'Behind The Lyrics' Contest
Title: Mortal Enemies
Characters: Caius and Jacob
You know that Stephenie Meyer lady? Well, here's the thing. She owns all these peeps, see. I just made them play with each other. No harm or copyright infringement intended. Pinkie swear.
Lyric prompt that you were given:
"Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too
So I stayed in the darkness with you"
Summary: Caius and Jake are polar opposites by birth, enemies by circumstance. Can passion and a shared sense of justice transcend fate to bind them? AH, Slash, M for sMut. Entry for the Behind the Lyrics Contest.
If you've never made an entrance somewhere in a sleek, top-of-the-range black Porsche, I strongly recommend you try it sometime.
For example, pulling up in it now to this garage in the middle of nowhere while several mechanics look on is proving to be highly entertaining. Especially as most of the cars they're used to seeing around here probably have vital engine parts and license plates attached with duct tape.
I squint at the sign to check I have the right place. Of course I know it has to be. Apart from the auto-fix joints I'm avoiding back in town, there are precious few other garages within a fifty mile radius, which is kind of the point. I would certainly never have come all the way out here by choice, but, well – in the interests of avoiding a minor PR disaster back in Forks, I've decided to swallow my pride. I figure while I'm here I'll take my amusement where I can find it.
Oh, hello. I see him all the way from the road. He's not my usual type, but before I even get a proper look at his eyes, I find myself inexplicably wanting it to be him who comes over when I drive in.
I blink, surprised at myself.
His large frame rises from the pack of gawping guys sat around near the glorified shed that the garage consists of. I fight back an annoying, nameless reaction – something between an inner fistpump, a retch and a cough. It's reflexive, visceral and totally out of my control.
Instantly hating myself, my thoughts take on Felix's disdainful voice. Really, Caius? This is how low you have fallen? A rez-rat? I don't even want to contemplate what my father would think, if he even knew that I...
I shake my head, banishing the thought. Irritation tickles the back of my throat. Flipping open my pack of gum in a displacement action, I tap a piece onto my tongue and drum my fingertips lightly against the soft leather of the steering wheel. I watch his lazy approach from behind my ray-bans.
How long does it fucking take to walk over here?
Still, he has a good walk. I'll give him that.
His crotch finally draws level with my door. Blue jeans, straining over very prominent junk, right at eye-level. I narrowly avoid swallowing my gum. Tight grey tee. Lowering the window, I immediately draw back as he kneels down and leans right in, surveying the custom red leather interior with a look of grudging appreciation. Mother fuck. Presumptuous, much?
Tan, powerful forearms are invading my personal space. The car's interior fills with strong smell of engine oil faintly laced with sweat, forcing my nose into a disgusted wrinkle for a split second while I grapple for my absent composure.
Shit. He must have noticed my unease, because the full lips I'm definitely not watching furl in pouting contempt. The dark eyes which I'm also categorically not staring at are busy trying to see through my shades, checking me over. Inquisitive. Something else fills the car, along with the uncomfortable scent: a sense that I've already been judged in some way, and found to be lacking. Agitated, I drag my fingers through my hair. I haven't come here for this – whatever the hell this is.
I might recognize him from years ago, I decide, but if it's the same dude then hot damn, did he grow up. Who the hell is he to be judging me, anyway, I think in annoyance. Some hick mechanic on a reservation.
I don't second-guess myself for anyone, I remind myself. Not me. Still, I'm suddenly acutely aware of my outfit – black Hugo Boss shirt, black Reiss pants. Brown leather boots. Boots and hair both artfully distressed, as Felix was fond of saying. Fuck Felix, I think automatically. Or rather, not fuck Felix. Ever again. I toss my head and instantly regret it.
Anyway, Mr Engine-Grease-and-Contempt here doesn't exactly look the type to care too much for clothes. My ride, however...
"Nice car." I can hear the ring of genuine appreciation in his tone as his eyes sweep appraisingly over... everything.
"Thank you," I say tightly. God, do I always sound like this much of a prick?
"Heard the engine when you pulled up," he adds casually, "this baby's sounding like a dream." His eyes sparkle with teasing menace. "So the question I'm asking myself is, what's a pretty thing like you doing in a mean old place like this?"
I roll my eyes, half-disappointed that the full sarcastic effect will be lost behind my shades.
"Oh, a joker. How nice. Listen. If you won't do business with me, I understand. Let me know, and if not, I'll go somewhere else."
"So what is the problem?" he continues in interest, totally ignoring my peevishness. I feel perversely grateful that I won't have to carry out my threat and leave.
A pause rolls out. Inexplicably, I find myself examining the paleness of my hands against the red leather of the steering wheel before mumbling my answer.
"I have an, uh, issue... with the... bodywork." The last word comes out with too much emphasis. Shit. I brace my arms harder against the wheel while my eyes drag themselves of their own accord from his lips, to his throat, then down over his pectorals and out along his upper arms. The sleeves of his tee hug his biceps just so, I decide in spite of myself. Suddenly pretty fucking glad of the black ray-bans, I notice a tiny hole near his armpit and find myself fixating on the small amount of inviting tan skin visible underneath. If I just bent forward and extended the tip of my tongue... I swallow hard.
"Really? The bodywork? Where?" he asks innocently.
I jump guiltily and raise my eyes back to his in time to see him cock an eyebrow and smirk.
Knowing. His expression is knowing, and I don't like it one bit.
For some reason, I don't trust myself to answer. This entire exchange is not what I've been expecting.
I blink rapidly a few times before raising my shades and looking pointedly to my right. He follows my gaze over to the passenger side then uncoils himself from where he's been leaning halfway into the car with a final smirk.
I replace my glasses on the bridge of my nose and watch him saunter around the front of the hood. Did I say he had a good walk? Let me revise: he has a damn fine walk.
Reaching the other side of the hundred and fifty-thousand dollar vehicle, he inserts his massive thumbs through the beltloops of his jeans, tips his head back and laughs so hard I wince at the sound.
I press my lips into a thin line and make a sarcastic approximation of a smile, nodding along with faux-indulgence to the rumbling accompaniment of laughter. Some of his buddies have wandered over with all the noise he's making – all have the same tan skin and smug expressions as my joker.
Oh, hell no. Did I just refer to him as my joker? Blinking again, I give another private eyeroll. I've been raised to hate these kids from the reservation with a passion. The feeling, I know, is mutual. Mortal enemies – for good reason. Still, none of them have given any outward indication that they know who I am, although they must do, especially in this car. Well, this is still a garage and I need to get this impromptu artwork fixed before anyone sees it, I think. It suits me just fine that these guys stay out here and pretty much keep themselves to themselves.
Leaning across the car, I lower the window on the passenger side and tilt my head out.
"Can you fix it?"
He's wiping away actual tears of laughter with the back of his hand. I refuse to even look at his two friends. In my peripheral vision I can see them, pointing at the door I'm leaning out of and whispering to each other in silent hysterics.
"Wow, you really pissed someone off, huh?"
His incisive observation earns him another wasted eyeroll. I snap the glasses back off and sigh, staring into his eyes in what I hope is an impassive manner. Unsatisfactorily, I blink.
"Listen, asshole," I hiss, "I asked if you could fix the criminal damage scrawled on the side of my obscenely expensive automobile, not for your intellectual critique of its content. I'll ask you one more time. Can you fix this for me, or should I go someplace else?"
The laughter stops, but the smirk is back in its place. I don't know which is worse. The shortest of his two minions gives a snort. I glare at him, pure venom, until he looks down at the ground briefly before punching his buddy on the arm and they both shuffle away, still laughing.
"Oh, sure. Sorry," he says, words curling out through the smirk. He doesn't look sorry in the slightest. "Yeah, I can fix it. It'll cost you though."
I open my mouth, about to ask if I look like money might be an issue, then think better of it and ask him how long it will take instead.
"How long? Well..." he sounds thoughtful, closing the space between his large body and the car in two strides, "that depends."
Intrigued in spite of myself. Goddamit. Fucker. "On what?" I ask, seemingly incapable of keeping the curiosity out of my voice.
Bending down, he leans back into the car on the passenger side. This time, I force myself to stay where I am. Our faces are inches from one another, no ray-ban barrier between us now. The smell I found offensive earlier is suddenly strangely compelling. His breath feels hot on my cheek. I shift in my seat and feel my traitorous cock stir unexpectedly. For a terrible moment, I wonder if he's noticed.
The smirk is absofuckinglutely huge now. I surprise myself with a mysterious urge to fuck it off his face. Stifling a gasp, I'm still blinking in shock when he says slyly, "It depends on whether you'll let me take this baby for a ride when I'm done."
He stands, palming his neck as he calls over one of his buddies. "Paul! Have we got time for a respray?"
"I should think so," I hiss under my breath and glancing around. I'm the only customer. "Considering you don't exactly look swamped with business around here."
He ignores me again, smiling infuriatingly. I grit my teeth and try hard not to notice my erection. Is this shit turning me on or pissing me off? I stare at his hips through the window and surreptitiously lick my lips.
Paul has ambled over to us. "Yeah, reckon we could fit it in, but it'll take a few hours. It looks pretty deep." He lets out a strangled choke of laughter.
"What am I going to do in the meantime?" They both look at me and I realize after a moment that I've said the words aloud.
Paul bends down to my window and shoots me an appraising look that turns knowing. "I'd say Jake will be taking you out on his bike for a bit to pass the time, by the looks of you. Am I right, Jake?"
Our eyes clash. "Could do," he says quietly, staring at me.
My cock twitches again.
Allowing myself to swallow hard, I open the door and unfold myself from the low car. "Hey," I say sharply to Paul, throwing him the keys with a warning glare, "be fucking careful with this ride."
He doesn't answer me, just catches the keys and looks pointedly at the graffitied door with a smug smile. I turn my back on him and step right up to Jake. Heat. He's warm. I'm taller than him by a few inches, especially in these boots, but he's a whole lot wider than me. As my eyes slide over his beautifully put-together body at such close range, I feel the heat starting to spread. Infectious.
My pulse is thudding in my ears and I can feel it vibrating in my chest. I wonder briefly if he'll hear it, but I suddenly don't really care. I feel lightheaded, reckless, being this close to him. I stare into his eyes and the heat grows more intense, shimmering between us and blurring my vision.
"So," I say in a voice that doesn't quite sound like my own, "your friend here says it'll take a few hours to fix my car. Distract me."
He says nothing in response, just spins on his heel and stalks over to a large black bike.
Now might be the place to mention the little problem that I have with bikes.
They turn me the fuck on.
I'm frozen for a moment, watching his ass sway over to the Harley and I somehow avoid breaking into applause. He swings a long leg over and straddles the seat, bracing his arms on the handlebars in a way that outrageously showcases their definition. He raises an eyebrow at me.
My, oh my. What an unusual turn of events. I run my fingers through my hair and lick my lips again. As I stroll over to the bike, I almost feel like thanking Felix for clawing DRUG SMOKING COCKSUCKER along the side of my car in angry, uneven letters after our very last breakup fight last night.
Climbing up onto the seat behind him, I grab him around his firm waist. My hands are flooded with warmth through the thin tee and my breath catches. He reaches back and hands me a helmet.
I reluctantly take my hands from him to hold it, staring down incredulously.
"You're kidding me. Wait, you're serious?"
"Deadly," he replies, looking... deadly serious.
"Where's yours?" I sound like a petulant child.
"I don't wear one. I like to live dangerously."
"Is that so," I say thoughtfully, leaning down to place the helmet deliberately on the ground then wrapping my hands tighter around him this time, "well in that case, I guess there's no way you'll be taking my car for a spin."
He's facing forward again, but I can hear the smirk in his voice as he replies. "Tell me that after this little trip."
Before I can answer, he revs the engine.
We drive out along the road leading to the reservation so fast that I find myself really fucking regretting leaving the helmet on the floor back at the garage. Fear tinged with elation is proving to be a heady cocktail. I'm hardly breathing as the wind whips my hair around my face.
I'm also rock hard.
The hum of the big bike feels delectable beneath my spread legs, vibrating against my ass and through my hardened cock. Jake's abs feel even better beneath my hands as I cling on to him, literally for my life.
Fuck it, I decide, he must know what he's doing to me. I grip him tighter and shift forward on the seat until I'm pressing my erection firmly into his back, then wait for some kind of acknowledgement.
Absolutely nothing happens. He makes no indication whatsoever of having noticed.
I can't focus on anything. I'm vaguely aware the scenery is really fucking beautiful out here, but I can't see anything any more. My head is hazy with the heat radiating off his back and most of all, against my cock where it's pressed tightly up against his ass.
And then suddenly I'm gasping out loud as he swerves unannounced right off the road, skidding to a stop at the start of the trees. I unwrap my arms from around his waist and fight to recover my breath while I wait for my heartrate to slow to normal. It doesn't. It's beating in a staccato double-time signature which only increases when he leans forward, hands still on the handlebars. Did he just shift his ass back against mine? I blink.
He drops the kick stand before slowly turning around to me on the seat. His dark eyes are gleaming in the gray daylight and I bite back an urge to let out a pant, nearly swallowing my own tongue in the process at the look I see in them.
How the fuck did this happen? Is this happening? Please let this happen.
"Bet you don't come out this way often," he says smoothly, "you might see how beautiful it is and grow a conscience. Wanna stretch your legs, city boy?"
So he does know who I am. He knows who my Dad is. Oh, fuck. Is this all a ploy to beat the living crap out of me? Why am I still so hard?
Not trusting myself to speak, I stare at his mouth and nod. I'm suddenly afraid. And quite possibly more turned on than I have ever been in my life.
He jumps down from the bike and I scramble off artlessly after him. He stands, hands shoved in his pockets. The smirk is gone, and again I feel a tingle of fear cold at the back of my neck.
So why, I ask myself, am I following him now as he turns around and walks away from the road towards the trees?
But follow him I do. My whole body is lightly shaking in anticipation and fear. And lust. I'm so fucking horny that I'm walking with slight difficulty.
It's dim beneath the canopy of trees. Jake walks a little way further and I follow the denim-covered ass like an eager puppy, until it stops abruptly at a large boulder. He turns around and leans against the rock, drawing his left foot up against it as the thumbs find their way back into the beltloops of his jeans. The action draws my eyes back down to his crotch. It's not just pleasantly bulging any more. It's fucking straining. My belly does a flip. I lick my lips again and raise my eyes to his.
"So," he says quietly, "what do you want to do?"
Oh, God. The things I want to do. My fingers run through my hair again and then my hands fall limp and awkward by my sides. My breaths are coming shallow and fast. I fight the urge to touch my cock, which is craving any kind of contact right now. It's so hard, it's actually painful.
He's standing totally still, leaning against that big ol' rock, watching me squirm. In spite of his very obvious erection, he actually looks relaxed. Like he's enjoying himself. Fucker. I swallow.
I am not used to feeling this way. Not me. Not Cai Volturi.
He's totally caught me off-balance, off guard. I think I like it. My eyes widen in shock. My legs feel weak as I stare at his mouth and I think about it wrapped around my dick. Even better, mine around his. Oh, Jesus fuck. Yes. Please.
Come on, Cai, I think to myself. Grow a pair. Tell him what you want. So I do.
"I want to watch you unbutton your jeans and show me your cock."
There, now that wasn't so hard... Oh, it IS hard. Really fucking hard.
As Jake stares straight at me, popping the buttons on his fly and lowering his shorts until his dick springs free I nearly come on the spot. Mesmerized, I take a step closer. Then another, and another, until I can feel the heat of him again and smell him. His mechanic scent isn't offending me any more – it's more like damn-near fucking irresistible. But all of these details are irrelevant now, because I'm focusing on one thing: his thick, hard cock, which he's holding casually in one hand like a candy bar that he knows is my favorite.
My balls tighten just looking at it. I'm salivating as I drop to my knees. I don't look up to his face because I already know the expression it will be wearing. Instead, I reach out and take his dick from his hand into mine and it's as hot as the rest of him. It's big up close. My stomach is flipping with excitement and I can't open my eyes properly through the heavy want pressing down on my lids. There's a bead of holy water at the tip. I extend my tongue and swipe it away, shivering as the tiny hit of salt reaches my tastebuds. He lets out a groan and it's my turn to smile as I open my mouth, close my eyes and wrap my lips tightly around Jake's hot dick.
I instantly relax. I'm doing my thing now, back in comfortable territory. I'm damn good at this and I fucking know it. After swirling my tongue around the head a few times, I take him in deeper. I allow myself to glance up and I'm glad I did – I'm rewarded with the sight of Jake, head lolling against the boulder, mouth slack around the gasps that he can't stop from escaping, his eyes rolling back in his head.
Grabbing his ass in one hand, I place the other on his inner thigh and change the angle slightly, taking him in further as I increase the suction with my mouth. When he's groaning non-stop, I move the hand from his thigh up to his balls, stroking a finger round and underneath them. I drag my teeth lightly down the shaft just to hear him huff and puff.
I'm really fucking enjoying myself. Hearing the sexy sounds he's making is almost killing me, and I know it won't be long. As he gets closer, I continue sucking him off, but start to alter the pace. I gently slide the finger from his balls and lightly grasp the base of his slippery cock for a second to moisten it before moving it to rest against his entrance. He bucks against me, groaning so loud it echoes. I smile around his cock at the sound, circling his asshole insistently with the finger before slowly inserting it up to the first knuckle.
He goes wild. He's suddenly smacking the rock behind him with his fist in a way that has to hurt, his other hand twisting in my hair. It feels so good when he grips it tightly that I slide the finger all the way into his ass and purse my lips tighter around his cock. As he convulses, I close my eyes in pleasure and he explodes in my mouth. Catching everything as he comes and swallowing greedily, I lick my way back up his shaft before swirling my tongue once more around the tip. I know that shit will be super-sensitive, and it makes me smile when he shivers slightly then groans again. I sit back on my heels, suddenly aware of the stiffness in my legs.
He's silent for a while except for his heavy breathing. "I don't know if you smoke weed, but damn – whoever wrote that other shit on your car knows you," he finally pants when he regains his breath enough to speak. I smile lazily at him and wipe my mouth, standing and turning as if I'm heading back to the bike.
"Where do you think you're going?"
I stop. My dick rejoices in my pants.
"I'm not done," he growls.
Oh, sweet fucking Jesus, thank you.
"Why? What did you have in mind?" I say coyly, turning back around. Please fuck me. Fuck me now.
He's still leaning against the boulder. I look down at his junk. He's lazily stroking himself, and I watch in amazement as he visibly starts to harden again. Already? Mother fuck. I swoon a tiny bit inside. "Come here," he says roughly, "and I'll show you."
As I walk back to him, he takes out a condom from his wallet, rips it open and rolls it on with a speed that's inhuman.
"Someone's done this before," I say, mock-accusingly.
"Someone's sucked cock like a pro before," he shoots back.
I glare at him, amused. "Touché."
"Okay, enough flirting," Jake sighs, "you're about to get fucked." He spins me around, slamming me gasping up against the boulder and leans right in. I can feel his hard warm chest pressing against my shoulder blades. His lips are perversely soft against my ear as he says quietly, "Do you want to get fucked, pretty boy?"
I can only mumble incoherently, reaching down to struggle with my fly. Jake helps, yanking down my pants from behind. "Now that's a nice ass," he murmurs admiringly. He sucks a finger into his mouth before placing it lightly against my asshole and gradually slides it inside me. I groan in agonizing delight as he puts his hot mouth back against my ear and whispers, "I'm going to enjoy filling this right up."
I hear myself whimper. Please.
I brace my palms against the rough rock and close my eyes as he drags a heavy hand down my spine, finger-fucking me slowly. It's delicious, but I'm suddenly beyond impatient to feel his dick inside me like he's promised.
"Do you like that?" he asks breathlessly. I find that I can only nod frantically and bite my lip so hard that I taste blood.
He withdraws the finger and I whimper again, anxious and suddenly bereft. Then I hear him spit, feel him grab his own rock-solid junk in one hand and sweep the other across the small of my back. I let out a hiss as he grabs my asscheeks, parting them and placing his hard, slick tip against me. I'm so turned on, I'm clenching already, my own cock quivering and aching in front of me, but I can't move my hands to touch myself and risk losing my balance right now.
"Do you want this inside you?" he asks roughly.
I'm biting my lip again, breathing hard through my nose and nodding vehemently over my shoulder. I hear him expel a laugh and he thrusts ever so slightly against me, teasing my entrance. I groan.
"Say it," he commands behind me, "beg me for my cock, city boy."
"I want it," I grind out. It's the fucking truth. "I want your cock so badly, please, fuck me now, fuck me now, just –"
I break off, groaning in satisfaction as Jake tires of the begging game and pushes the tip inside me. It feels thick, and hot, and deliciously stretching. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and turn myself over to the sensation of wanting. "More," I plead.
I want more. I want more so badly I can't think.
His voice is hot and low in my ear again. "Maybe I won't give you any more."
I groan my protest. "No, please, I need you to fuck me –"
I gasp in surprise as he reaches around without warning to grab my dick and simultaneously slams his own right the way into me.
I'm filled up, so completely deliciously filled up with his hot cock that all I can do is gasp and flail. His hand is warm around my own erection, pumping it rhythmically as he withdraws, then thrusts back into me several more times. I'm alternately gasping and choking for breath and groaning in satisfaction as he moves inside me and expertly strokes my cock. After all the tension and the build-up, I'm already feeling the slow rise of my orgasm. I bite the inside of my cheek in an attempt to stave it off. It's no use. Jake's hips have found their rhythm and he pounds into me, over and over now, working my shaft with his hand while he fucks me hard from behind.
I've never been fucked this good.
I feel myself tighten in the moments before I gasp a final time. He slams into me again. Streams of come are pulsing out of my dick, spilling hot over Jake's hand and I'm seeing flashing bursts red and purple behind my eyes.
I hear him grunt as he feels me coming and with two more swings of his hips I feel him start to buck and shake as well. When he groans, I clench myself around him and he half-collapses heavily against my back.
We stand there for a while in a ragged chorus of panting, Jake still inside me, his hand still around my cock. Our clothing is sticking between his chest and my back.
As he peels himself away, the smirk is back.
"Two orgasms to your one," he says smugly, buttoning his fly, "now tell me I can't take you for a ride in your car."
Of course, we do go for the ride – the very next day.
We talk. We fuck, slowly and sensually this time, underneath the trees. We listen to music. I feel alive here with him; free. I like it. Jake doesn't have to hide, I realize suddenly as we're driving back to the garage. His family know who he is. He's comfortable in his own skin. A stab of jealously twists cold in my stomach and I turn, looking out of the window at the beauty outside. It offers me no comfort, considering who my dad is.
Aro Volturi, owner of the biggest logging company in the Pacific Northwest.
The company that I work for, wilfully aiding and abetting in what I now know to be a motherfucking travesty. Not content with his already huge empire, Aro's lawyers have found a loophole in the law, a way to encroach onto the reservation in two main areas. If they get their way, the loggers will move in, permanently stealing huge swathes of forest, converted by the lumberjacks and machinery into a bigger bank balance for Aro.
I stare out at the trees and hear my dad's words in my mind. "It's not about right or wrong, Caius, it's about business."
It's always made perfect sense to me. Shit, it's been my fucking ethos, my raison d'être for as long as I can remember. It's the reason why I've never felt the need to swallow the bitterest pill and admit who I am to anyone besides Felix before, despite it feeling so wrong inside. It made sense on a business level to me. Stay in the closet, toe the line: reap the rewards – fast car, apartment, fuckton of money. Come out: lose everything, including my family. It's not about right or wrong...
But now 'everything' suddenly includes something else that wasn't there before when I drew up the business plan for my life. Someone else.
He's consuming my thoughts. I can't concentrate in the office. I find I can no longer listen to Mike Newton, Aro's top attorney, as he rattles on about this clause being exploitable and that set of old deeds he's dredged up having more holes than swiss cheese. It makes me feel ill rather than excited now, but I can see it on my father's face how amped he is about the potential conquest. He's never even seen the areas of land he's proposing to change forever. He only sees the dollar signs.
But Jake is showing it all to me.
Weeks have passed, and we've developed a routine. I finish up at work each evening and drive out straight away to the reservation. Aro's dropped pleased hints that he thinks I'm seeing a woman, I don't encourage him to think otherwise.
...It's about business.
When I get there, he's always waiting at the same spot by the side of the road for me on his bike. I get out of my car and climb up on the seat behind him. He takes me to different parts of the rez each time, each one more beautiful than the one before. I'm happier than I can ever remember.
This evening we're lying back on the damp ground, looking at the stars. Jake's fingertips make slow passes along my arm.
I am happy.
"So, what did your dad say about me?"
I turn my head, smiling. "Huh?"
"Your dad? I bet he can't believe it, me being from the reservation and all."
My face falls as I process what he's said. I feel my blood turning to icy slush, brain suddenly numbed. His eyes flash in comprehension, a heavy cloud presses sullen across his forehead. He looks away.
I sit up hurriedly, straddling him. "Hey." I extend a thumb towards the furrow in his brow to smooth it, but he bats my arm away.
"You haven't told anyone about us," he concludes flatly, "you're ashamed of me."
"How can you think that?" My voice holds a note of desperation but he's already lifting me off him, dumping me unceremoniously on the ground.
"The proof is right there on your face, Cai." He stands up, dusting himself off, walking back over to the bike and climbing stiffly on.
I stare after him in dismay for a moment. Scrambling up, I hurry over, but he's unbending, rigid and shut down. I don't know what to do. I stand awkwardly in front of the bike, feeling despicable.
"It's not you, it's... everything. My dad doesn't even know that I'm..."
"That you're gay. Say it." His voice is hard.
"That I'm gay," I agree readily. "It's just that Aro isn't the kind of guy who..."
"What kind of guy are you, Cai?" Jake interjects, splintering my heart. "I'll tell you. You're the kind of guy that will stand by and let a whole bunch of lawyers talk legalese all over the fucking glaring truth: that this reservation doesn't just belong to our tribe, it belongs here, just as it is. It should stay here untouched. But you're a Volturi," he says with a bitter laugh, shaking his head, "even though I thought you were different. Paul was right. I should never have..." he breaks off, drawing in a breath before murmuring, "everyone knows that greed and money are more important than the goddamn truth to you people."
It's like he's suddenly turned the lights off. I'm left choking and floundering, grasping in darkness for the words to explain that it's not like that, that he's wrong, that I'm not like my father; and how much I want him – but I can't find them. I can't say anything at all.
After a further moment of silence, I climb mechanically onto the bike behind him, wrapping my arms around his unyielding body in defeat and let him ride me back to my car.
It takes no time at all. I'm hanging on tightly, knowing this will be the last time I have him with me like this. A sequence of images flash through my mind, each one a different tableau of the two of us together. I'm suddenly acutely, painfully aware that it has been the best time of my life.
And it's finished. I have no-one to blame but myself.
He pulls up a short distance from my beautiful car like he can't bear to be near it and when I look over at it all I can see now is the ugly money that bought it. I climb down unwillingly, hands in my pockets, feeling wretched but not wanting to leave.
He's immobile, staring at the road. I try one last time, feeling desperate, although in my heart I already know it's no use.
"It's easy for you. People know who you are."
He raises his gaze to mine and I wish the ground would open up and shuttle me back to Forks.
"You think it's easy for me, Caius?" he's smiling, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "It's not. I know what people think of me around here. Trust me, if Paul hadn't stood up for me in front of the elders, I'd have been gone a long time ago. But I'm still the black sheep. Why do you think I take care of myself like I do? Gotta stay bigger than all the other guys." He cracks his knuckles and gives a bitter laugh.
"And then you showed up here, and we... I've never met anyone like you before. I couldn't help it. Paul warned me, said it wasn't that you were a dude, it was that you were a Volturi. I didn't listen. I wanted to believe..." he falters, "I don't know what I was thinking with you."
He sounds so sad, it makes my throat constrict.
It's hopeless. I'm already turning away, walking back to my car. I feel like I'm about to cough up my heart.
"We're all in the dark, Cai," I hear him say softly as my feet start moving, "some of us just aren't brave enough to look up and see the stars."
I reach the car.
"But hey," he calls after me, "you just drive on home to your perfect life and your blissful denial and your fucked up dad in your swanky car." He spits the words and they splatter all around me on the road – acidic, bitter. Truthful.
I blink back stinging tears as I open the door of the Porsche. He doesn't start his engine, but I can't look in my rearview mirror as I drive away.
And so I go back to the town just like he said I should and I try to forget everything he's shown me, the trees and the stars. I get up early and shower each day, but can't quite ever wash the filmy, grimy layer of self-loathing from my skin. I see him all the time now. Whenever I sleep. I glimpse him in the street, across busy roads, standing on the opposite sidewalk. Every time when the traffic moves again, he's not really there and I never know if it hurts more or less.
Three weeks and two days go past. Aro tells me sternly that I need to get a grip, that obviously whatever broad I was screwing has 'gotten under my skin', that I need to go out there and fuck someone else. Hell, he says, he'll even pay for me to visit a whore if it will get me to focus. He needs me right now, you see, because we're sealing the deal on the reservation land, closing in around truth's neck with the steel vice we've made of jargon, lies and bullshit slick-talk.
The final hearing date is set: by next Tuesday evening, Aro says, we'll be celebrating. I excuse myself from the table where I'm sat with him and Mike eating dinner, and vomit copiously in the bathroom of the restaurant.
That night, I can't sleep for the longest time. When I finally do, I see him again, and the stars hanging low on the reservation, reflected in his eyes. There's no judgement. We're standing together, his arm slung around my waist, staring at the looming forest.
Jake is here with me, so I smile. He's holding my face now, smiling too. My heart swells with happiness. Then he speaks, but it's with Aro's voice.
"It's not about right or wrong, Caius, it's about business."
I sit up with a jolt in my bed, sweating. The red clock on my nightstand flashes in the darkness.
I sink back slowly against my pillows and watch each minute pass on the glowing display. When it finally reads 7am, I reach for my phone and make a single call.
The next few days pass by in a blistering haze. There are reporters, there are people – so many people; strangers, local people I haven't seen for years, all pressing in around me, admiration, amusement, judgement, respect, revulsion in their eyes. The phone is ringing. After my early-morning phonecall to Angela, things go crazy. I've known her since high school – now she's the head reporter on the Forks Herald. When the headline story breaks the next day, the national press pick it up and by Thursday, a swarm of reporters lands buzzing in the rainy town.
And so I tell my tale, the favorite-son-turned-whistleblower. The disloyal filial viper in the corporate nest, giving tell-all interview after interview, exposing the hushed double-dealing and dirty tricks in Aro's reservation case. Telling the world exactly what's at stake. All tied up with the pretty bow of a juicy PS: Dad, I'm Gay revelation, the media lap it up.
I have nowhere to go now, so I let one of the major news channels put me up in the biggest hotel in town in exchange for exclusive TV interview rights. Seated on the sofa of the hotel room with the cameras rolling, I stare directly into the lens and I realize I'm addressing my father.
"It's not about business, it's about right or wrong."
After the film crew have packed up and left, I shut the door to my room and lay down fully clothed on the large bed. I don't sleep.
I'll admit it. I'm scared. And apparently selfish, because I'm painfully aware that I've lost everything and I really, really want it back. Most of all, I want to call him, but despite the fact he has no cell and I don't know his home number, there's absolutely nothing to say. I only did what I should have done a long time ago. I told people the truth about two things. One big, one little. Too late. I know it changes nothing. I have to move on. To somewhere, anywhere. At least this time I know I'll be who I really am, in the light.
I sigh and thump the too-soft mattress in the dark.
If this is what redemption feels like, I'm not sure I want to be saved.
I lie there unmoving and watch the light outside the window phase from sodium-orange, to gray and finally to white.
It's really fucking early. I can't bring myself to shower, so I put on the ray-bans despite the grayness and head out into the deserted street. When I reach my car, he's leaning against it with a shit-eating grin. I'm so used to seeing him everywhere now that I don't even do a double take, just absently wonder if I've forgotten to alarm the car. When I see his thumbs in the loops of his jeans, I almost smile back, but I can't.
"I heard about what you did." His voice is quiet in my head.
"Yeah? Well it doesn't change anything. We're too different," I say out loud in the empty street. I see him push off from the car as I walk away. I have no idea where I'm headed.
A shadow falls in front of me on the sidewalk. It's only when I feel the warmth through the back of my shirt that I realize that he's here, that this is real.
"You think we're so different?" he murmurs against my ear. I freeze, closing my eyes to stop the tears as he says the words of my absolution.
"Lately I've seen that we're more similar than you think, you and me." His voice is gentle; I hear the smile.
"Let me show you." As he speaks, he spins me around to face him and I see the stars in his eyes. "Come for a ride with me."