It's been a long time since I posted the first chapter of this for a pic prompt writing contest on FB. Then, another pic I saw on tumblr last week inspired me to finally return to these boys. (I've shared the pic on my FB page and my tumblr.) You might want to reread ch1 if you haven't already.

Now that I've quieted these boys down in my head, I'll get the next chapter of Sometimes out soon!

The songs for this fic are If You Leave by Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, of course. Also, Against All Odds by Phil Collins.

Check the AN after this chapter for some exciting news about the beloved fic Lessons Learned!

Chapter 2 – Touch You Twice

Jpov

I'm nervous. So fucking nervous. I don't know if I've ever been this nervous in my entire life. My palms are sweating and my stomach hurts, and I hate this. I really hate this… this awkward bullshit where he's concerned. It's Edward, for fuck's sake!

Stop! I need to stop! What the hell do I have to be nervous about, anyway? I finally get to see him, my best friend. I did everything with him for the seven years of college and grad school. Everything, that is, except make love to him, in ways I never knew possible… until that last night before he left for New York.

Almost a year and a half has passed since he left, since I watched him drive away in a taxi, taking him to his new life, the life he'd worked so hard to obtain. Where did the time go? It seems so long ago yet as if it was just yesterday, since I finally held him only to let him go.

I still taste him on my lips. I still feel where his touch branded my skin. I hear his soft moans and loud groans. And my name… fuck, my name. I still hear my name slipping from between his beautiful lips, evoked by the things I was doing, by the way my body coveted his, from the effect I had on him. I made Edward sound like that. I'm getting hard just thinking about it, so I shift in my cramped airplane seat, attempting to discreetly adjust my little problem, fuck - my getting bigger by the second problem.

Why I didn't see him in that way before it was too late, I'll never understand. I've spent too much time wondering what might have been. What might have been if we'd hooked-up sooner. What might have been if I'd admitted to myself earlier the fact that I was in love with him. What might have been if I'd asked him to stay.

We talked on the phone and texted often at first, always skirting around the subject of us, of how our last night together changed us. Because there is no us. How can there be an us when we live on opposite sides of the country? How can there be an us when I let him leave, and he chose to go, and as time has passed we've become all but strangers?

There can't be.

There isn't.

Nevertheless, I jumped at the opportunity to come to New York City for a conference that barely pertains to me. My boss gave me her knowing look when I suggested it. Rosalie has become like the sister I never had. She's a ballbuster for sure. That's why she does so well in the courtroom. She doesn't show her softer side to many, but for some unknown reason, I'm one of the chosen few. She gets me and I get her. I've told her everything. A couple nights a week we grab dinner and a beer after work and we talk. She talks about the man she fears she'll never find because of the bitch she knows she is. I talk about Edward.

The captain announces our descent, and my nerves ramp up another notch. Before I know it, I'm disembarking and making my way to baggage claim. When I finally get my wits about me, I think to send Edward a text. He insisted on picking me up at the airport, and for me to stay at his apartment. Neither was necessary considering my expenses are covered by work, but I couldn't say no to him. And let's be honest… I didn't want to. The thought of sleeping under the same roof as him again calms me. It excites me, too. And scares the hell out of me.

If the opportunity presents itself, I don't think I'll be able to refuse another night spent with him like our last, in his bed and in his arms. But can my heart survive the after effects when we have no future? Would my heart survive moving on without him? Again?

I don't know. I truly don't know.

I'm tough. I've been through allot - losing my daddy at such a young age, then caring for my ailing mother since before I was old enough to. But losing Edward, again? I don't know if I can survive that.

Yet, I want him, even though he isn't mine to want or need or love like I do.

Just friends. We should only be friends. That's really why I've come, isn't it? To smooth over everything we fucked up by starting something we had no chance at finishing. To get my friend back. My friend. Only my friend. My best friend. I miss that Edward so fucking much, too - almost as much as the one I've too late realized is the love of my life.

Before I finish typing out a text to him, I hear my name and it's the most right sound I've heard since he left.

He's behind me; I feel him. His presence reaches out to me, beckoning me home. But I'm frozen. I can't move. And I'm trembling. Fuck!

"Jasper..."

His deep, velvety voice is so close now, close enough to feel wisps of his breath caress the back of my neck. The warmth of his hand on my shoulder permeates my sweater.

Finally, as if letting go of a balloon that's been trying to escape in the wind, I turn around and fall into his arms. I don't mean to, but they're there, he is… open and waiting, immediately surrounding me, holding me. My arms encircle his waist and I hold on for dear life, like I'll never let go. I wish so badly I didn't have to.

I don't know how long we stand here like this, him holding me and me holding him right back. I'm pretty sure when our embrace began - the beat of his heart was racing much like mine, his breath was ragged, too. Our hearts and breaths have slowed, now beating and breathing as one. My nose is buried in the crook of his neck, and I just don't care. He smells so fucking good - different, but good.

He used to smell like the ocean breeze, like the beach where we spent what little free time we had, surfing and lazing in the sun. That trace of him remains, now buried by what can only be described as money - city, and boardroom, and expensive cologne.

I force myself to loosen my grip on him and take a step back. He does the same. Our hands meet in the middle, grasping and holding, not letting go.

I finally see him, set my eyes on him, and fuck… he's even more gorgeous than I remember. He looks so sophisticated in his grey tailored suit. He's twenty seven, yet somehow I see the boy he was when first we met, still looking back at me with uncertainty, lost on campus as he was. But tired… tired is there on his beautiful face, too. The kind of tired that shows his age and then some. His penny colored hair is tamer now, more in place, but still longer than short. Five o'clock shadow kisses his face and I wish I could lick every inch of his jaw, to feel the slight roughness under my tongue, before easing it between his lips, reacquainting myself with the sensation of his against mine. His eyes are still so fucking green, studying me as I study him. He checks me out, first my jeans and then my grey sweater - how they show off the working-out I still do. His eyes stall on my lips - my slightly parted, plump, pink lips barely containing the sound of my breathing as it picks back up, again.

Finally he looks into my eyes and I'm frozen – locked within his gaze where I see so many things. His thoughts are loud, swirling within his gold flecked green. I swear I can hear them. He misses me like I've missed him. He needs the same things I need. He's sorry. But for what? For leaving and then slowly drifting away?

Oh, baby, No! Please, don't apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.

The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I don't say them aloud. He seems to know what I'm thinking, with the squeeze of his hands before letting one of mine go, and his sad crooked grin. He reaches up to tuck a strand of my longish, blondish hair behind my ear. His fingertips graze my cheek when he's done, leaving a trail of heat on my skin. I drown in the reminder of his touch, of how every trace of his fingers affects me so.

"Fuck, Jasper. You're a sight for sore eyes," he chuckles, holding my gaze like he'll never look away. But then he does, rubbing his neck with his free hand and looking around the airport as if he's searching for something. But I know him. He's not. He's looking away to compose himself.

The realization that he is as affected by me and this moment as I am by him sends relief rushing through me, in from the recesses of my worried brain. I can't believe I thought he wouldn't be, but he is. Of course, he is.

"You ready to get out of here? You hungry?" he asks, dipping his head, intently staring deep into my eyes once more. Oh, I'm hungry for sure. But not for food. All I can do is stand here, clutching his hand between both of mine, barely nodding my head in reply. He smiles by crinkling his eyes, standing and staring and waiting for me to do something besides silently stare back at him.

Intimate. Everything about our reunion feels intimate, like our last twelve hours together before he left. Nothing like the platonic seven years we spent as just friends before our last, the best night of my life.

Has he thought of it as much as I, longed for the connection we made? Has he had many lovers since, in an attempt to forget. Or barely any as have I, because no one else can compare, so why bother?

"How about we grab a bite to eat, and catch up?" It's more of a statement than a question. Before I know it, he's pulling me along beside him with one hand, and rolling my suitcase behind us with the other. We walk, stealing glances at one another, and I have yet to speak. I don't know what's gotten into me, but now it's a thing. It's become a thing. I don't know what to say, or how to say it. I fear it will sound forced and awkward, contrived – I'm sure that it will. But so be it. I have to say something.

In the parking-garage elevator I think I might finally force words from my lips. But then he does.

"Fuck it...," he barely curses under his breath. And then with a whisper of a question, he's pulling me closer, so fucking close. The combination of his new and old scents bombard my senses. We're chest to chest, his eyes and lips are inches from mine. I look back and forth between them until his words sink in.

"I need to kiss you, Jasper. May I?"

He's waiting for my reply, for my permission. All I can do is nod my head, which is the only response he needs. He lays his mouth on mine, kissing me tenderly. The sweetness of it warms my heart and makes my knees go weak. Holding me close, he supports my weight, because he senses I'm not steady on my feet right now. Surely, he can tell. So he holds me even closer, so tightly – and I can feel all of him press up against me. All of him. How much he wants me. How hard I still make him.

His tongue gently parts my lips, slipping inside to reunite with mine, and the magnitude of it all causes my legs to almost give out completely. Warm and slick, dominant yet gentle, he takes my mouth and makes it his own, and fuck if his kisses don't affect me like they did before. I cling to him and finally make a sound…

A deep groan escapes the back of my throat, and it speaks volumes. It's needy and desperate, telling him to deepen our kiss further, begging for it, really - so he does. Impossibly further, our kiss heightens to explosive and… sex. If a kiss can be sex, ours is. We might as well be naked and fucking against the wall of this tiny elevator. Possession. Tongues and teeth. Licking and sucking and barely nibbling of lips. We stand perfectly still, melded together, holding on to one another for dear life, allowing our mouths to communicate what we're unable to say.

The sound of an unfamiliar throat clearing stops our kiss in its tracks. Painfully derailed, we breathlessly pull apart enough to see that, unbeknownst to us, the elevator has reached its destination and the doors are wide open. A middle aged woman stands patiently waiting with a suit case in tow. She seems amused, not annoyed, and when we trade places with her and her friendly face disappears behind the closed elevator doors, Edward and I can't help but burst out laughing.

We walk the short distance to his car, still chuckling. He puts my bag in the trunk and then opens my door for me. It's strange and wonderful at the same time. Once situated behind the wheel, he makes no move to start the car. It's his turn to be silent as he stares at me, waiting for me to say something. Anything.

"Edward…" I manage his name, whispered and desperate. I reach for his hand because mine feels so empty without his, now.

"It's so good to see you. I um… I can't tell you how good it is."

I tell him the truth, in its simplest form. Because it is so good to see him. Too good. If feels right, like I've been living a lie for the last year and a half of my life without him. I have four days with him, with much of it spent at a stupid fucking conference or with him at work. How will it ever be enough?

"Oh, I think I might have some idea…" he quietly responds, his lips barely curling up into his sexy grin.

We exit the parking garage, our hands entwined between us. My head is spinning. My heart is racing. My groin is sweetly aching.

We make small talk on our drive to dinner, discussing the superficial details of our lives while stealing blushing glances at one-another. We don't mention if our next few days will be spent as lovers or old just-friends. It seems to have been decided by fate and the undeniable attraction between us that we pick up where we left off. And with all my worrying, and contemplating what to say, and how to act and what might happen, I decide in this moment - to relax. I'll relax and enjoy and just let happen whatever seems right in the moment. Come what may. I'll deal with the consequences later. I have no other choice.

His thumb messages mine, sending electricity throughout my body from the source of his intimate touch. I can't fight how he makes me feel and what he makes me need. I won't waste any of our time worrying about after. I'm here now and that's all that matters.

Please leave me a review and let me know what you think! I'd love to know if you're new to these boys or if you remember them from four years ago? Their one chapter was my most reviewed chapter out of all of my fics!

Big news! Lessons Learned is being turned into a web series, if it gets the support it needs and deserves! I have some of the following links posted to my facebook page and tumblr.

The official website is: .com (slash) lessonslearnedtv#!about (slash) c2414

-Or you can look up "Lesson Learned TV' on facebook, blogspot, or tumblr

The kickstart for funding is (slash) projects (slash) 162802133 (slash) lessons-learnedtv-teaser-films?token=05e58cb0

There's more links available, too – so go check it out!

If you haven't read Lessons Learned, you should! And if you have, which you probably have, then you're most likely as excited as me at the prospect of it being brought to life. They have Eddie cast already! But like I mentioned, they need our support, and help if possible!