Title: Chapter 0. Jam-Filled Jaspers
Disclaimer: All Twilight characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, Little, Brown, et. al. No profit was made and no copyright infringement is intended. Wide Awake belongs to AngstGoddess003. No offense is intended.
Author's Note: This was originally posted as an entry for the Fanfic My Fanfic Contest (www(.)fanfiction(.)net/~fanficmyfanfic). This is a pasttake/smuttake of Wide Awake (See: www(.)fanfiction(.)net/~AngstGoddess003). When Edward was recounting his past to Bella why didn't it come up, you ask? Well, he and Jazz swore each other to secrecy, that's why. And Bella never asked. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Thank you to OnTheTurningAway for fixing my boo-boos and to AngstGoddess003 for allowing her fic to be fic'ed. Wide Awake was the first fic I ever read, so this is coming from a place of pure fangirl love.
I was fucking drunk. So very fucking drunk. I vaguely remembered swiping a bottle of whiskey that I was pretty sure Daddy C used to ration out after "a long day at work"- whatever the fuck that meant in doctor-speak. But it was fucking Emmett's idea to have this party, and the only way I could tolerate the cacophony of shitty bass-thumping dance music, girls squealing and guys urging each other to drink more was if I got drunk, too. If Carlisle asked me point blank, I'd tell him I took it, but I might conveniently let it slip that the whole party was the fucking golden boy's idea.
Truth be told, I probably should have been more worried about the amphetamines I'd nicked from Daddy C's stash, and how they might interfere with the liquor than getting caught. I was pretty sure my liver and my kidneys already fucking hated me for the lack of sleep, so what was adding a little whiskey chaser to my earlier pharmaceutical cocktail going to do that was worse?
I turned back down to the sketchbook in my lap. What had started out as me drawing my bare feet had morphed into a rather hideous mountain of feet piled on top of each other. I chuckled to myself as I titled it "Foothills" and signed it. I'd probably scrap it in the morning anyway, when the lines on the page weren't wobbling.
I was about ready to stumble out to the balcony for a smoke when there was a knock on the door.
"S'open, Jazz!" I called out, probably too loudly. But I knew it was him. I mean, I was the trouble maker. I was the crazy weirdo who kept to myself and glared at anyone who tried to fuck with me. There was no way any of Emmett's douchey friends would come up here. Sure enough, the door swung open and Jazz barreled through.
"Where the fuck have you been?" His voice was so slurred and his eyes were completely glazed over, I knew he'd had even more to drink that I had.
He closed the door with a loud slam and then tripped over to the bed, not seeming to notice that I hadn't responded to his question. Since he obviously knew where I had been, there wasn't much point in answering anyway, but Jazz seemed to be concentrating really hard on not falling as he climbed up onto my bed and I didn't want to interrupt him. When he finally settled beside me with his back against the headboard and his feet sticking out, he looked oddly accomplished.
Nevertheless, he continued his rant. "Leaving me down there all by myself with those fucking asinine meatheads and their beer pong..."
Beer pong? Great. That meant I'd be spending part of my Saturday scrubbing sticky, stale beer off the kitchen table and floor, because Emmett wouldn't even notice that shit. Even though this whole event was entirely Emmett's idea, I didn't want Carlisle to freak out and start trying to parent both of us.
"...and Alice shoving her tongue down that douche Tyler's throat," Jazz finished. His hand was curled in a fist, and he was pounding it down on my mattress like it was Tyler's smug face. Normally, I would have stopped him from doing that shit, I mean, it's my bed, but my mouth was lagging behind my brain. And anyway, I had never seen Jazz so worked up. He was pussy-whipped by a chick he wasn't even dating, let alone fucking.
"The truth comes out. You're just jealous, man," I managed to get out. I had no idea what Jazz saw in Brandon. She wasn't my type at all, perky and plastic and privileged, and the way he damn near drooled every time he saw her wiggle her ass was nauseating. But as best friend, I could never take my disgust too far. I even took the blame for the time he scratched her BMW with my car.
It wasn't really Jazz's fault he had shitty taste in women, and I had no room to talk. I'd be more than happy to have my track record with girls erased. Sure, Mallory was alright. I had nothing to say to her and she had nothing to say to me, but the way Stanley sometimes still stared at me made my skin crawl. Of course, all of the shit that gave me my bad reputation was Jazz's fault. That and the fact that I was never fucking fully awake and alert without the help of chemicals surely gave me a reasonable excuse, right? How could I pass up coke? And even though she was a vapid bitch, I was a red-blooded male. What guy wouldn't want to do coke off Jessica Stanley's tits?
"M'not jealous," Jazz insisted, bringing me back to the present.
I rolled my eyes. He could beat the shit out of my mattress if he wanted to, but I wasn't going to listen to him sit here and pretend that he didn't constantly talk about Brandon like she was a the prize in a cereal box or some shit. I actually missed the crazy fucker who tried to get me 'out of my shell.' Anything would be preferable to the Jazz who mooned over my next door neighbor.
"Jazz," I started.
"Okay, fine," he slurred at me, lolling his head in my direction like it took a huge effort to move that much. "I should be making out with her, not that Crowley douche."
"So do something about it," I said, the 'duh' I left out hanging in the air.
"What am I s'pposed to do?" His head was still turned to the side, but he was staring at me with big puppy dog eyes as if I'd actually have an answer for him that I hadn't told him a million times before.
"I don't know," I started. "Tell her you want to fuck her brains out. Or go back downstairs, shove Crowley out of the way and then lean in to her and say 'How 'bout you kiss a real man.'" As I spoke, I leaned in closer to Jazz, blowing my whiskey-breath on his face.
"I can't say that!" he insisted, for a second looking like he was going to giggle.
"Why not?" I asked.
"'Cause it's lame as fuck." He made his voice nasally, mocking me, as he leaned in even closer to me. "How 'bout you kiss a real man."
There was a weird crackling sensation in the air between us.
Then suddenly he was kissing me.
What the fuck? Why wasn't I pulling away? Jazz groaned, parting his lips and my tongue was suddenly seeking out his. I knew I should stop him, this was completely and utterly insane. I was kissing my best friend. A guy. And it wasn't half bad. He was easily a better kisser than Stanley. But it was Jazz! My best was a lot drunker than me, so it was up to me to end this immediately.
I pulled away.
"Shit," Jazz exhaled loudly.
Then his damn blue-gray eyes were digging into mine, and I was stuck.
"I'm not gay," I managed to get out. That was the best I could do? I just made out with my best and only friend and that's all I could say?
"I'm not gay either," he said quickly, maybe too quickly, after me.
An awkward silence hung in the air.
"But that felt good, right?" Jazz's voice was barely above a whisper. "And seeing Alice in those tight jeans all night has made me horny as hell."
"What are you asking?" I asked, both afraid and intrigued by his answer.
I didn't even have time to brace myself for his response, because then he was straddling my lap. Fucking hell. Then he was plunging his tongue into my mouth again and for some reason I wasn't pushing him off me and kicking his ass. I was kissing back. And it felt good. I let myself get into it for a minute. I had to accept anything that could be used as a distraction, and this was definitely a distraction. That is, until Jazz shifted his weight forward a little and I came to my senses enough to realize that Jazz was both very male and very horny.
"Jazz," I said sternly, pulling away from his lips. "What the fuck are we doing?"
"Don't think about it. I'm horny as fuck and I don't want to jack off in your bathroom. Just go with it." The look in his eyes was one of pure desperation. He kept his gaze locked with mine as he started rubbing up against me again. That's when I noticed that I wasn't entirely not turned on by all of this. I mean, it was weird as fuck, but it still felt good to have someone kind of touching me. I tended to avoid thinking about sex altogether, but Jazz was someone I could trust.
I reached around and put my hands on his ass bringing him forward more forcefully. This time I could feel my dick jump in excitement. It had been a long fucking time. Following my lead – my fucking lead – Jazz put his hands in my hair and started pillaging my mouth again with his tongue. He wasn't sloppy, though. For a second, I envied Brandon, if they ever got together. My cock seemed to like it too, and it wasn't long before I was straining against my jeans because of the friction. I wondered if he intended to do this until he came in his pants like I was just some kind of three-dimensional wet dream here for his pleasure.
My question was answered when I felt his hands drifting up my shirt.
"Shirt stays on," I muttered. Thank fuck he didn't question it. What little Jazz knew about my past wouldn't stay so little if he saw the scars that littered my body. He left his own shirt on and somehow that made me feel better. Like what we were doing was somehow less fucking gay if we stayed mostly clothed.
Instead, he started fumbling with my belt. The damn 'clacking' sound of the metal was making me even fucking harder. I didn't know how much of this I could chalk up to the alcohol, because as soon as Jazz's tongue was in my mouth I had sobered up fast.
Eventually the belt came off and he was dragging my jeans off my legs. I was planning on reciprocating with the clothing removal, but as soon as mine were off, he started on his own.
"Is the door locked?" I asked suddenly.
His eyes grew wider for a second and he hopped off the bed. He wasn't stumbling anymore, as if the risk we were taking had scared him straight, though what we were doing couldn't exactly be called straight. Once the door was locked, he got back onto the bed. More specifically, he got back on top of me, but now we were stretched out prone and it felt good, better than any backseat fumbling with Lauren Mallory had ever been. I tried to shove that fucking thought out of my mind fast. This was just drunken horniness finding an outlet. This wasn't something that I was ever going to do again. Thinking about liking it was just a waste of time.
His hands were at the waistband of my boxers. I froze. Jazz was going to touch my cock. As if sensing my pending panic, he leaned forward and kissed me again, distracting me with his hot fucking mouth while he slid my boxers off me. He started planting wet, open-mouthed kisses down my neck while his hands were occupied removing his own shorts.
"Shit," I hissed through gritted teeth as soon as he lowered his hips so his dick touched mine. It was like a spark of electricity shot through my body. It shouldn't have felt so good. The tightness of a pussy, the warm heat of a girl's mouth, perky tits, that was what I thought about when I jacked off. Never, ever, ever did the idea of another man's junk make an appearance in my jerk-off material. Ever.
"Fuck," Jazz responded. He stopped moving for a second, and I had to bite back a groan. My eyes were like magnets, attracted to his every move. I watched as he spit into his hand and then brought it down to coat both of our cocks. Part of me was horribly disgusted, but the other part realized how much better dry-humping felt when it was a little wet.
I was so fucked.
I grabbed his ass again with my hands, guiding him as his dick moved against mine. I couldn't look away, watching the swollen heads rub against each other. My nerves were on fire, and I could not remember ever being this turned on in my life. I squeezed Jazz's ass cheeks, urging him to go faster. I never knew the underside of my dick was so sensitive until I felt another rubbing against it.
I could tell when Jazz was close. His rhythm was getting more erratic and frenzied and he started to mutter curse words into my ear. Then his lips were covering mine again and I could feel his cum coating my stomach. I groaned into the kiss and tightened my grip on his ass, moving his hips faster and faster until I could feel my own orgasm tightening in my balls.
"Shit," I moaned as I started to come. Jazz stopped moving his hips and then sank his teeth down into my neck. It was probably going to leave a mark, but I didn't fucking care. My cock was pulsing, and I hadn't felt so relaxed in, well, as long as I could remember.
Jazz rolled off me, but his side was still pressed against mine as we came down from our temporary highs. Eventually I realized that there was jizz drying on me, so I forced myself to get out of bed and get a wet washcloth to clean off. I brought one back for Jazz, because the lazy fucker wasn't going to get out of my bed. As soon as he cleaned himself off, he sighed and closed his eyes.
I knew we wouldn't talk about this again.
Jazz was curled up in my bed, passed out from the liquor and the orgasm. I let myself envy him for a second. Sleeping away all the weirdness of what we had just done. He wouldn't give it a second thought tomorrow morning. It would just be some faded memory along with the rest of his drunken haze. Lucky me, I'd get to think about how fucking good it felt all night. I grabbed my sketchbook and cigarettes and went out onto the balcony.
It was going to be another long fucking night.