Taste it all. On my tongue, sliding down my throat, into my belly, warm and heady.
Mortals. I had been one. Afraid of the dark, as a child, and now I was that thing that went bump in the night. Sleepless. Insomniac. Troubled by time that tripled and tainted and haunted my essence…effervescent with absolutely nothing.
Human beings; my prey, my quarry. I left Carlisle. I eschewed the doldrums-weary lassitudes of Esme, the lack of vicissitude. Smothering me with vampire mother-love. A motherload of feeling.
Spent, hated, reviled, filled with bitumen and vindictive deadly deeds, I made my maddened way back. To the fold. Innocents, they had no compunction when they opened their stone-cold arms to enfold me once again.
Lambs to the slaughter.
The clan had grown amidst these southern climes like the conquering, climbing tendrils of honeysuckle. Clinging. Needy. Desperate for commune. Commonality. A toehold, a tongue hold, a respite from the bloody abattoirs of our species.
Rosalie and Emmett, a study in disparity. She was blonder than seraphswith the spiteful tongue of a fishwife. Her mate, her opposite, was a dark behemoth, but interred in giant bonhomie and the grand jocularity of a court jester. Coupled and united, they were yet one more nail in my creaking, pineboard coffin. Suffocating beneath the handfuls of dirt heaped on top.
Civilians traipsed about, unawares, distinctly smelling of meat and meal and victuals and organs and intestines filled with the distension of more and more and more crimson blood.
Variations of lust were hateful harbingers all around me. In a manse that took up the white-shuttered, lush verdant lawned expanse of a plantation, the Cullens homed in. Peacocks fanned their tail feathers and squawked and screamed from southern pine to live oak, spoiling silence with their scratchy calls, raping air with their bright cerulean, violet, alizarin-dappled yells that sounded like a mortal's dying, begging for the pain to end, for life to begin anew. Necks lengthened, butterflies burrowed into lantana, hummingbirds succored, my hands clenched with want to murder every living thing.
My bed was my haven and my drear bedroom my sanctuary. I needed nothing. Ascetic, like a monk; a eunuch. Three books, a shelf of LPs full of static from over-use. A phonograph. Grey walls, limp linen portieres over my windows. The buttery sun sought me as I sprawled, cold as judgment, across my high bedstead. A human would have placed a stool to the side to mount it in the olden days. I simply pounced up, immersed in the call of rich, thick, clotting, corporeal blood that I deigned not to taste again.
Behind the Georgian structure, the grounds littered with forgotten little-known abodes of slaves, a decaying greenhouse, and cemeteries of skeletons pelted over by dianthus and deep maroon calla lilies, I was callous. The creek trawled up sea water mixed with freshwater and dolphins innocently splashed amongst carnivorous alligators, lethal stingrays and the talons of osprey and red-shouldered hawks alike.
Further decades tickled the recesses of my lamenting mind. Thoughts, images, and conversations of the married vampires around me gouged me with their affection.
As if by the hand of Noah himself, another two traipsed up to this ark that was afloat as a sanctuary amidst the flood of people when so many of our kind wandered alone.
Compelled by a magnetism that was beyond me, my feet took to the polished oak steps of the enormous staircase. The closer I got to the front vestibule, the tighter I gripped the railing, digging grooves into the smooth wood. My legs shook and my lips trembled over breaths that turned choppy. And swilling upon the air that I raped into my nose, that rolled so tastily and luxuriously around my tongue like silk and sackcloth combined was a scent deep as earth with its musk. Tang of salt wind and brine. Soil and sea.
Sheltered under the portico from the midday heat of the July sun, they stood. Two-by-two, hand-in-hand. The sight that hit me floored me, deluged me, and caused instant paralysis. Tiny and tucked into her lover like a permanent stole, I stared at the woman. Dressed in black from head to toe, she was unquestionably beautiful with her ethereal Lilliputian features. But I felt nothing. I frowned and glared questioningly at her. She took one step back, one closer to her man, and the rounds of her eyes that were as tiger-spun as mine stabbed with some kind of understanding. It wasn't her. This dire requirement, this I must have you now was directed at him!
The capering infusion intensified, and the realization of its masculinityspeared me, throwing me into undiscovered forests damp with decaying vegetation, and into the surly curls of the ocean's roiling surface.
I was not to be spared.
Clawing through fragrance and feeling unlike any I had ever known, I turned my head minutely and becalmed myself. And looked at this man from beneath the asylum of my eyelashes lest my hankering, my ravenous passion become apparent. From grimy boot-tips up over lanky thighs that were slightly bowlegged. Slim of hips, his torso hidden from my perusal by a chambray shirt that had been hastily rolled up muscled forearms. I curled my hands into fists in order not to grab those sloping arms and run my fingers all up him to the path that I continued along.
At his throat, his collar and three buttons open, I lingered over the pale slices on view. And my palm begged me to place it upon that triangle of skin, to slide over his strong throat, grip the nape of his neck. My tongue worked its way around my mouth, trying to flee in order to trace his prominent Adam's apple that was a work of art in itself.
Circumventing his face, I noted that he was tall, an inch or two above me, tawny, of animals and savagery tamed. The vague waves of his hair were like ripe wheat swaying in an unending field.
Lower, over his forehead, I stepped back and braced my hand against a pillar. And looked again. With a dancing expression, he appeared to welcome my very rude staring. He has secrets. I couldn't halt my sweeping concentrated inspection. Loose, lush lips that looked plucked from down and velvet and pillows of kings. Sturdy barely imperfect features. Cheekbones high, that would fit my hands as I brought his mouth over mine. Handsome, rugged. Flawed and flecked all over with nibbling scars of bite marks that were shiny and iridescent as the insides of an oyster shell.
His entire being a shoal that I wanted to berth against!
My primitive primal need was abrupt.
Lithe, lean, long, and leonine. I could imagine his cock. More of the same, but thick.
Immediately engorged with venom and sex and want, I fell back against the column that buttressed me. All eyes were on me. I heard in the back of my head vague simpering feminine introductions – Alice, pleased to meet you…Edward, always the melodramatic one – I looked up into his quizzical topaz eyes and quivered as my hand met the tepid tapered fingers that were stretched out towards me. His voice was mellifluous, music and fluid, and an abyss of rhythm to my fatigued hearing, tones of gravel roads and twang of Rodeo, "How do you do, Edward?" I faltered, feverish, frightened! I nodded my head and held dearer to that hand while he carried on, a bit nonplussed, "I'm Jasper." Yellow, silica, Jasper. Gemstone, lodestone. Jasper. The strength of his clasp was not surprising, but the gnawing of it caused fresh wounds and fantasies of his knuckles brushing my nipples and that embrace, cool and hard, wrapped around my cock.
I wanted to shove that burnished head between my thighs.
As he released my hand, he briefly dipped down into the valleys where digit met palm, brushing against that tender secret skin. Shivers raced over me. That stroke, beneath my sac, along the private soft tendon that was a causeway from cock to ass.
Turned on, as never before, and tumultuous, I listened as long as I could bear to Jasper's tumbleweed voice. The pleasantries spewed forth like so much unnecessary bullshit when I just wanted to bring this man, this Jasper, into my arms, up the staircase, and into my bed.
A waspish noise stung my ears and I whipped around to find the glare of Alice frigidly dissecting me.
Turning on my heel I stalked back to my den. Alone.
Crippled by the swooping down of this extreme blinding emotion, I felt like an amputee with the ghost of a limb itching, tingling, tainting as soon as I left Jasper's presence.
With one meeting of one man, I had gone from lonely and embittered to solitary and embattled!
Pacing, sighing, heaving, I stomped about my room. Peeled the curtains back and peered through the panes down below to the port-cochere. Sensing movement, and seemingly something more, Jasper looked up. His mouth grew to a crooked eclipse of a smile. My fingers pressed to the warped glass as if pushing against that cushioned wet red curvature, urging entrance to his tongue, his teeth, his venom. I wanted to crush him to my face, and lap at his sleek inner cheeks.
And then I heard her, the hiss of silent thoughts, "Tsk, tsk, Edward. That permutation will not be happening. You might want to learn to keep your thoughts to yourself."
My lovelorn glare left Jasper's face and turned to his mate, morphed into a defiant stare. What the hell? Following my glower, Jasper shook his head minutely at Alice. And her grasp on his arm made small dents in his platinum tissue.
I leapt back from the window to consider. He was spellbinding, captivating, enchanting. A sinister trill of laughter wove up the interior of the house…Alice. And she knew…what? If I could hear thoughts, there was no telling what evil tricks she could conjure. It was obvious that even among the supernatural she was paranormal. Just as I was.
More maudlin meanderings on this woman were cut short as I caught the whiff of him entering the house. Swarthy, gritty, crops burgeoning. And always the cresting of the sea over sooty sand.
Again, my erection forged up over the muscled skin of my abdomen, pulsing within my pants, scraping against the wiry trail of hair that was a tangled line from my navel to the base of my cock, where it bloomed to a crisp auburn brush that my dick canopied over.
What is this? What the hell is this?
Jasper's physique enlivened every single sexual urge in my forever–frozen seventeen year old body! It was impossible, intriguing, and undeniable. Having seen scant more than a hint of his arms, his neck, his hands, and his face, I was permanently aroused as I flecked over his image that was an aquatint etched in powdered rosin upon my brain.
Slowly, so slowly and gently, I popped open my button-flies. Long, strong, foreign, male fingers. Perpendicular from my pelvis, my cock stood. Erect and full and thick and leaking. Sticky already. I tugged my shirt up over my head and tossed it aside. Lean, sinewy forearms rested against my naked chest, running in long lengths up and down the hills of muscle and the valleys between. Short blonde hairs tickled my skin into reverberating chaos, moth wings barely touching.
My breath was icy gusts. I leant against the bedpost. I watched myself with red, dark, drowsy eyes in the antique oval mirror on the opposite wall. Imagining him in front of me.
With a shudder that racked the floorboards as it shook from hand over my arms and down my entire body to my bare feet, I hesitantly placed my palm over the mushrooming head of my cock. Sucking in sharp at the feel, I was too sensitive. Too pensive. About to become undone.
Poison to palm, lifting up the tiny droplets and working them into the swells of my palms, the fleshy rigid bits of my fingers, rubbing it in, I wrapped my hand at the root. Like a wild thing he clasped me, his hands were beasts that worked in escalating circles, rotating over my turgid dick, pulsating upon the thick heavy lengthwise vein, fingering each ridged ripple of tissue all the way up and all the way down. Down. Down. Over my sac, that he handled with a knowing rolling touch, a push down on the steel-tense bridge of skin between my balls and my ass. Up up up. Swirling the pad of his index finger round and round the lip of my head while his thumb and forefinger nickel and dimed the rarified weeping slit atop, sucking out the inner tiny lips, that he met with a deep French kiss. The tip of his rooting tongue tucked just slightly inside, opening my cock to him.
"FUCK!" I slammed my ass against the post, and ripped one last time up my cock, twisted at the top, saw again Jasper's mouth lipping just over the top of me, and came so fucking hard that venom would not stop its cascade for what felt like minutes!
Tick tock. Tick tock. Minutes, days, months.
The new couple roosted.
And I was trapped.
Wanting him. Wanting to hate him.
I found that I could not. A paradox; Jasper was a killing machine, murderer, mercenary, a legion of loss now reformed; a vegetarian vampire, lover, husband and gentle soul who was light and breezy, easily humored, deeply intelligent and empathetic, except when reminded of his bloody history of human and immortal wars. Except when he was too overwrought by my puking passion, or overly-used by Alice's avarice.
Learning, quickly, that Jasper could sense and warp the sentiments of others, I was bound and gagged and gagging by the idea that he had known straight away of my lust for him. Stripped down to a pyre of pure need, my keen, keening, corrupt want was plain to him.
Never disgracing me, never shaming me, not once causing me to feel foolish for my misplaced affections, Jasper was humble. The picture of a gentleman that shouldered a world of sensation capable of felling a lesser man.
But I didn't know what he was really thinking.
I wanted to be inside him, be inside of him. Be.
I had no idea what he was thinking.
His peaceful mind quelled all the thoughts around him. In his presence I could swim in a still lake, the surface unrippled by the stippling utterances of others. He spread his peace to me, like a trance. Not through the power of his ability, but through the innate goodness that clamored and warred with the death-dealing artifacts of his past.
The silence was…golden.
Alice alone broke through. Perhaps because their bond trumped mine with him. Worse than mere thoughts, hers were moving images, flickering and speckled with possibilities of the future. Never once was I shown a moment where he and I were together as I wished.
In this way, she sought to become his spokesperson. Pithy bitch.
I remained beholden. Each day that passed linked me more irrefutably to him. Presence made the heart grow fonder. Absence would have killed me.
This carnal desire cowered me. I had been with women of our kind before. Was capable, knowledgeable, well-versed in sex. Because blood lust conjoined so thoroughly with bodily lust, I had never fucked a human female. It would end as a blood bath.
Of all the people and supernatural fantastical beings I'd ever met, I had never felt this abysmal depth, this divine height! Attraction followed no rules. Not man versus woman. Love and sex were unprejudiced; whimsical, capricious, unpredictable, and harmful creatures.
All the while, Alice crooked her hold over Jasper towards me so that there could be no question. Her twinning to him was strong. She twined around him like an infiltrating vine. Suctioning. Holding tight. I could tell by the way they were together that there was supreme love, but also loss. If they came together solely out of circumstances, surely there was hope!
I hated hope. Mired heart-deep in its swampy morass, it teased me with its potential, which Alice always sternly denied.
Those days that limped by, through an entire season, I left my room. The abode, the grounds. I took to wandering in the scrub and bog. Moldy vegetation. Hating my hesitation when I knew I should simply leave this fold.
Escapism. Begging the fates to release me and offering up deals that went unanswered.
It was inevitable. Through the persistent baiting of my desire, I had inveigled Jasper to me. As a friend. He came to me, found me in the sylvan forests, the shadows and light dancing amongst fen and furrow.
With his ease, his soothing nature, I could almost rid myself of the clawing, garroting gruel of the daemon desire. Almost.
Stories of a grotty life, a soldier and a newborn infantryman. Maria and Charlotte and Peter. Then Alice. He rarely spoke of her. As my lascivious scandalous thoughts mounted, like a cavalryman upon the broad back of a steed, Jasper sought to dispel the queasy, craven ache in my craw. I felt the push of his peace against the permeable force-field of my feeling and shook my head at him.
Trivialities passed between us. Daily outings spun glittery webs of tales and lust that I could not withhold, acknowledged but never spoken of.
If possible, I knew love to overtake lust. Heart filling to surpass cock hardening.
Was it worse to feel this alive and untouched, or to be inert, a fossil, an insect caught in liquid hardening amber, still and untouchable? Intact but for this shard of ice that was my heart breaking apart with each meeting.
An innocent brush of skin, a touch, a questioning glance and a recognition amidst spangled words that made me smile, laugh, frown and worry…that was all it took to razor me clean through with maddening want to pound into the slough of his body, engulfed in cold heat and narrow virgin scabbard, upon the grass, the muck, enfolded in murk.
"I could leave you alone, Edward," he stated in that honey husky hallowed voice.
No, you cannot. "Don't," it was barely a whisper of barley and sun and hollow.
In the salty, warm creek, we swam often. Disrobed quickly before one another. As if just brothers. Knowing better. The rigidity of my cock could not be mistaken beneath my undershorts.
Gossamer glow of skin. Tough beneath the trials of this life and that other existence, his wounds shimmery shades of silver. Silken small nipples that were hot points on his lithe torso. Softened bits of flesh, buttons of finest silk, with a hue of pale pink that darkened to swarthiness as I watched the current of my wandering gaze touch each revealed inch of him. They prickled up with a ring of minor goosebumps. I imagined the feel of those paps nubbling beneath the scoring flat of my tongue. Spun from infinitely fine skin, his areoles would be downy and ductile. Tactile. Circling up with the icy tip of my tongue until I toppled over the strung out bead, sucking it in with a clamp of lips and a scissor of teeth until he pulled me by my hair, smothering me against his chest.
Taciturn but for my hunger that washed like a riptide against his form, I did not halt my inspection. I knew he knew. And I was done with shame and guilt and the Jesus-complex. This was mutiny. Infested in the need for satiation, I was knee deep in my own squalor.
And still I looked on.
Thinking with my unblinking eyes.
Of how I would work my open mouth over the wealth of flesh on show. Down the midden of his chest, to either side where I would suckle upon each muscled rib as if it was my last meal. Inward to his navel, with the peach fuzz that sprung below. Purse my lips and pull the edge inside my mouth and pulse my tongue into that small, hidden well.
Indentations of body to the left and right, his boxers were low-slung and damp from water, adhering to the thick, vividly indecent shape of his dick. Thick and long, just as I had fabricated. Slick cotton fabric outlined the way his cock rested low upon his thigh, the pelt of his sex hair whorled lightly down to the waistband of his boxers that were so low slung I gasped outright at the idea that half an inch lower, the base of his dick began!
With just a nod, with simply some semblance of acquiescence, I would grab his ass and bring him to my face, nip and bite through threads. Nuzzle and muzzle my groans against him!
Jasper was all man.
And I craved him.
Jumping back into the water, splashes dashed me on the shoreline that I shared with fiddler crabs and one or two pelicans, Jasper beckoned me and joked, "I think you need to cool off, Edward." But his eyes were pleading ingots, and I did not know the meaning of all I wanted, everything I could not have.
Once coupled, once changed and cuffed to another, the bond was prophesied to be unbreakable. Was Alice that for Jasper?
I bit my tongue, decapitated my desire. Made cruel crewelwork of that which I lived for, and had already died for.
All the time that Jasper and I met in the woods, Alice upped the ante.
I wanted to take heart from her shrieking visions; surely she would have lain off if there was no hope at all for me and Jasper.
With the most pustulating poison, Alice creeped nightly inside of me, with dainty footsteps that bespoke my demise. Fodder for my mind that was nothing more than a trash heap, a graveyard of all I wanted that I had not known I wanted.
The two of them, coupling, copulating, fucking, Jasper and Alice entwined in maggoty, pornographic reels. She, a lazy black kitten, licking him into orgasm. He, a supine, stretched-out being. Taking all of her. On top of her, behind her, in her, tasting her and eating her and crying out as he met his maker, le petit mort, inside of her sluice, I couldn't stop watching! I had to leave. Alice, stretching all over him with her taut naked body, fluffy with purring.
This was worse than depressing solitude. This was feeling with no place to squander it. No one to give it to.
Starving to slither into a fissure in the earth's mantle, to edge into his arms. I had to go.
Tick tock. Tick tock.
A flock of time.
The pigswill slosh of my mind unstilled. Unstuck. Soiled and sullied and all I could see was his virtue. His virility. Immortal minutes, escalating days, landmine months.