This is my entry in tby789 and LolaShoes new contest "Love Through Lemons"
http://www (dot) fanfiction (dot) net/u/1803036/
"SIMPLE" was given the Love Through Lemons contest 'Host's Mention' award! My endless thanks to tby789 and LolaShoes for hosting the contest, and for mentioning me in the same universe as their F*Awesome winners... Please go read them - you will be glad you did:
WINNER - Never Think by ilsuocantante,
2ND PLACE - To Get Back Home by LaViePastiche, and
3RD PLACE Oh, Inverted World: What Would Edward Do? by DeviKalika
We'd been fucking for months. No one knew, of course. That would have been suicide. The world looked at us as siblings and I guess, in the eyes of the law, we were. It was a matter of convenience, really; permanent legal custody of me for the Cullens. Just words on paper. It meant little to me, one way or the other. For the last five years they were a roof over my head, a couple of decent meals a day, clothes on my back and a bed. It meant a permanent address, with no revolving bedroom door for my mother's 'boyfriends,' and a deadbolt on my own. So what if they wanted to change my last name to theirs, it was a small price. Whatever. I sure didn't need her last name, or the worthless sperm donor's, whoever he was.
There were four of us 'Cullen' kids, products of one fuckuppery or another, and the only other thing we really had in common was our last name and the 'parents' that gave it to us. We got along okay. There were never any major problems. I'd been the last to arrive and was, at twelve years old, probably their biggest challenge. I know it's true. In the three years after the state took me away from her, I bounced through a couple of fosters and a hellpit group home before I landed here. God knows what they saw that made them think I was salvageable. They had money, nice cars, nice house, and the other fuckwits living here left me alone, so I went along with it. They made the deal permanent about a year later. I wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth so, sure, I'll be a Cullen if that's what you want. You can call me Minnie Mouse and tattoo a smiley face on my ass for all I care as long as you don't…
Whatever.
Words are meaningless.
For some reason it always surprised people that I had the strength to take care of myself, but I learned how pretty quick in foster. I gave off enough of a 'fuck you all' vibe that they gave me a wide berth, at home and at school. Fine by me. I had all I needed to get me by; I was just biding my time. I played nice. We did the family thing; dinners together, homework at the kitchen table, birthdays, holidays, vacations. The Cullens were good people. I can play nice. They deserved that much from me. Five years went by pretty easy.
The first time it happened, he and I were just fucking around in the pool, tossing a ball back and forth, wasting time. I don't even remember where everybody else was, shopping or working or some shit. It wasn't that unusual for us to be home alone on a Saturday. Anyway, he threw the ball square at my face and it fucking left a mark. I wanted to strangle him. Nobody fucks with my face; the one thing I was grateful my mother gave me. I launched myself at him while he laughed, taunting me about the red mark coming up on my cheek. I could fucking feel the sting, and I knew it would be there for a day or two. I was pretty quick in the water, and had my hands around his neck before he could get away. The look in his eyes went from smug to terrified to pissed. Before I knew it, he had one hand jammed between my legs and the smirk had returned. It made me hesitate for just a minute as I registered just exactly what he was doing.
We'd been taunting each other with sex jokes for years. I called him 'pinkie' now and then just to piss him off, knowing full well he was packing serious meat. You live in a house with five other people long enough and sooner or later everybody catches at least a glimpse or two. Anyway, he found new and creative ways to describe 'pussy' at every opportunity, and every one of them made me want to punch him in the throat. It was all good natured fun. He was cool – it was all bullshit. We both had dirty minds, so it came easily to insult each other like that. We tried to keep it on the down low; it pissed Esme off when we really got going.
When he grabbed me that day in the pool, he wasn't fooling around anymore. Something about the look in his eyes was off – it wasn't his usual 'I got you by the short and curlies, bitch, what are you gonna do about it?' look that normally followed an especially good one-liner. I expected him to let go almost immediately, and make another crack about me being a little girl bitching about the mark on my face, but he didn't let go. He came closer, and put his other hand around the back of my neck.
He hesitated a minute, his eyes half closed. "Aw, fuck it."
I wanted to ask him what the fuck he was talking about and when the fuck are you gonna get your fucking hand off me when he leaned in and kissed me, hard. Instantly I put my hands on his shoulders to push him away, but I underestimated his grip on the back of my neck. I tried opening my mouth to yell at him, but that was a mistake. He thought my open mouth was encouragement. I swear to god I was fucking frozen in place for what felt like a year, while his mouth was on mine, his tongue darting across my lips, one hand an iron vice on my neck, and the other clawing at me through my swimsuit. How it never occurred to me earlier that he was the stronger of us, I will never know. My arms went limp, and we crashed together in the absence of my resistance. He moved his mouth across my cheek and down my jaw, and I couldn't believe I was panting for breath. Panting. I was fucking panting, and tilting my head back with his goddamned lips on my throat. It was like being out of your body or some bullshit, like I wasn't even there and my body had taken over. My hands came up around his back to his shoulders and we were fucking grinding on each other and it felt fucking fabulous. Like, my brain shut off, it felt so fucking good. I was about to fucking come and we hadn't even done anything yet. Yet. It hit me like a clichéd ton of bricks. Yet. Holy shit.
I moaned.
He laughed.
"What the fuck," I whispered, his ear a breath away from my mouth. I stuck my tongue in it.
He grunted, and laughed again. "I have no fucking idea."
"This is incest or something… fucking wrong," I said, moaning as his cock against my hip.
"We're not related. Shut the fuck up and kiss me again." His hand was worming its way inside my suit and I started grinding against it. "Jesus," he muttered. "Are we gonna do this here, or what?"
"Do what?" We were already doing plenty more than we had any business doing, in our parents' pool no less.
"I wanna fuck you, and I think you want it just as bad."
"You're fucking insane," I said, grabbing a fist full of his ass. He stuck his tongue in my mouth and I sucked on it until he pulled back.
"No, but I'm horny as hell, and this," he moved his hand against me again, "tells me you are too."
We fumbled around in the pool, sucking face and groping each other for I don't know how long, until I felt the side of the pool at my back. "Oh, what the hell, you only live once, right?" Virginity is overrated anyway, or so I've heard.
"Fuckin' A," he croaked.
Our swimsuits landed on the patio with a wet plop, somewhere over my shoulder. He pulled my legs up around his waist and looked at me funny.
"Do you have any fucking clue what you're doing?" I asked, laughing.
"No, and neither do you, so shut the fuck up."
"You're gonna fucking kill me with that thing, you know that, don't you? It's unnatural."
A look of horror came across his face and I instantly regretted saying it. He'd heard it before, in locker rooms. Hell, I'd joked about 'cockzilla' myself but for some reason all of a sudden, he looked like I'd kicked his puppy. I took his face in my hands and forced him to look at me. "Kidding, okay?"
"I'll go slow. Tell me, if it's… too much. I don't want to hurt you."
"I know that." I kissed him again, slower than before. It surprised me. Another out-of-body moment.
I felt the head of his iron-hard cock press against where no one had gone before, and I let out a gasp that was entirely more girly sounding than I liked. "Shh," he whispered. "It's okay." He pressed inside me, just the head.
"FUCK! That hurts like a mother fucker!" I screamed, glad several acres of land separated us from our nearest neighbors.
He pulled out instantly, resting his head on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, I…"
I took a deep breath and cursed myself. "Hey – do you wanna do this?"
"You have no fucking idea how bad I want to do this."
"Then use your goddamned fingers first, okay?" I kissed him again, eyes, cheeks, ear. He nodded against my shoulder.
I felt him probing me, more gently than I would have imagined given the size of his hands. He soon had two fingers in, hitting a spot that felt fucking amazing. My head hit the edge of the pool with a thunk. I closed my eyes and just drifted in the bliss fog. A few minutes later I heard him grunt and felt a third finger press in. I leaned up to look at him and smiled.
"Better?" he asked, smug grin back in full force.
It wasn't a third finger. It was his cock, and he was slowly burying it in me. I had no idea how much of it I could take, but I was ready to find out. He wasn't all that freakishly thick, and hell, he wasn't really all that long. He was what you might call a 'shower,' not a 'grower.' It looked big flaccid, but in reality, didn't really change much once he was hard. Having never done this before, I didn't have very much to compare him to, anyway.
"Fuck yeah, that's better. Damn. That feels kinda good." I knew the understatement would get him.
He laughed. "Kinda?" He kissed me, slow like I'd kissed him, matching the movements of his hips. He held me low around the waist with one arm, pressing me against the side of the pool with his body, and used his other hand to make sure I got what I needed. I tightened my legs around him, pulling him closer, but limiting the depth of his stroke. It didn't matter.
"I'm gonna come," he grunted.
"Race ya," I laughed, just before it overtook me. I didn't know orgasms could feel like that. My whole body shook and throbbed, which apparently sent him over the edge right after me. Strangely, the moans coming out of his mouth harmonized with mine. We stood there for a minute after he pulled out, our foreheads pressed together, waiting for our hearts to slow down.
"Fuck," he whispered, running his hands through my hair, but not looking me in the eye. I nodded, also looking away.
My stomach rumbled, and he laughed. "You want some lunch?"
"You buyin'?" he asked.
"No, but I'll make you a fucking ham sandwich if you'll make me a drink. I think I need one."
He snorted. "Yeah, okay."
I climbed out of the pool, feeling an unfamiliar, but pleasant, ache. I grinned, then slapped my own forehead. What the fuck am I doing? He's my fucking brother, for fuck sake! I shoved that thought aside and wrapped a towel around myself. I hate putting on a wet swimsuit. I tossed another towel at him and watched him leisurely wrap it around his hips as we walked towards the house.
We ate lunch quietly, sucking back Stoli-spiked lemonade on the back porch, facing the pool. I knew him pretty well after five years and was sure his thoughts were running the same as mine: confused, overwhelmed, stunned. Scared shitless. Turned on. Then right back to confused. Neither of us said a word.
I lay my head back on the chair and closed my eyes, the sun making me drowsy in spite of the raging mess in my head. I heard his chair scrape on the patio, then the sound of him stacking our plates.
"Thanks," I mumbled.
"Yup. Going inside."
"M'kay. Later."
"Yup." I heard the back door close and, the next thing I knew, Esme was waking me for dinner.
That evening passed quietly. So did the following day, Sunday. We all had breakfast together and made plans for dinner out that evening. I spent the day in my room, organizing my music, surfing, killing time. I don't know what the others did. I didn't see him until it was time to leave for dinner.
Dinner was normal. The following day was normal. Everything was normal. A fucking week went by. Normal. But I wasn't normal. I didn't know what normal was any more. We ate meals together, watched movies with the rest of the family, I beat his ass at chess as usual. Everything was as usual, on the surface at least. Deep down, I knew I was a fucking mess. I could barely look at him without thinking about the pool, or his hands, or his ass, or his mouth. Or my fingers in his hair. Or the color of his eyes, bloodshot from the chlorine that day. Or the feeling of him inside me. He, however, appeared to be completely unfazed. He woke up in the morning cheerful like nothing was wrong, called me names, passed me the butter at the dinner table. It kind of pissed me off.
That following Saturday, I stopped by his room. I knew he was still downstairs, and took advantage of the moment. I opened the door and dropped a shiny new brass key in the middle of his bed. I hoped he'd figure it out. Mine was the only room with a deadbolt lock.
I heard the rest of the family go to bed, listening to muttered 'good nights' as each door closed over the course of the next hour or so. His was the last to close, at the opposite end of the hall from mine. I felt like puking. I had no idea if he'd figure it out, although he was a pretty smart guy. The next question was did he want to… what? What did I want him to do? Come to my locked room in the middle of the night and let himself in and then what? What the fuck was I thinking? Christ. What I really needed to do was talk to him. Find out what the fuck was in his head, figure out if I was getting myself all worked up over a one-time thing. Yeah. Talk.
My phone vibrated on the nightstand. Fuck! Why didn't I think of that? Fucked me senseless he did. Literally. Senseless.
It was a one word text: What.
I responded in kind. Talk.
K.
I rubbed my hand across my forehead, wondering what the fuck I was going to say to him. I pulled on a pair of boxers to sleep in and was tugging a beater over my head when I heard the key in the lock. I instantly tensed. He walked in, shirtless, oversized sleep pants low on his hips, hem dragging the floor. From the look of things, he was commando underneath. Fuck. Half hard. He slipped in, closed the door behind him silently and locked the deadbolt. I swallowed a lump in my throat. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the door. I sat on the edge of my bed, elbows on knees, staring at the floor.
"Took you long enough," he whispered.
"What the fuck? You've been ignoring me all week!"
"Shh. Keep your voice down. I haven't been ignoring you, I've been avoiding scrutiny, you asshat. You think they'll be all rainbows and sunshine if we start kissing each other good morning all of a sudden? Shit. Besides, you've been ignoring me!"
"Well… fuck. Okay. Christ, this is fucking with my head. I just… FUCK!"
He was kneeling in front of me, hands on my legs, his face inches from mine. "Hey. We can make this as simple or as complicated as we want. What do you want?"
"I want your fucking hands on me. That's what I want."
He stifled a laugh. "I gathered that. Do you want simple, or complicated?"
I looked at him, staring at point blank range, trying to identify what I saw. "I want simple." His eyes flickered closed for a second and he sighed, then he leaned in to kiss me.
"Fine. We can limit this to days when no one is around, or we can do the sneaky thing after everyone's gone to bed."
"What the fuck are we even…" He cut me off.
"Simple, remember? Me, you, horny. Right? Simple."
"Right. Simple." That's what I wanted, right?
"I have condoms in my bedroom, do you want me to keep them down here?"
"Why do we…"
"Cleanup. Do you want to explain to Esme why you need clean sheets all the time?"
"Right. No, keep them in here. I don't think I could… without the deadbolt."
"Do you want me to go get one now?"
He had one hand in my hair, the other on my cheek. I thought for a minute and nodded yes. He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a condom and a tiny bottle of lube.
He looked at me sheepishly, then smiled that goddamned smug grin. Fucker.
"Lube?"
"Just in case," he whispered, pushing me back onto my bed. "You were so fucking tight the other day you nearly cut off my circulation. I thought this might help."
"Let's find out," I said as I pulled the beater up and over my head.
He kissed me, moaning against my lips, panting and eager and needy. He was obviously torn between running his hands across my chest and removing our clothes. I rolled the condom onto him when he settled between my legs. He dribbled lube on his wrapped cock and winked at me. He used his lubed hand to work me over to the point where I was damn near ready to beg him to just fuck me and get it over with. He leaned over me, pulling my knees up towards my chest, and entered me slowly, filling me, stretching me inch by glorious, mother fucking, excruciating, perfect inch. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, felt like that. Fucking incredible.
It took every molecule of self-restraint I possessed to stay quiet. I could tell he struggled, too. We kept our mouths close together, stealing each other's breath, silencing each other's sounds. When it was over, he tossed the condom in the trashcan under my desk and came back to stand next to my bed where I lay like an overcooked noodle.
"Can I stay a while, or do you want me to go?"
I looked at him, confused. "Simple?"
"Right. I'll see you in the morning."
My gut twisted, and I hated it. I stuck my hand out to grab his wrist before he could walk out of arm's reach. "Wait. Stay a while. Staying can be simple."
He nodded and crawled into my bed behind me, still naked and damp with sweat. He wrapped his arms around me, kissed me between my shoulder blades and whispered one word before I drifted to sleep: "Simple."
The rest of the summer passed much the same. We spent nights together several times a week, making sure he made it back to his room long before anyone else would be awake. We perfected the silent fuck, but all hell broke loose when the house was empty. We had a little fun in the pool or backyard now and then, and even managed to christen the kitchen island one particularly memorable day. We kept it simple. Scratching an itch. It never dawned on us to try and find other people to do the scratching. Simple. After my original squick over the 'sibling' thing, we agreed to just let it be whatever it was.
School started in August. He and I were in the same grade, and the school was small enough that we had one or two classes together. We sat together in class, but never at lunch. He was always more outgoing than me, and seemed to accumulate groupies, even though he never pursued anything more than superficial friendships with any of them. He always ate with his little posse of revolving idiots. I, on the other hand, never gave a fuck for making friends. Who needs more people that will eventually let you down? The only thing I had in common with these people was spending 7 hours a day under the same roof. I kept to myself.
One day he strolled into the cafeteria parading a fucking blonde glamazon on his arm, like he was escorting her to a fucking cotillion. I knew she had to be a new student, since I'd never seen her before. I nodded at him as they walked by. He nodded back, smug ass fucking grin plastered on his face. I wanted to stand up and slap him. Simple, I chanted in my head. Simple, simple, simple. He didn't come to my room that night, or the next, or the next.
Then, on the eighth night, for the first time, I went to his.
I tiptoed in and closed the door as softly as I could. Why, I have no idea. I planned on waking him up anyway, so what did it matter? I heard the sheets rustle as he shifted position. I stripped off my clothes and slipped in beside him. I knew he was awake, but he didn't acknowledge my unexpected presence in his bed. I can play that game, bud. See if you can ignore this. I ran my hands slowly over his arms and shoulders, then pulled back the covers and discovered he was nude. I caressed up and down his back, his ass, between his thighs, down to his feet and back again. I was amazed that he could lay so still when I was touching him like this. I began to kiss him, following my hands, placing lingering wet kisses everywhere I touched. His skin was silk beneath my lips, his muscles and sinew felt like life. I could feel him vibrate with the pounding of his heart, see his ribs spread and fall as his breathing sped up, but he never moved, never spoke.
I pulled him forcibly onto his back and sat on my heels, staring at him. Fuck, he was beautiful.
Still, he never made a sound, never pushed me away, never reached out to touch my face, or my hand. Never looked at me. I crawled between his legs and kissed my way slowly across his body, neck to shoulder, shoulder to nipple, nipple to navel, navel to hip. I licked and sucked and nibbled every inch of his torso, and still he never acknowledged me.
His cock, however, was another matter entirely.
He was full-on hard from the minute I rolled him over, fucking dripping on his belly. It looked fucking painful. I nuzzled him, inhaling the scent of him; warm and salty and man. I'd never done this for him before, and my heart was leaping out of my chest at the thought of doing it now. I expected it to repulse me, or bring back too much… but it was him, and no one else. I was okay. It pissed me off that I was about to do it and he might as well be in a fucking coma for all the reaction I was likely to get, but by Christ I was going to do it. Then he can go back to his pretty little blonde arm candy and… whatever. It didn't matter. But I wanted a fuck, goddamn it, and he was going to give it to me, one last time if nothing else.
I cupped his tight, round balls in one hand and fisted his shaft in the other, giving each a slow tug. Nothing. I nuzzled him again, dragging my nose and lips from root to tip. Nothing. I circled the head of his cock with my tongue, tasting him, and noticed his hand flatten stiffly against the bed sheet. Fuck, he tasted even better than he smelled. I opened my mouth and sucked him in as far as I could, covering everything else with my fist. I felt his hips twitch up. God damn, that's amazing. To get that reaction from him, even when he's fighting it so hard. Why is he fighting it? I pulled back, sucking on him the whole way. I twisted my hand at the top and took him in again, as far as I could.
"Stop," he mumbled. "Stop. Please."
He brought his hands to my face, but the gesture didn't feel like 'stop.'
"Stop, Edward, please. Please stop," more insistent on pushing me off his cock.
"Why, Jasper? I'm keeping things simple, right? I just want to suck you off, maybe you'll give me a pity fuck when I'm done, before you trade me in for the blonde. It is what it is, right? Simple."
I was on my back in an instant, my arms pinned above my head. His eyes were wild, swollen and red. "A pity fuck? Is that what you want? Is that what you think…? Fine."
He reached down between us and grabbed himself, pressing against my ass without warning, lube or glove. His voice became an evil hiss. "Fuck you, Ed. It was never simple. I fucking hate you for never bothering to think about it until you felt a twinge of jealousy. That stupid fucking girl means nothing. NOTHING!"
He faltered over the last half dozen words, and I felt his tears pelting my face. He tried to fuck me, but couldn't. He let go of my arms.
I pushed the hair back from his face, away from his eyes. He collapsed onto my chest, sobbing. I wrapped my arms around him and held him till morning. I no longer cared who knew, or how they found us.
We'd been fucking for months. Or, at least, I convinced myself we'd been fucking. Turns out that is farthest from the truth and, deep down, I'd known it all along.
It was never just fucking, for either of us.
And it was anything but simple.
.
.
.
A/N: Leave me some love...
8/16/09 Chapter two, 'Anything But Simple,' should be uploaded later this week. please put me on alert so you can read Jasper's Point of View...