"For the Love of Jasper" One-Shot Contest

Title: Crushlicker

Pen name: MySlashyFriend

Existing work: N/A

Primary Players: Jasper/Edward

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight

To see other entries in the "For the Love of Jasper" contest, please visit the C2:

A/N: I heard someone mention there wasn't enough slash in this contest. Here's my offering.

I lick him. My tongue runs from the base of his stubble-crusted chin, up to the top of his cheek bone, before I gently kiss my way back, breathing heavily against him. It's erotic. And I can't get that image out of my fucking head.

Turning away from the counter where I've been eating my cereal, I stub my toe and curse under my breath. It's been like this all morning: a small nick while shaving, mistakenly putting the cereal in the fridge, missing my bowl by a fraction of a centimetre and having to deal with the spilt milk. I'm normally like this—generally unlucky—but today it's worse as I'm plagued by my dreams. To say I'm distracted is a gross understatement. I'm unfocused, I'm preoccupied, and I'm anxious.

And I'm late.

I throw my bowl in the sink, knowing it will piss everyone off, but that they'll all leave it there for me to clean when I get back. Today, I will just have to put up with their glares—again. Before I leave, I quickly and quietly duck back into my dorm and grab a jacket, ignoring the blanketed mound that is my sleeping roommate.

"Monetary policy is one method they employed to help control inflation during this period..."

The semi-retired professor addresses the side of the room as he gives his lecture, never once facing the class. I used to think he was nervous, or perhaps intimidated by the students' hostile glares. But lately, his inability to connect seems more like the result of complete apathy—he really doesn't care what we think, or whether we are listening. I envy him.

Of course, his droning monotone voice and lack of interaction has the usual effect, and my mind begins drifting.

Why? Why do I have to have a fucking crush on my roommate? Why does it have to be now? I'm still not even sure that I can like guys... that way. And yet, whenever he comes home, I have to struggle to look disinterested in whatever ordinary task he is doing. My ears attune themselves to his every sound, and I breathe deeper automatically, trying to get a trace of his scent. On the rare occasions he does talk to me, I stammer confused responses and dwell on the subsequent embarrassment for days.

I'm sure that's part of my infatuation. He's untouchable, perfect in every way. I've never known someone to be so masculine and yet... he's openly gay. He has no shame for his sexuality, nor a grudge to bear over it, and seems content with...well...everything.

Where I am confused, he is enlightened. While I hide, he is outgoing. Opposites. And while I can attest to finding everything about him attractive, he seems indifferent to me. He's friendly, I guess, and considerate, but he is definitely unfazed by my presence in the room. Again, the complete opposite to how I feel.

"While the abrupt change in value had the unintended effect of large capital flows..."

It occurs to me that all of this mental anguish is pointless. It's not the first time I've been attracted to a guy, but to my knowledge it is the first time I've been interested in one that could possibly return the sentiment. Not that he would. Besides the obvious lack of interest on his side, he also has no clue that I see him that way. Nobody does.

I date women; mostly because it's easy, acceptable. And I like women. Sometimes I like them a lot. But they never fail to fuck shit up and make things complicated. I've always wondered if it would be the same with a guy.

"So, in a way you can understand the argument for returning to the gold standard, though the arguments against are far stronger..."

I'm certain it would be different with my roommate. He never seems to have drama in his life. The men he dates are normal, attractive, and usually students like us. I've never heard him suffer through a break-up, or seen him cry. He seems to be genuinely uncomplicated, as well as the luckiest bastard I know—completely unlike me. Again, with the opposites. Maybe that's the point though, why I'm attracted to him. Maybe with him I would make sense?

"That's all for this week. Read over chapters twenty to twenty-four for the next class. Don't forget your essays are due Friday of next week."

The professor turns his back on the class and gathers his materials as the students rise from their seats, blurry-eyed and yawning. After an hour of class I have no notes and have learned nothing new; except perhaps that not only is Edward Cullen attractive, I've now convinced myself we'd be compatible too.

I decide that I should at least try to talk to him—it's the only way I'll ever know. And with that thought I stand, ready to leave the room. Before I can though, my pen slips from my fingers. As I reach to catch it I lose my grip on everything else I'm carrying and it all crashes noisily to the ground. This is definitely not my day, I think as I reach down and gather them up.

I'm nervous. Normally I wouldn't be home at this time of day. I'd be carefully avoiding our room, staying late at the library until Edward would have left for the night. As far as I know, he leaves to work at a bar near campus. When I wake up in the morning he's always in bed, asleep. He won't be expecting me to be home, which is why I'm worried. What if he brings someone with him? What if he was hoping to have the room to himself and is annoyed that I'm home?

Sitting down I put my head in my hands and try to squeeze away the stress. The real problem is that I have spent way too much time thinking about this. I even considered getting beer, but he can't drink before work. So then I thought of getting something to eat but I honestly have no idea what he likes. He's a complete enigma to me. I know hardly anything about him.

I settle for music and turn on my laptop, loading up a playlist. It relaxes me slightly but may not be the kind of music he likes. I stare at his side of the room, examining the small desk, single bed, tallboy and shelves. In amongst those items I know I could find hints to his preferences. I've never crossed the invisible line that divides us though. It feels like it would be an invasion, unacceptable. I push that feeling down as I enter his space, glancing around at his small piles of belongings.

I should have known not to do it today. My shitty luck held as he chose that moment to return. He opens the door and shows every iota of surprise that I was home, and apparently about to snoop through his things.

"Hi," he asks tentatively.

"H-Hi," I stammer, embarrassed and guilty. "I was just...It's not... I'm sorry, I..." Nothing comes out the way I need it to.

"Do you need something?" he questions as he continues through the door, casually kicking off his Nikes.

"I was, uh, I was looking for music." I haven't moved this whole time, and am still standing, rooted to the spot on his side of the room, right next to his desk. He comes within feet of me as he heads to his bed and throws his shoes under it.

He looks back at me now, staring right at my face, but I can't bear to look up. "What kind of music were you after?" he asks.

At this point we are having the longest conversation we've ever had, baring the day I moved in and we introduced ourselves.

"Something you would like." I cringe as I admit the truth as it's the only plausible reason I can come up with for poking around in his things. I risk a glance at his reaction.

His brow rises up the smallest amount, giving away his surprise, but he turns before I can see anything else and grabs a folder from on top of his shelves. He tosses it to me and by some miracle, I manage to catch it. "Here," he says. "That's my CD collection. Take your pick."

"Um. Thanks." I take the folder back to my side of the room and sit down on my bed to go through it. From this distance it's easier to see him and as he begins rummaging around in his drawers and pulling out clothes I finally see what he's wearing. Hardly anything. Tight, hardly anything. He's been running.

He catches me staring as he turns back. "I'm... gonna go take a shower."

Charitably, he leaves the room without commenting on my behaviour, but my eyes don't follow. I'm stuck, staring at him standing next to his bed, the glistening line of sweat trickling down his bicep. I walk over and lick it, trailing my tongue from his elbow, all the way up to his shoulder. It tastes like salt and leaves me thirsty for more.

I shake my head. Fucking get a grip!In my lap I still hold his folder of CDs. There are more than I could ever imagine anyone owning. If they were in individual cases it would surely cover a whole wall. Flipping through, I notice he has no method of organising them. Nirvana is followed by Beasties, which is followed by Creedence. The styles, names, and eras are all mixed up and I assume it doesn't bother him. I wonder if it bothers me.

Even now that I have his preferences for music sitting open on my lap, I still can't decide what to play. So instead I study it, flicking through, gaining more knowledge about my roommate than I've been able to before. His tastes are varied, and he even has classical music scattered throughout. I'd like to think this folder of his shows me he has depth, and even though that sounds a little pathetic, I'm convinced that it's true.

After a time he returns. The handle twists and I try to be cool and not look like I just spent the last fifteen minutes thinking about him. The door swings open and his clean smell wafts into the room. It's enough to make my head spin, like an intoxicating pleasant version of the perfume counter in a department store. I almost prefer it to how he smells after running.

"You find anything?" he asks, closing the door behind him. He has dressed in the bathroom, but carries his running clothes which he throws into a bag with his other laundry.

I panic a little; I haven't thought of this. "Um... yeah. No?" I have no idea what I'm saying so I drop my voice.

He opens a drawer and pulls out his hair product, then smears it over his hands before running them through his hair. "Were you really looking for music I'd like?" he asks as he goes about this task, only a slight trace of skepticism in his voice.

"I was," I admit and lower my gaze back to the folder in my lap. I've got nothing else to add and I'm feeling frustrated now, annoyed at my inability to be impressive.

Listening intently as usual, I hear Edward finish with his hair and the drawer close. But then there's nothing for a moment and I glance up at him, wondering what he's doing. He's staring at me, looking thoughtful, but not confused. Edward never looks confused.

"What are you up to tonight, Jasper?" He smirks at me then.

If he were aware of my predicament, he wouldn't do that. I want to lick his lips when he smirks. "Um, nothing," I answer instead.

"I have to go out for a while, but did you want to maybe meet up for dinner? You know, we've never really talked. I know nothing about you," he adds.

I'm stunned. He wants to know about me. Plus, I'll get to eat with him, or even just see him eat. He's always working at night, and sleeps late. We have class during the day and I head home on the weekends. I hear my own internal voice, he's never around in the evenings.

"Don't you have to work?" I ask, hoping that it's a late start—a really late start.

He crinkles his eyes a little, "No, not tonight."

Inside I grin, but on the outside my face doesn't move. "Sure," I mutter, doing my best to not sound excited.

"How's Brown sound?" Brown is the eatery that's in the Brown building, Brown being the surname of the successful alum that bequeathed his estate to the university. The building is also brown. And it has the best food on campus.

"Sounds good," I agree in my failed impersonation of casual.

"Okay," he says while rummaging in his bag, pulling out his wallet and keys. "I'll see you later, round seven?" he asks. I nod in response and keep nodding long after I should have stopped. Before he leaves he smiles at me and though I try to return it with the most normal looking grin I can muster, I'm certain I look like a fool.

At a quarter to seven, I leave our dorm room and try not to rush on my way to Brown. I've been drilling myself for the last couple of hours: Don't think about licking him. Act casual. Talk normally. And don't think about licking him!

In a way I'm eager to have this over with so that we can be friendlier. It won't be such a big deal for me to just talk to him after I've spent an evening with him, right? It occurs to me that maybe I'll never get over my awkwardness when I'm around him and I start to get anxious again. This isn't helping.

I arrive at Brown sooner than I expected and stop myself from entering, scared to be there alone. Then I realize I look stupid just standing in the doorway so I push open the door. My eyes find him straight away and he waves as soon as he notices me. There is someone else sitting with him—another guy—and I'm a little let down. I thought he wanted to have dinner with me, just me.

Heading toward him I glance around, trying to look relaxed and not as nervous as I feel. I'm snapped out of my act though as my jacket catches on someone's chair, yanking me back. My eyes fly to Edward and for once that day I feel a little blessed when I see he didn't notice. After disentangling and excusing myself I again make my way toward him.

Eventually I reach his table and am struck with a complication. It's a booth. Edward is sitting on one of the benches, and his... friend, is sitting on the other. Before I can even begin to comprehend the complexities of this decision, Edward shifts over on his side to make room for me and I gratefully sit down beside him. He smells nice, as usual.

"Hey, Jasper," he says as I try to arrange myself so that I look comfortable. "This is my friend Emmett," he gestures across the table at the kind of guy I don't ever want to upset.

"Hi," I greet him and he smiles, really big, with deep dimples, and I don't feel so intimidated now by him.

"Hey, you're the roommate, right?" he asks and looks like it's a genuine question.

"Um... yeah," I reply.

"I just ran into Emmett while I was waiting," Edward explains and I try to look understanding. I'm pleased that Edward really did plan on seeing just me, but now think another person to break the tension would be a good idea.

"I have to leave in a few minutes," Emmett says while glancing at his watch, and although I just decided I want him here, I'm relieved. "Fucking night class on a Friday—I've missed all but two this semester," he adds and we all laugh. He sips at a Coke and turns to me. "So, what's your major?" Emmett asks me.

"Eh... International Finance. I think." I answer.

"You think?" He questions my vagueness.

"I haven't really decided," I admit, grasping my hands together under the table. Thankfully, Emmett doesn't question me any further. I'm worried about what people will make of my indecision, especially Edward. "What about yours?" I ask Emmett.

He takes another sip before answering. "I'm in law with Eddie, unfortunately." I have no idea what he's saying and must look confused as he then elaborates. "This lucky prick is always right. He dazzles the professor with his perfect fucking results. Every time. My answers all look like shit compared to his."

I glance over at Edward and see him looking amused. I'm sure I hear a quiet thump from under the table. It sounds like Edward kicked him. But why would he do that? Was it playful? Affectionate?

"Well," Emmett drains the last of his drink, "I better get going so I actually make it to class this week. Have fun." He stands up and leaves as Edward and I farewell him. It all seems pretty abrupt.

I watch Edward as he watches Emmett making his way through the tables and I wonder if Emmett is more than his friend. Have they been a couple? Are they are couple? Has Emmett ever licked him? This is why I'm here, I say to myself. I know nothing about Edward, but I want to find out.

"Should we go order?" Edward asks me but makes no move to do so. Then I realize it's because I'm blocking him into the booth seat.

"Sure," I respond and hastily shuffle out of the way, allowing him his escape. We both wander over to the counter.

A lady takes our orders. "Eat-in or take-out?" she asks.

Edward looks at me, the same composed and pleased look he always seems to wear. "Did you want to take this back to our place?"

I think that's a great idea, and I tell him so.

We're sitting in our respective sides of the room, on our beds, and I'm struggling to not stare. Edward is eating a sandwich. He has to open his mouth really wide to be able to fit it all in and occasionally I catch glimpses of his tongue. He has some mayo just to the right side of his lips but there's no way in hell I can tell him about it. I want to lick it. Badly. If I try to talk about that little spot of mayo, my voice will revert to a fourteen-year-old on the brink of puberty and I'll end up squawking something unintelligible. So instead I try not to think about licking it off him, and focus on my own sandwich.

For the first time in my life I wonder why they make food that's difficult to eat. It's hard for me to open my jaws this wide to take bites out of the crusty roll and small flaky pieces of bread are flying everywhere. I glance up at Edward and notice he's doing a much better job of not making a pig out of himself. Then I see his tongue flick out to swipe at the mayo near his lips and before I can stop it, half my filling falls out and lands in my lap. Yep, it's still that kind of day, I think to myself.

"Shit," I curse, then try to salvage the rest of my dinner whilst clearing up my mess. Edward chuckles from his side of the room.

"Do you need a hand?" he asks, trying to stifle his amusement.

"I got it," I answer. He must think I'm such a klutz.

After I tidy up and lose some of my embarrassment we begin tentatively sharing stuff about ourselves with each other. I tell Edward about my folks and how I'm doing in class. He tells me about growing up in Washington and how he once thought he'd be a musician. As he's talking about playing the piano I can't stop looking at his fingers, and keep imagining running my tongue along to the slender tips. In order to change the subject and get my mind off licking, I tell him about how I feel like a bit of a geek for enjoying war docos.

I really want to ask him about Emmett but I'm not sure if that would be a normal question, or one that would reveal my much-more-than-roommately interest in him. I try phrasing it so it doesn't give me away. "So, have you known Emmett long?"

Edward's brow creases the tiniest bit as he answers, "I met him last year, in class." It's a frustrating answer because it gives nothing away.

I decide I just have to be more direct. "So... are you seeing anyone?" My eyes remain fixed on my hands in my lap, scared to see his reaction to such a transparent question.

"Not right now," he responds. "How 'bout you?"

His relaxed answer lulls me into believing he doesn't suspect me and I'm able to raise my eyes. As I take in his expression I realize I should never have thought I could be that lucky. He definitely suspects me. He's smirking.

I lick my lips in response. "Um... No."

"That's interesting." He leans back against the wall on his bed and draws his knees up to his chest. "You know, I don't really have to work every night," he admits. "I thought you were... uncomfortable around me. I just thought I'd make it easier on us and stay out of your way."

I'm stunned. As I consider his words I realize that I probably did come across as uncomfortable. But for him to stay out of our dorm room to avoid making me uneasy is ridiculous. I wonder where he spent that time. My stomach sinks as a thousand possibilities flow through my mind.

"You should never have done that. This is your place, too."

He scratches his head as he answers. "Well, weren't you also avoiding me? You're hardly ever around, especially around the times when I'm here."


"I guess I was uncomfortable around you, but it wasn't because of... that." Edward's eyebrows rise up a little and he looks surprised I'm saying this. I plough on, "I can't seem to relax around you. Ever. I mean, fucking look at me." I point at the food-stains on my jeans.

Edward laughs softly. "I think it's cute," he says, and though my brain tells me I misheard him, his smile tells me he means it.

My eyes meet his and I openly stare, bewildered by the way he is gazing at me. His presence is always potent, but right now it's clouding my thoughts. Then the corner of his mouth turns up and I'm struck by desire. Lick.

I think he's flirting with me.

"You know, I've always thought you're cute, too," he says and I have to bite on my lip to keep my tongue in my mouth. He stands slowly then walks toward me, crossing over into my side of the room. I'm aware of my breath becoming uneven, deeper, as it always does when he's close.

He sits beside me on the bed and I have to tear my eyes away. This isn't how things work in my life. I'm waiting for something to go wrong.

"I always wondered what it would feel like to kiss you," he tells me, his voice confident and smooth. He's leaning in and I can feel his breath breezing over my skin, coaxing me toward him. I turn my head slightly and can see his chin now, the fine stubble taunting me, asking me to taste it.

"I've always wanted to lick you," I say to his chin, then I pull away as I realise I said it out loud. This is more like me. I knew something would go wrong.

"I'm sorry," I apologise. "It's my stupid mouth." I drive the heel of my palm into my forehead in frustration, mortified with myself.

He hasn't run away and still sits beside me on the bed. I feel like I should be dreaming when I hear him reply. "I kinda like being licked."

I lick him. My tongue runs from the base of his stubble-crusted chin, but I don't make it past his mouth as he turns and catches my lips with his. He kisses me softly and gently, and I revel in the moment, enjoying his closeness. My thoughts are scattered, overwhelmed with want, satisfaction, him, and how for once, I'm lucky. He pulls away first and smirks at me.

Yeah, I lick that, too.

A/N: If you look up the word "fuckawesome" in *my* dictionary, you will find:

1) Furious Kitten and her beta skills

2) Allysue08 and Mopstyle for letting me spam them with manlove pics during our failed attempt to WC

3) ElleCC and LaViePastiche for running this contest

4) *That* manip of Eddie and Jasper ;)