Title: My Angel is a Centerfold
Summary: Edward's homeroom angel has been fueling his spank bank for years. What happens when he finds out he's got to share her with the rest of the world?
Disclaimer: The Band owns Centerfold. Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight. The BBC's Coupling is the genius behind Lesbian Spank Inferno. I own none of them and borrow them all for my own amusement.
A/N: This story was originally written for the NaughtyHeels Anonymous One-Shot Contest, and the "inspiration song" used was Centerfold by the J. Geils Band. Much thanks to SassenachWench for her excellent beta skills and incomparable suggestions.
. . . . . . . .
"Whassup?" Emmett shouted, as though the door slamming behind him hadn't signaled his arrival.
Jasper rolled his eyes as he took aim at another zombie and fired with deadly accuracy. "Whassup, Em? Really?"
I followed up on the lead Jasper had given and moved my position on screen. "Yeah, very turn of the millennium, Emmett."
Emmett shrugged and plunked down the case of beer he'd tucked under one arm as he juggled a brown paper bag, a shipping box, and a pile of mail onto the bar separating the kitchen and living room. "I like to kick it old school. Be nice to the man bearing brewskies and Happy Dragon takeout."
Jasper and I glanced at each other, hit pause, and scrambled to our feet.
"You're the bomb, dude," Jasper said with a grin, advancing on the table.
"The bomb diggety," I added, trying to keep a straight face as I inhaled the aroma of the Chinese and grabbed out three of the beer mugs we kept chilling in the freezer. It was good to finally be back at school after a year of interning and studying overseas, partaking with my best friends of our pre-first-day-of-class ritual of beer, takeout, and movies.
"Hell yeah," Emmett replied, as he wrenched open the box and inspected the DVD inside before tossing it to the table and flipping through the stack of mail.
"What's this?" Jasper asked, grabbing up the DVD case Emmett had thrown down. He held it up and choked back a laugh. "Lesbian Spank Inferno?"
I snatched the case from Jasper, and took a look at the case which provided a quick visual of the contents. Looked to be accurately named. I might have to bum that one off Em when he was done with it.
"Dude – you know that's what the Internet is for, right?" I teased.
"What? You know I like to collect the classics," Emmett protested. "But for tonight's viewing . . ." he paused for dramatic effect as he retrieved the DVD from its place of honor, "Tombstone!"
"I'm your Huckleberry," Jasper and I drawled in unison, his accent lending a certain authenticity.
We settled around the living room of the house we'd rented together, digging into the food and quoting the movie we'd watched dozens of time since our freshman year at Dartmouth.
As the credits started to roll, I wandered into the kitchen and carried back three more beers, passing around the extras as I settled back on the couch with a contented sigh. "I can't believe we're almost done with this place. Senior year. Seems like we just started."
"Do you remember when Emmett showed up with that bear rug on move-in day freshman year?" Jasper laughed. "That was classic. I thought the dorm advisor was going to pass out."
Emmett shrugged. "Fucking bear tried to kill me. That rug is the spoils of war." He nodded his head towards the bedroom where his rug now resided. "Besides, it's how I know if a girl's a keeper or not."
"How's that?" I asked.
"If she freaks at Old Grizzly in there, I know she's not a girl I'll ever be able to take home to Mama. Daddy's got about a dozen bucks up in the living room, and a cougar in the den."
I nodded. Emmett came from a long line of good ol' boys from the mountains of Tennessee, and his size and accent fooled a lot of people into underestimating him, despite the fact he was one of the smartest guys I'd ever met.
"What about you, Jasper? Got a litmus test?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Nah. I think you'll just know her when you see her."
"Love at first sight, huh? You really believe in that?" I asked, regarding him skeptically.
Jasper took a slow sip of his beer and was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, I do." He looked at me. "Haven't you ever had a connection with someone that just seemed to be bigger than the moment?"
I started to shake my head in the negative, and then paused, remembering my sophomore year of high school, years ago now, and a dark-haired girl in a soft blue sweater.
An upbeat ringtone that was decidedly un-Jasper-like started to play. He jumped to his feet and was off towards his bedroom with a quick wave of the hand before I could answer.
I glanced at Emmett, who just rolled his eyes. "Jazz won't admit it, but he's in l-o-v-e."
"For real? Who is she?" I asked.
"Her name's Alice. She's a cute little thing, talks about a million words a minute and has more energy than a jack rabbit on speed. He's been totally whipped since he met her last spring."
"She go here?" I asked.
Emmett shook his head. "She's at NYU. They met at a conference for those reenactments he does – she makes costumes or something. If we weren't so close to finishing, I swear Jasper would have transferred down there already. He even took her home to meet his mama in Texas this summer."
"No shit?" I leaned back, staring at the dark screen. "Who'd have guessed that Jazz would be the first to go down?"
Emmett shrugged. "I guess if we're lucky, it happens to all of us."
"If we're lucky?" Did aliens hit Hanover while I was gone and mindfuck my best friends? "Et tu, Emmett?"
He picked up his plate and headed for the kitchen. "Let's just say that I finally got Rosie into my bedroom, and she kind of fucking loved the bearskin. And speaking of, I promised I'd head over to her place tonight." He reemerged from the kitchen, tossing me Lesbian Spank Inferno. "Have fun."
I sat on the couch, alone and dumbfounded, turning the case over in my hands. We'd been each others wingmen for years now, and while I wouldn't classify any of us as man hos, we'd had our fair share.
And now they were both coupled up.
It wasn't that I was even averse to having a steady girl. In fact, somewhere in the middle of last semester I'd realized I was getting tired of it all – maybe even ready to start thinking long term. But while the girls I'd been with ranged from naughty to nice, none of them seemed like her. The one.
I glanced at the cover of the cheesy porn Emmett had tossed me and left it on the couch as I headed towards my room. It wasn't what I was in the mood for. No, for that, I already had the images lodged indelibly in my brain, courtesy of one lucky seat assignment in homeroom my sophomore year of high school.
I closed and locked my door, already feeling the blood running south at the remembrance of the waterfall of her dark hair, draped over her shoulder one day, bouncing in a pony tail the next. It was a sad fucking situation when fantasies about a girl I'd been too shy to even talk to in high school made me harder than most real live girls I'd been with, but that was just the way it was.
Maybe fantasies were just easier to live with. I let my hand wander down, flipping the button loose and sliding the zip on my worn jeans, needing to relieve the pressure. I kicked off my shoes, tossed my t-shirt, and shucked my jeans and boxers to the floor.
I lay back on the bed, taking myself in hand and biting my lip to keep from groaning as I closed my eyes and let my memories of Bella Swan roll.
. . . . . . . .
Six years earlier . . .
The door to the front of Forks High jammed. I gave it a yank, cursing the cold, wet, dreary weather that conspired to make wooden doors swell and stick, my hair look like I'd stuck my finger in a light socket regardless of how much gel I tried to tame it with, and everyone in the town to bundle in ridiculous looking rain slickers practically every day.
Mine was at least green, and not the school bus yellow my mother had picked out.
An older lady, blue-haired and bespectacled, peered over the counter as I entered the office and stood before her with a sigh.
"You must be Dr. Cullen's son," she crowed with delight, tottering to her feet. "Edward, is it? We are so delighted to have you here. Your father coming to help set up the new clinic at the hospital is such a gift to our town."
I tried not to roll my eyes. I loved my dad, but the people here seemed to think he was a saint. Walked on water. Hell, they probably thought he'd be down at the morgue raising the dead before it was over.
And it was like that everywhere I went. Guess not that many people moved here, because I'd been greeted by name at the gas station when I stopped to fill up the shiny, silver Volvo the 'rents bought to make up for dragging me to Nowheresville. And the grocery store when Mom sent me to pick up a gallon of milk. And the sporting goods store when I stopped in to try to find a sleeping bag. Total fucking strangers knew my name.
It was creepy.
I smiled politely, and patiently waited as she printed out my schedule, daydreaming what today would have been like at my old private school in Chicago. This was supposed to have been my year. I'd finally gotten my braces off. I'd hit a growth spurt over the summer, and while I was still kind of skinny, I was working out. I was sure I was going to make the JV soccer squad, and maybe even varsity baseball next spring. The girls at the sister school of St. Agnes were finally going to notice me, and maybe someone besides myself would finally touch my dick.
A guy could dream, right?
"Here you go, Edward. You'll have Mr. Geils for home room. Turn left at the end of the hallway, and take the second door on your right."
But it wouldn't happen now because I was stuck here. As much as I'd hated those uniforms as St. Crispin's, I'd never complain again if I could only put on that striped tie and blazer and march down the halls with my friends.
I took the paper and headed out the door into the melee.
Mr. Geils turned out to be an older dude with a resigned look on his face and shaggy dark hair. The bell rang and he shut the door, whistling for attention as people slid into seats. I watched for a minute, confused since everyone already seemed to have a clue about where they were going, then grabbed an empty seat along the back wall.
"Alright, this is your homeroom for the year. You've all been sitting in the same seats for the last decade, and I'm tired of the yakkity-yak. So this year, no alphabetical seating. Everybody up. Listen for your name."
And in that one move of classroom management brilliance, Mr. Geils changed my life.
He reached the Cs early, and I was soon situated, my seat near the back and beside the window, perfect for zoning in the fifteen minute homeroom every morning. I dropped my backpack on the floor, slumped down in the chair, and watched the parade with half an eye as Mr. Geils continued to call names.
A pair of hulking cro-magnon types in letter jackets parted and a girl stepped out from between them. No, girl didn't begin to describe her. An angel.
Her hair was dark, long and flowing as it bounced around her. Fucking shampoo commercial hair in real life. She was on the petite side, with a perfect little figure that wasn't stick-thin like most of the socialites-in-training at St. Agnes. She had curves, perky breasts swaying just so under the thin cover of her t-shirt. My eyes were mesmerized as she walked down the aisle to my right, stopping at the desk one ahead and one over from mine and sinking down into the seat. Her waterfall of hair hid her face until she leaned over to pull something from her bag, flipping the strands back over her shoulder as she sat back.
I studied her profile, all the other prattle and chatter in the classroom fading away. Her skin was porcelain, pale and smooth like ivory, and I could see just the hint of her red lips as she nervously licked at them, then uncapped a tube of Chapstick she wiggled from the pocket of her jeans and liberally coated her mouth.
It was strawberry. I loved the taste of strawberry.
My pants got tighter as I watched her tongue come out and lick her lips again.
Fuck me. How did an angel like this end up in Forks?
She waved a shy greeting at another dark-haired girl with glasses across the room, then dug into her bag again, this time pulling a book out of the depths.
I blinked, then leaned forward, recognizing the cover of House of Leaves.
Fuck me harder. Could she get more perfect?
I scrambled for my own bag and pulled out the same book, tossing it on to the desk and willing her to look back. As she flipped a page, engrossed, I took a deep breath. I had the perfect opening for a conversation – I just needed to go for it. Say something.
You like Danielewiski?
Is that the full color edition?
Have you listened to-
The bell rang, interrupting my mental constipation, and I watched as she closed the book, tucked her hair behind her ear, and stood, looking me in the eyes for the first time.
Hers were a deep brown, pools of dark cocoa that shimmered and sparkled as she caught sight of the book on my desk and smiled at me.
"Good book," she said, as she walked by.
I froze, captivated by her voice, the sway of her hips in those jeans, her fragrance something sweet and floral. By the time I recovered, she was gone.
. . .
And so began my long, torturous lust affair with Bella Swan. I discovered that the upside of small towns was that everyone knew everything about each other, and no one had anything better to do than talk. By the end of the first week, I knew that she was the police chief's daughter, which explained why, even though she was fucking gorgeous, she didn't have a boyfriend. Apparently her father had made it clear during last year's DARE rally that he wasn't afraid to use his gun on any horny male who came within fifty feet of his daughter.
No one seemed to doubt him.
I also learned that her closest friend was the minister's daughter, Angela, that she drove a battered old Chevy truck that sounded as though it was about to break down every time she chugged into the parking lot, and that she always carried a book with her everywhere she went.
And from personal observation I deduced that she was on a mission to torture me with her strawberry Chapsticked lips she was constantly licking, her fantastic ass that she displayed every morning in homeroom when she bent over to pick up her books, and her gorgeous tits that tormented me with their fuzzy sweater coverings that my hands itched to stroke.
In short, she was perfection. And I? I was completely tongue-tied every time she said anything to me, mainly because I was imagining her naked.
. . .
By the time January rolled around, I'd memorized everything about Bella. The way she walked. The difference between the smile she gave her friends when she was excited and happy, and the polite one she gave Mike Newton when he hovered by her desk and tried to look down her shirt while telling her a scheduling change at his parent's sporting goods store, where she worked after school. Her favorite things to eat at lunch. The way she'd block out everything when she was entranced in a book.
Today her hair was up in a ponytail, dark curls caressing her neck as she flipped another page. She was reading Jane Eyre, which in my book was just nineteenth century chick-lit, but she seemed entranced, her lips moving slightly as she mouthed the words on the page. I watched for a moment, wondering if they'd feel as soft as they looked, if she'd like it if I licked that plump lower lip she was always swiping with her little pink tongue.
Oh, yeah, there it was. I watched her tongue dart out, a quick caress that darkened the color of her mouth. She sighed, and turned another page, her cheeks flushing slightly as she continued to read. I'd actually bailed on that one in freshman English and read the Cliff Notes, but I didn't remember it having anything to blush over. Maybe I needed to check it out again.
She shifted, then tugged at the hem of her dress again as my gaze drifted lower. Bella was usually a jeans and sweater kind of girl, but every now and then she'd break out these skirts that fucking made my week. The one she had on today was my favorite. A blue and black plaid, pleated in a way that made it swish around her thighs when she walked. It wasn't that short when she was standing, but when she sat, several inches seemed to magically disappear, leaving me with what seemed like yards of leg to ogle. And to top it off, she'd added knee high socks with those little bands around the top and my favorite fuzzy blue sweater.
I let my eyes caress the curve of her knee, the silky skin of her thighs tucked demurely to the side of her seat, legs firmly pressed together. I wondered what kind of underwear she wore. White cotton? Or something lacy, maybe a blue that matched her sweater?
My dick got even harder at the thought of Bella standing before me in nothing but that sweater and a pair of tiny blue lace panties. I dropped a book in my lap to hide the fact. The bell rang and Bella stood, turning towards me. She came down the aisle and stopped by my desk.
The power of speech appeared to have left the building in the presence of Bella of the plaid skirt. I glanced at the book in my lap, and managed to choke out a greeting of some type. The plaid skirt didn't move, so I ventured a look up.
"Could I ask you for a favor?"
I blinked. Bella Swan wanted to ask me for a favor? I must have nodded, because she continued on. "I have to go out of town, to visit my grandmother in California. Would you take notes for me in biology for the next few days? Angela's in all my other classes and said she would, but we don't have that together, and I know you take good notes, so-"
"Okay," I managed to croak out, then cleared my throat, nodding to confirm.
"You're sure? It's not too much of a problem?" I shook my head to indicate the negative.
"Oh, thank you so much, Edward. Um, the bell's going to ring in just a second, so I guess I'd better go. Thanks again."
I watched her walk out, banging my head on the desk in frustration, the pain finally managing to convince Little Eddie to stop acting like a homing device pointing true north towards Bella Swan. I'd waited months to try to talk to the girl of my dreams, and all I could manage was a stuttered okay? If she'd had any doubts I was a moron, I was sure they'd been eradicated by our little exchange.
. . .
I spent the rest of the week taking the most meticulous notes I'd ever taken in biology, despite the fact I'd already covered everything in the lessons the year before at my old school. I wanted everything to be perfect. Maybe it they were, Bella would talk to me again. Maybe I'd manage to not be a fuck up and actually talk back. Maybe I'd actually have the guts to ask her out. Maybe she'd want to thank me for them.
My mind started to drift at that thought and I stretched out on my bed, grabbing the bottle of lotion I'd stashed under the mattress and warming it up before I slid my boxers down. I could ask her out, maybe take her to dinner in Port Angeles. She'd wear that skirt again, and I'd slide my hand up her knee while we were driving, edge it up until I could see what she had on underneath.
My hand was slick and warm now on my own flesh as I stroked harder, getting more into it. We'd drive up to this spot I'd heard about, up by the edge of the Quiluete reservation. She'd tell me she wanted to thank me, and we'd move to the backseat. I'd kiss her, lick those strawberry lips while I slid her shirt up. She'd be shy at first, coy, make me work for it, beg to touch her, suck on her tits. But then she'd get into, ask for more, her voice all rough and needy, calling out my name, urging me to fill her up, take her, fuck her.
I grunted and bucked my hips, coming hard into my hand as I moaned out Bella's name.
I heard the knock on my door and froze for a second, realizing I'd forgot to lock it.
"Edward, dear, are you all right? I thought I heard you moaning."
I grabbed the covers and tossed them over me as I heard the door start to open. My mother moved across the room and sat on the edge of my bed, touching my forehead gently.
"I'm fine, Mom. I just have a little bit of a stomachache," I insisted.
"You just look a little flushed, I hope you're not coming down with anything. I'll have your father come in and check on you when he gets home."
"No, really, Mom, I'm fine," I protested.
"Alright." She gave one final smooth of my forehead and rose to turn out my lights. I rolled over in relief, then groaned at the wet spot I felt beneath me.
. . .
As usual, my fantasy was nothing like reality. I handed the notes to Bella in homeroom the following week, and was about to try my well-rehearsed speech to ask her to dinner, when Mr. Geils commanded us all back to our seats for some kind of lame all school telecast about the dangers of huffing or some shit like that. Snorting spray paint is bad for you? No, really? If you couldn't figure that out, you'd already huffed one too many in my book.
I tried the rest of the day. I really did. But she was always with someone – Angela, Jessica, fuckhead extraordinaire Mike Newton. The moment never came, and by the end of the day, I'd lost my nerve, my mojo, whatever.
The next morning she dropped a note in my lap on the way out the door. I could see my name on it, her curly, girly writing that made the E all loopy looking - stupid and perfect at the same time. I carefully unfolded it.
Thank you for taking the notes for me – they were perfect! Let me know if you ever need a favor!
Underneath was a small smiley face beaming at me and her phone number scribbled beneath. It was like a fucking sign from heaven itself – my angel wanted me to call her. I folded the note back into my pocket and tried to wipe the stupid grin off my own face.
But the longer the day went on, the more my palms sweated and my stomach gurgled at the thought of calling her. By the time I got home, parking my sparkling clean Volvo in the drive, I was about to throw up with the ping pong match of reasoning bouncing in my head.
She wanted me to call her.
She was just being polite. Girls like Bella, nice, sweet girls, were always polite.
She owed me a favor.
Not that kind of favor, dumbass.
Maybe she liked me.
Maybe she didn't.
What if I called and asked her out and she said no?
What if I called and asked her out and she said yes?
I wasn't sure which of the two possibilities scared me more.
I spent five hours staring at the phone. In the end, I couldn't pick it up.
The rest of the week slipped by, and though I saw Bella flash me a curious look every now and then in homeroom, she didn't say anything else to me or pass me any more notes. I watched her everyday, her sweet smile and heavenly body, and wondered what it would be like to really touch her outside of my fantasies.
A few weeks later at the end of January, I came home to find my mother packing boxes. A new position had opened up at the hospital my father had taken leave of in Chicago, and they needed him back right away, since the clinic setup in Forks had gone so smoothly.
My last day at Forks High, I watched her walk into homeroom one final time. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold wind, and her dark hair had tiny melting snowflakes clinging to it. I drank her in as she unbundled from her heavy parka, revealing jeans that made her legs a mile long, and a sweater with a vee in the neckline that hinted at her cleavage. She caught me as she turned around and I didn't turn away for once. She gave me a slow, sweet smile that I managed to return, and held my gaze as she walked to her seat. I handed Mr. Geils my withdrawal form with the needed signatures, grabbed my bag, and took one last look at my homeroom angel before I left Forks for good.