The Twilight Twenty-Five
Pen name: in..bathrobe
Pairing: Rosalie and Emmett
SM owns all that is Twilight; I own a lot of Jimi recordings.
Thank you, ElleCC, for the comma pruning and hand holding.
A blond teenage boy sat sprawled in a chrome chair by the glass wall that fronted the entrance to the airport, legs stretched out, right foot in a black cowboy boot with silver toe tips, the other in a purple sock. He was reading a large yellow book. A small child stood between him and a large family, holding the left boot, looking annoyed.
"Give him his book back, Jasper," I said, in greeting.
"We traded," my stepbrother stated, not looking up from Curious George.
I tweaked the book from his hands and held it out to the little boy. He looked at me, terrified, but gathered his courage enough to snatch the book and run back to his mother, who watched with amusement.
Jazz sighed, launched out of his chair, punched me on the arm and limped toward the door.
"So what made you come to your senses and turn around? Or did you just get lost at O'Hare?" he asked.
"The probability of a high school band making it big is like one in a million, Jazz."
"Volturi Guard did it."
"Dude, they were Peninsula College students. And the odds of two bands from the same backwoods corner of-"
"Hey!" The child ran toward us, brandishing the errant footwear.
"I'd rather have the book," Jasper told him. The boy grinned and shook his head, dropped the boot at the sock-clad foot and scampered back to his family.
"You're really fucking weird, you know that?" I grumbled.
"Hey. You could learn a lot from the Man in the Yellow Hat."
"Not to run off and get into trouble, so we don't have to keep rescuing your ass."
"I'm not a fucking monkey, man." I was on the verge of getting annoyed.
"You're not a mathematician, either. You're a musician. And the sooner you stop fighting that, the sooner you'll be comfortable in your own skin. Here." He threw me the keys to my Jeep. "You're driving home. That thing is a tank. No finesse at all."
I didn't point out that he could have come in his own vehicle, but he knew how cramped I felt in his little Audi, and I recognized his gesture for what it was.
I drove, relieved to be in control of my own transport. This morning's downpour had become evening drizzle, and the windshield wipers made a slow syncopated accompaniment to the bodhran drum on Jasper's Celtic playlist.
"So what did you want to know?" he asked, after we'd been on the highway for thirty minutes. I thought he'd been asleep; his seat was tilted back, his feet were propped up on the dash, and his eyes were closed.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Don't play stupid. There is only one force of nature that could have made you turn around at Chicago, and you texted me to come pick you up, not her, which means you want to pump me for information about my sister."
I pulled Rosalie's diary from my pocket and tossed it onto his lap. He sat up slightly, hands moving quickly with male instinct to protect his groin, and then held it up.
"Shit, man! I don't want to read this!" He threw it on the dash. "You wouldn't want to read your sister's, trust me."
"Alice keeps a diary?"
"Yeah. It's filthy," he said, with pride. "It even has drawings."
I contemplated the white lines on the highway.
"Where is Royce King now?" I finally asked.
"At home, I imagine," my stepbrother's voice was level, and he leaned back into his seat and closed his eyes, again. One foot on the dash twitched slightly, the only clue giving lie to his relaxed pose. "He's in a wheelchair and has to shit in a bag, now."
"You should have killed him." I swallowed the black bile in my throat, really wishing I had something handy to slam my fists into.
"Dude. I was only twelve."
"What did you do to him?"
"I don't remember. It was either 'Tiger Charges Down the Mountain', or 'Drunken Monkey Opens the Door.'"
"Kung Fu. Some idiot told my mother martial arts might teach me some discipline." He smiled at the canvas top, his eyes still closed. "What else do you want to know?'
"What should I know?" I was getting irritated with him. Jazz knew better than anyone how to get under my skin.
"First time she broke a guitar string was pretty traumatic. Oh, yeah, watching this orangutan she was in love with fall 150 feet out of a pine tree, and then finding his broken bloody body at the bottom of it probably messed with her head, too."
We didn't speak much more on the way home.
Alice met us at the door and took my coat, pointed at our muddy shoes until we took them off, handed me a mug of cocoa, told us that Esme was meeting Dad for dinner because he had to work late, called me an asshole and said she knew I would turn around, kissed Jasper and thanked him for getting me, and then spun off to the kitchen just before the timer on the oven dinged.
Bella sat at the kitchen counter, comparing new album reviews in Spin and Rolling Stone. She looked up when I walked in the door, but said nothing.
"Drummers are a dime a dozen," I said, wondering why I felt like I had to apologize to her.
"Tell that to Led Zeppelin," she snarked back.
"I'm no John Bonham," I protested.
"How do you know?" she countered, but then she grinned and gestured with her head to the door to the basement door. "He's downstairs."
I opened the door and saw there was no red glow from the sound booth light.
"I'm going to eat all of these cookies if you don't get your ass up here and have some," I shouted down the stairway.
A second later, my little brother bounded up the stairs, and his face shone with a mix of hope and surprise and something else that made him look a lot like Mom, but then an aloof mask slid into place and he stuck his nose in the air.
"Don't fucking touch those cookies, shithead. You didn't help make them, so you don't get to eat any." Edward snagged one off the rack before Alice could smack his hand with a spatula. He looked at me for a long moment, and then turned his back. He moved to Bella's side and whispered something in her ear that made her shiver and bite her lip, and then went downstairs, slamming the door behind him.
I grabbed a cookie, wondering that Rosalie hadn't heard me shouting. She was most likely practicing in her room, and I procrastinated, my heart beating with the force of a kettle drum as I decided to drop my bag off in my room and try to get my head on straight before I talked to her.
She was there, on my bed, asleep, one of my pillows clutched to her chest, looking somehow small and childlike. I watched her for a moment, and then went to her and brushed a strand of golden hair away from her face.
Her eyes flashed open, and she sat up, instantly awake and alert. Her eyes flicked to the window and the night sky, and then back to me.
"Tell me to stay," I said, trying to keep my face and my heart calm, as I finally voiced the words that had pounded in my brain since before the plane landed in Chicago.
She looked at me as if I had slapped her, and shook her head.
"Rosalie, you have to talk to me." I pulled the little red diary from the pocket of my sweatshirt and dropped it on her lap. "That night at the Festival? When I got all jealous and crap? I thought I'd hurt you!"
Her eyes widened, and the tears pooling in them receded. She shook her head again, and her pale cheeks blushed with the prettiest pink I'd ever seen. The only other time I'd seen her skin flushed that color was when she was clenching around my dick or my fingers, and my body responded to it immediately.
"Tell me to stay, Rose."
But she shook her head again, and her face paled.
"Why not?" I suddenly wondered if I had made the right decision, and felt foolish for my melodramatic change of heart at 40,000 feet above the earth and the subsequent tear through the airport to catch the next flight home. I wanted to shake the girl on my bed, who sat still as an ivory statue, and beg her to tell me what she wanted, but then I realized that she was on my bed, and that at least told me something. I sat down next to her and waited.
"It won't make a difference," she finally said, so quietly I almost didn't hear her.
"What do you mean?"
"It never does." Her whispers cut through me like a razor. "I told him to come home; he didn't. I told them to stop; they didn't. I told you not to fall; you did."
The tears were back, liquid diamonds that spilled down her face and onto the pillow hugged to her torso.
My chest closed tight and I swallowed, fighting for oxygen.
"Can't you have some faith me?" I whispered back.
"How can I? You don't have any in yourself! You pretend to be stupid so people will accept you on their terms, rather than letting them like you for who you really are!"
I stared at her in shock, air rushing in my lungs strangely.
She wiped her eyes and glared at me. "You refuse to see how good you are or how much the music and the band depends on you."
Her voice was broken, and the sentences came out in searching phrases, as if she were fumbling through a second language, and I hung on every word, like a man with amnesia looking for his name.
"We need you, Emmett! Jasper can't lead us without you driving him, and the twins fall apart without your support -and that's not just in band, that's in life, too. You make Edward have a sense of humor and keep Alice sensible, and me, I-"
She stopped, and I gripped my hands into fists, trying to hold still and listen, resisting every urge to crush her to me.
"Emmett, every note I play is for you."
I gave in then, and kissed her, harder than I had intended, but her hands were clutching at my shoulders, and her tongue was in my mouth, her lips stealing the last shred of my soul that she didn't already own, and then she gave me hers when she said, "Stay."
I pulled away, breathing deep, trying to clear my head, but she was having none of it, and she shoved me down on the bed, straddling my hips. She bit me, little nipping kisses on my neck, my jaw, my ear, knowing how crazy that always made me, hard teeth and soft lips and her hands were everywhere, tearing at my clothes until I was naked and she wasn't, so I flipped her on her back and jerked her jeans off, kissing and licking at every inch of skin, lingering when she gasped and laughing when she smacked at my hands for wandering into ticklish places.
She moved away, and straddled me again, wet folds flush along the length of me, and slid back and forth, coating me with herself, and it was incredible. She was slick and hot and ready, but her hands were on my biceps, and she was pushing me down; I couldn't move without breaking her hold and hurting her.
"Rose," I protested, wanting to be inside, but she leaned in and stopped my mouth with a kiss, soft breasts shoved up on my chest and the slide of skin on skin was fantastic. I bucked against her, fighting her, but not really, especially when she wriggled, and I slid partially in. Her wet warmth enveloped just the tip of my cock, and she stayed there, rocking slightly, taunting me.
I grabbed fistfuls of the blanket, trying to hold still, unable to think of anything except grabbing her hips and shoving up into her.
"Fuck, Rosalie," I gasped. "Don't tease me!"
She said nothing, and I looked into her eyes -brilliant sky blue, finally unclouded by tension- and she smiled, all sexy-hot and slow.
"Let go," she said, and I uncurled my hands, spreading my hands flat on the fabric, letting her lead, trying to give her what she wanted without breaking her spell and losing control.
She shook her head at me, and sat up on her knees, lifting her hands and weight from my arms and hips. She dragged her fingertips over my shoulders, raking her short nails over my nipples, down my belly and then up across her own, over her breasts and then shoving her hair out of her face, piling it on her head with one hand, the other moving back down to the only place we touched. She traced through her pink folds with a finger, and then stroked my shaft, and it was the hottest damned thing I'd ever seen in my life.
"Let go," she said again, taking me an inch deeper.
"I'm not touching you!" I moaned, body shaking with lust and self-restraint. What did she want!?
She leaned in close, her nipples grazing my chest, hot points of contact that made me arch off the bed, an instinctive sudden movement. She pulled away slightly, and I gritted my teeth, not understanding her game, or why she was teasing me like this. She shook her head again, and her hair fell down, gorgeous and silky over my face and neck as she leaned in closer, and spread her knees, taking a tiny bit more of me into her slippery heat.
"Let go," she whispered, mouth moving over mine, and just as I began to understand what she was getting at, she bit my bottom lip, sending me over the edge.
I let go.
I shoved up into her, grabbing her thighs and pushing her down, and she took me impossibly deep. The heat from her body and the sliding skin made me groan, and she moaned with me, and I gave over to it, the lust and passion overwhelming all thought, and she rode me hard, giving back as much as she took. My hands gripped her hips, rocking her over me as I grew thick and huge, pulling her onto me in some selfish feral rhythm that was going to take me there too quickly, but then she went first, back arching and muscles taut, crying my name out to the world, and I held her body earthbound while she soared.
She was so beautiful, this goddess with platinum skin and gold hair, and she was right, it was hard for me to believe I could deserve her, but she was smiling at me, and I nearly came when she whispered, "Do it again."
I gathered her to me and rolled over, still deep inside, throbbing hard, and used every trick I knew of hands and teeth and lips to bring her around again. This time the tempo was something less frenzied and somehow more intense, a slow grind of hips and mouths and muscle and skin, and I held back nothing, giving her my weight and all my length and my entire heart, and she took it all, the only girl who could. She wrapped her legs around my waist, and met me, stroke for stroke and thrust for thrust, and kissed me when the pleasure overwhelmed me and I came, but she was with me and her tight little contractions gripped me as I exploded into her. Once again today, I touched the sky, and again, she brought me home.
We lay there, panting, and then she nudged at me, and I rolled again, sliding out of her but keeping her on top, enjoying the weight of her stretched out over me, the realness and solidity of her pulling me back down to earth. I toyed with her hair as I caught my breath, not wanting to move ever again. She looked up at me, relaxed and easy, and traced my satisfied smile with a fingertip.
Our peace was ruined by both our phones buzzing with texts, and a fist pounding the door.
"Hey, shithead," my brother called, "You wanna tour Europe this summer, or shall I tell Volturi Guard you're too busy doing your math homework?"
Rosalie and I shared a split second glance of mutual shock, and then leapt off the bed in a mad scramble for our clothing. I opened the door to Edward, who stood there looking smug.
"Alec and Santiago are on a video conference with Jasper and Alice," he said, but then he lost his cool and bounced in his shoes like an excited little kid. "They want us to open for them, and they'll start promoting our EP the second we say we're onboard-"
He stared at me and wrinkled his nose.
My room smelled of sex and musk. I quirked an eyebrow, daring him to say anything, and folded my arms across my shirt, grinning when I realized it was on inside out and backwards. He looked at me uncertainly.
"So, are you staying?" he asked, glaring at me.
I waited, baiting him a second longer. He'd been a little bastard to me for the past week.
"You did not turn around in Chicago just to get laid," he said, between clenched teeth.
"Oh, she's that good," I said, enjoying this.
Rosalie smacked me on the back of my head and ruffled Edward's hair.
"He's staying," she said, taking my hand and pulling me down the hall to join the rest of the band.