Monday, December 13, 2010

The City




Summary ::Slash:: Emmett & Paul spot each other on a NYC train, but the moment passes...or does it? A slash romance with a bunch of usual suspects from Twilight, plus tattoos, steel & a black eye to round things out. Rated M for Major Lemons & Language - AH/AU

A/N – Thank you to the girls of Friday Free For All for giving this kid with a dream a chance, and to Connect2tjb and Chele681 for helping me come up with this pairing - Paul and Emmett kinda took it from there. Thank you to my awesome team of slash pre-readers, you know who you are, and of course, my ficwife and betafish, Kay Cannon, for helping me fix all my mistakes.

DISCLAIMER: Twilight characters and related likeness are owned by Stephenie Meyer, Little Brown Publishing. No profits have been received in the production of this piece.

--

The City


I had to have been about six the first time I actually remember riding the train with my grandpa.

…His senior bowling league in Flushing.

I always looked forward to those weekly rides I got to spend with him. I mean, he was just about the best guy I knew. Not to mention, I got the chance to escape the insanity that was my four older brothers, if even for a few hours. That, and the candy.




He always gave me these butterscotch candies wrapped in foil, as soon as we sat down on the hard plastic seats. A bribe, I guess, to behave myself. I swear though, from the time I was a kid, the sound of the train always mellowed me out.

The speed of wind hitting metal at 60 miles an hour, the searing grind of steel against steel, the bounces and jerks and hum – the noise, the chaos, and beauty of it; I liked to take my headset off for a couple of seconds, just to hear it all. I'd pause my music and just listen.

The train was dirty as all hell, and even more crowded than that this time of day, but it was better than driving and I always tried to get a seat next to a window. It let me overlook the Hudson and watch the tiny boats with puffs of smoke as they docked in Manhattan. I was home – even in this pissy-ass train.

I didn't want to think about the ride next to the older lady eyeballing me, though, because then I'd just have to laugh. For more than one reason, I was so not interested.

I eventually let Bose shut me out from the noise. Let Nirvana take over the soundtrack to my ride home. I definitely needed to reach that six-year-old me, and mellow out after the day I'd had.

A project for one of my agency's biggest clients had me reeling. I never had this much trouble being inspired, but I was starting to doubt my work after my last round of edits. Don't get me wrong, I'm a fucking amazing designer, but, shit, even I had to start questioning my ability.

Said it wasn't 'out there' enough.

Said, I was 'playing it safe.'

Safe.

That was the last fucking thing Emmett McCarty ever was. So, why the problem?

I needed to relax, take my mind off all the shit. Hit reset and start the game over; maybe then I'd find my inspiration.

Shoved my hands in my pocket for my Evo to check my email; one from Jake, two from my office, and one from my sister in law. I scrolled down the screen, too focused to notice that Older Lady had moved from beside me, and Little Pubescent Teen had replaced her. I glanced around – because, really, you can never be too safe or aware of your surroundings in this city – with my eyes darting in the direction of one side of double doors and back to my cell, then back up.

…Just a healing, thin layer of purplish-brown swollen flesh.

I saw that bruise under his right eye and figured it must have been a fucking shiner when it was raw and new. His hair was nearly buzzed clean off, with just enough thick peach fuzz to lie down against his scalp. He shifted his weight to lean along the wall of the train car, glancing around easily.

My eyes flickered away again, because, after several long moments of taking him all in, I realized I was staring. That wasn't the type of thing you did, not if you wanted to keep your teeth. Trying to make sure that no one noticed me gawking at his striking beauty, I looked around in that self-conscious way that people do.

And beautiful he was.

I felt like I could get away with a couple more long gazes at him unnoticed, and I was greedy. I thoroughly scanned every piece of him that I could, and really tried to get a good look at him. His perfect reddish-brown skin that glowed in the harsh, dim florescent lighting. His square jaw, thick bowed lips, cheekbones, and eyes so soulful it seemed like he'd seen enough lifetimes to last him... a lifetime.

He was more than beautiful.

His body was built from God himself; I could see that even under the leather motorcycle jacket, simple white tee and jeans he wore. His broad chest swelled and then narrowed at his waist. I swallowed, trying to find some moisture, because my mouth had gone bone dry.

His thighs...were...awe-inspiring.

Sinew and packed muscle.

From where I sat, I could see that he was tall, and he seemed fixated on whatever it was that had captured his interest out the window. He was brooding, and focused, and deep in thought.

I...I...needed to know who this guy was.

Just as I began to wonder about the key that hung from a long simple leather string around his neck, he peered up and around, almost like he could feel my eyes. The train jerked forward, and our eyes met as he tried to keep his footing. He was more than five feet away, several bodies separating us, but I swear there was no one else around. Those intense, focused eyes were on me, and he seemed intrigued with what he saw, for whatever reason.

Whoever he was, I knew I was fucked. He couldn't be gay, and I made it a rule not to dip in the straight pool. Too unpredictable, and too much drama that I definitely didn't want or need at this point. I mean, he had to like chicks…this guy oozed straight from every pore.

But, shit, then again, so did I.

He cocked an eyebrow at me, above that same bruised eye, and smirked.

He fucking smirked, and I had to try to adjust my dick in my jeans to keep the hard-on that was screaming its appreciation under wraps. I glanced down, trying to put my eyes on something other than the guy that was currently on the verge of making my face turn redder than a 12 year old girl. I moved the strap on my messenger bag across the center of my chest, cracked my knuckles and rolled my head around, just to have something to do, really. By the time I was done with my display, I hoped that Sexy had gone back to looking out of the window, and I could commence my ogling.

He hadn't.

He was still looking.

He was still staring, still drilling a hole through my scull with his eyes, and I had nowhere to run. He was hot, yes, but something so much more was stirring in my stomach. That thing that I hadn't felt in so long, which felt amazing and scary as hell all at the same time.

I didn't even know him.

I didn't even know if he'd be interested. Maybe he was intrigued and nothing more; who knew? Who was he to make me feel these things? I'd never felt his touch on my skin, or heard my name on his lips, and here we were. Here I was, feeling things.

The train bounced again, as we continued our song and dance that I was fully trapped within, and the people around us shifted and shuffled, and prepared for their departures. Sexy looked around, obviously realizing he was nearing his stop. He glanced at me again, and the expression he wore changed from amusement to mild hesitation and discomfort. It was almost indistinguishable, but it was there.

Shit.

What if I never see him again?

I blinked, briefly toying with the idea of following him off the train, which had stopped, and the doors were open. As passengers quickly got on and another off, he looked at me once more with his eyebrows creased at the center, and tugged at that leather jacket. Then, he hopped off of the train and into the darkness of the subway platform.

The following week, I still couldn't get the guy with the eyes out of my mind. And, I'm ashamed to say, I'd ridden the train every chance I got, looking for him with no luck. Two nights from then, I had possibly the worst night's sleep ever recorded in history. I must've dreamt about him because, somewhere in that dreamy state, just before I'd woken up completely, he was there with me. Looking at me and smiling at me with perfect teeth.

I could smell the leather on that jacket and taste the brine on his skin. He smelled even better than he looked, and felt even better than that. He was there with me, and my dick was rock hard. I pulled my sweats down, clumsily searched in the blue night for lotion, and gripped myself, then stroked…

My thoughts went to us, together, to those lips wrapped around me, to him bent over for me, mouth forming a pronounced 'Oh,' and moaning in toe-curling pleasure…

After rubbing a much-needed one out, I ended up just staring at my MacBook for an hour, unable to come up with anything substantial, before sitting next to my open living room window and listening to the city; listening to Williamsburg – to the sirens and the sound of some kind of brawl a few blocks away. That pretty much kept me busy until it was late enough on a Saturday morning to call Jake. He invited me out to hear him play, which was more or less standard for us on the weekend.

Later, I sat through a set or two of the band he had started when we were still in undergrad. I swear, if the kid wasn't like my brother, even I'd have the hots for him. God knows pretty much anyone who knew Jacob did. He was one of those kinds of hot that was in your face, and perfect, and just demanded attention.

After the last notes of his song were done, he exited the stage and made his way toward where I sat on a stool by the bar. The club he played at on the weekend had become one of our favorites to frequent. Always hot guys there, plenty of steel, and art, and body mod, and good music of course. It just so happened that he had been fucking the owner at the time. Neither one of us ever thought it'd turn into anything serious. That was just about three years ago.

"What cat peed in your cornflakes?"

Nice.

I looked up from the brown liquor in the lowball glass I cradled in my hands, poking my tongue at the steel piercing my lip and rolling my eyes. "What?"

A smile broke across his handsome face. "What the fuck is wrong with you, dude? You've been looking like someone stole your bike all night. You're fucking with my vibes, man."

Jake was lead singer and bassist, and always talking about some hippie-type shit. I ran my eyes up the full sleeve covering his arm, and shrugged.

"Work's got me stressed as fuck. My brain is all over the place." I'd intentionally left out the part about Sexy, because I knew Jake would have called me chickenshit for letting him leave without ever talking to him.

"Don't let those fuckers hurt your brain too much, Em. You're fucking talented; don't forget that. Plus, I personally think you just need to get laid, dude. You're wound tighter than skin on a drum. You just need to bust one…or ten. Just sayin'."

I laughed at that sentiment. It had been way too long, and Jake was always the person to make sure I remembered that. Before Jake had gotten with Edward, he was definitely the friendlier of the two of us. He had been slowly making his way through two boroughs of men, and was working on a third.

Yeah, for me, there were guys, but it never seemed to go anywhere. I wasn't really the 'sleep around' type. I met them all the time, especially in the creative field I was in. If it wasn't other designers, it was advertising account managers or PR reps. They all seemed to like me – suckers for the baby blues and a nice set of abs – but I was never really into it. I was just too focused to start anything serious and, despite my alternative outward appearance and demeanor, I was way too tight to get that loose.

Who said all gay men were sluts?

He looked at me, trying to assess the extent of my current situation. I ran my fingers through my curly black hair and, after I smiled weakly at him, he seemed appeased, for then at least.

He nodded. "Okay, well, get another drink. Tell Ed it's on my tab. We can talk after I'm done, okay?"

I mimicked his nod and finished what was in my glass, only to have Jake's boyfriend behind the bar fill it again. The warming effects of the whiskey were doing just what I needed them to do, and I was feeling great. I was finally relaxed and everything was just a little fuzzy around the edges, as Jake and Edward told me some story about something.

I laughed at all the right times and talked to their friend Jared, who was just about the fucking sexiest thing I think I'd ever laid eyes on. His slow smile and friendly eyes made talking to him that much easier, and I knew that I was in for trouble. Jake winked at me, and then I realized that this was supposed to be some kind of fix-up situation.

Gee thanks, Jake.

I mean, Jared was hot. That was undeniable, but I was pretty sure I wasn't ready for a one night stand. In some crazy way, I felt like I was cheating on Sexy.

I know, I know; that's crazy...right?

Jared grinned at me and put his hand on my leg. At first, I wanted to swat it away, but he was just so fucking hot...and funny. Maybe I could do the whole 'meaningless sex' thing. Jared looked like he'd be a willing and able participant in my sexual experiment. My dick twitched again in agreement and I felt like everyone was against me, my own body included. What the fuck was I supposed to do with that?

"Hey!"

Slap on my back, firm grip on my shoulder.

I jumped at the action, because, actually, it startled the fuck out of me.

"I was looking all over for you." I glanced around, and I literally almost pissed myself. Jake's eyes went wide, and Edward smiled and grinned at our new visitor.

It was fucking Sexy. It was Sexy, Soul Eyes, Perfect Body, in the motherfucking flesh.

What was he doing here? In all the goddamn years we'd been coming here, I'd never seen him here. Not ever.

And now he's here, looking like hot sex covered in honey, and I'm fucking sputtering. I didn't know if it was the drinks making their way through my system or the surprise of seeing the very man I couldn't get my mind off of for the last week, but I couldn't find the brain function to hear or speak.

Another slap on the back.

Jared was not amused, and I was briefly wondering if there would be some kind of battle to the death situation. Then, I'm ashamed to say, I got harder thinking about the two of them naked and wrestling for my affection.

Sexy thrusted his palm toward Jared. "Paul. Paul Atera."

Edward grinned even larger, turning to Jake, who was just sitting there like a fucking cat who swallowed a canary, even more intrigued by the display than Edward was. As his green eyes shined with mischief, I guessed I wouldn't be asking those jerkoffs for any help in this situation.

"Paul huh? Emmett hasn't mentioned you, before," Jake said, as Jared gripped Paul's hand, giving him the stare of death. Paul greeted Jake and Edward with the same amount of humor and I hated him and wanted to run away and I didn't even know him.

I felt like fucking Helen Keller, because not a word had come out of my mouth since Paul had joined us.

"Emmett..." He smirked again saying each syllable in my name for the first time, rolling them around in his mouth, and sliding his large hand into his pocket. I was too mesmerized by the way his bicep flexed with the small gesture, way too mesmerized. "...now, I'm just hurt."

I rolled my eyes, but at least I knew Sexy's name now. "Paul...This is Jared, Edward, Jake. Jake's in the band. Edward owns the place."

"Right, right. Jake, great band man. You guys have an awesome sound."

"Thanks, dude." Jacob smiled at me and I knew I was never gonna hear the end of it. Paul jerked his head in the opposite direction, wanting me to follow him.

"Can I steal this one away from you for a second?"

"Oh...please, do," Edward permitted, and I was on my feet in the next moment, following him pretty much anywhere he wanted me to. He cornered me against a far wall, just the two of us. I could finally see that we're about the same six-foot two, height. If it was possible, he looked even better than he did the last time I saw him, in a snug black v-neck t-shirt and jeans.

I noticed the intricate ink that he had on his right upper arm, wrist and, from what I could see, peeking from under that shirt and running across his collar bone. All well done and made me want to see what else that cotton and denim were covering, and where else on his body could I find it. He stared at my mouth as I bit at my spiderbite, and I waited nervously for him to fucking talk.

"You're here."

"That I am," he replied, looking at me fiercely, like he was trying to see through me. Like, if it were possible, we'd be naked and doing far less talking than we already were.

"You left. You left the train." I swear, in my everyday life, I was far more eloquent than that, and possessed more than a two-syllable word vocabulary.

"I had to go..."

"Why? Why? You eye fuck me, then you leave without a backward glance? I...I thought I'd pretty much never see you again," I admitted.

He bowed his head and nodded, tracing his fingers along the side of my neck, and I was fucking mush. "Had to be at the gym. I gotta be sure I make weight."

"Make weight?"

He pointed to the bruise under his eye. "I'm a fighter."

Ah.

His beautiful face had been marred by his own choosing. He'd gotten hit in the face by some other guy wanting to beat the hell out of him.

"You box," I said simply, and he nodded. Then, he stepped closer to me, anchoring his palm against the wall and forcing me further against the cool metal.

"Mmm...You smell good." He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes for a moment. I just wanted him to put his hands on me. I needed him to touch me.

I swallowed and shifted my weight, nervously. It was crazy. I never felt like this with guys, but he was so sure of himself, and so confident, and I was so fucking out of practice. He looked amazing and smelled like dreams, and desires, and rainbows and all that shit.

He licked his bottom lip. "Sorry."

"About?" I glanced over his shoulder and, just as I'd expected, Jake, Edward, and a scowling Jared were staring at the show that Paul and I were performing for them.

"Sorry for leaving. Sorry for embarrassing you in front of your friends. Sorry I didn't do what I wanted to do when I first laid eyes on you." I couldn't find my voice as he stepped close enough that I could feel his chest touch mine, and his eyes flicker to my lips.

"What's that?" I croaked. Before I could catch my next breath, his lips and tongue were against mine, and I felt like I really, really needed to cum as the thick bulge in his jeans pressed against my hip.

Oh my god.

He tasted amazing, and his mouth was soft, and slick and warm, and I wanted to be there forever, and never stop thinking about his thick lips and how insane that mouth would feel wrapped around my dick.

I'm a terrible person.

I broke my mouth away from his. "McCarty."

Paul was breathless, just a half-inch away from my lips. He cocked an inquiring eyebrow, then smiled.

"My last name is McCarty. Emmett McCarty," I breathed. "Now I don't feel like such a slut thinking about you naked."

He laughed and it became one of my favorite sounds, just like his neck had become one of my favorite smells.

"Hi, Emmett McCarty," he whispered, rolling his hips until we were aligned just right and he could feel me just as hard as I could feel him. "Emmett McCarty, are you single?"

I nodded and wondered if he was really as big as he felt, and if he was, he was going to make this not being a slut thing really, really hard.

"Paul Atera, are you single?" He nodded and lightly traced his fingers over my left nipple.

Oh god, give me strength. I felt like I needed to say the Rosary or something for the x-rated thoughts blinking in my mind.

"Perfect. You want to get out of here?"

He wanted to leave with me.

He wanted to ride the train back to his house and hopefully ride me all night.

He wanted to fuck me just as much as I wanted to fuck him.

I chuckled. "I don't even know you. You know people are crazy in this city."

He smiled back at me and I heard Jake's band start playing again. "Well, I box, I live in Harlem, I'm single, I've been tested and I'm clean and clear." He rubbed his lips against mine, and darted his tongue out for just a taste, then continued. "I'm 28, originally from Washington – state, not DC – and I live alone. Is that enough, or do you need to see two forms of identification?"

I laughed and ran my palms up either side of his waist. He was all thick muscle, and I was really starting to consider going home with this guy, but thought better of it. "No...I can't..."

"You can't?" He looked amused, and I hated his sexy ass all over again. "Why is that? Do I look crazy to you?"

"No, but those are the ones you have to look out for the most," I mused, sliding my index finger across his bottom lip. He chuckled, nipping at my finger.

"I see. Well, what can I do to make you chill out some? Huh?"

"I don't know. You got any references?"

He laughed and I my body eased. I loved the way he made me feel; like he was home and, weird enough, like I'd known him for years. Everything about him was a complete aphrodisiac, and all I wanted to do was run my tongue across that bruised skin under his eye.

Paul makes me a little bit insane, apparently.

"Okay, Emmett McCarty. Can I at least take you to dinner?"

Now, that's a thought. Dinner would be nice.

"...I'd hate for this to be the last time I ever see you," he finished.

Oh, god no. Never, ever that.

I wanted to see him every moment for as long as I could think of, and maybe even longer than that.

"Alright, that sounds okay."

"Tomorrow."

"Wha..."

"Tomorrow. I'll come pick you up," he finally said, pressing his lips to mine before I could protest any further. "Now, I have some friends that I have been extremely rude to because you've completely monopolized my time."

"But you came over to me."

He shushed me and kissed me, again. "Here, let me introduce you. That's Sam. And that's Jasper..."

===



Paul Atera was not at all what I'd expected.

That fact was a very, very good thing.

Admittedly, whether it was the black eye adding to his 'rough around the edges' appearance or not, I wasn't sure what to make of him. Not initially, at least.

But, Paul pleasantly surprised me.

I felt his knee rub playfully against mine, as he answered me with a grin from across the table.

"But, what is the military, if not an arm of the federal government?" he offered, cutting into the medium rare steak he'd ordered. He explained to me that he was on a strict proteins and veg diet, so carbs were completely out of the question, at least until after his fight. He agreed after I suggested a little Italian spot I knew could make a porterhouse that you'd kill your grandmother over.

I looked at him thoughtfully, a million questions running though my head; this man was full of surprises. I also learned there, over dinner, that Paul was beautiful from all directions, and in every lighting. His face was so smooth…

"Yes, but don't you think Don't Ask Don't Tell should be handled by the military courts, not civilian?"

He chewed and swallowed, taking a long sip of water, and sitting back in the booth opposite me. "Well, in instances like that, I think that something that affects all branches of the military should be managed by a federal entity – a higher court."

I nodded and sipped more of my lager. No, Paul wasn't at all what I'd expected him to be. "Fair enough," I conceded. "Where does a guy like you come from, anyway? I mean, I'll be honest, you don't seem like the type to talk about politics the way you do."

"Ah, I see. You thought I was some stick-up kid who barely finished high school."

"No! I didn't mean it like that," I sputtered, as he stared at me harshly for a long moment, before breaking into a smile.

"I'm kidding, Em... You gotta relax a little." He laughed. I was such a fucking spaz. Though, honestly, what he'd said wasn't so far from the truth.

"Well, I was pre-law at NYU...decided to fight after I had a degree and realized I hated it too much to go to law school." He took another massive bite of meat, followed by a forkful of salad.

"Hate... That's a strong word."

"Well, I love the law. I hated what I realized it meant to be an attorney after I finished school. I'm actually considering getting back into the law, you know? Doing policy, maybe. I don't know."

"A good friend of mine is down in DC, working in international policy. Jake and I both went to the Art Institute. I did graphic design, he did advertising." Paul nodded, listening intently with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. I'd learned that this was a face that he made often when he was amused, and when he was interested.

Turned out he was Native, not Puerto Rican or Dominican like I'd originally thought, and like so many of the fighters around the city were. He looked even better that night, dressed in a black button-down with the sleeves rolled. Even though it was a bit dim after dinner, we compared artwork. I pushed my thin sweater's sleeves enough to explain the Celtic tattoos I had along my arm, and how my brothers had similar Irish-Scotch art.

"I'm from here. Been here my whole life. Visited a lot of places, but I always come back. I mean, my family's here."

We traded coming out stories, as well, both going pretty roughly; him from his hyper-masculine choice of profession and traditional father, and me from being the youngest in my huge, mostly male Catholic family.

"So, Emmett McCarty, when can I see you again?"

Perfect, perfect. He's locking in the next date before the current one is over. Good work.

"Whenever you want to," I replied, coolly. At least I was remembering some of my game, pre-subway.

"I want you to come to my fight next week, of course. But, can I see you tomorrow?"

Yes! Yes!

"I have to work, but maybe tomorrow night?"

"Sounds good," he said, looking at me fiercely and finishing his steak.

"Tell me more about this fighting thing, though. How do you, like, stand there and get hit in the fucking face, dude?" I laughed.

"Well," he started with a chuckle, "if I'm doing my job right, I won't be getting hit square in the face, now, will I?"

====

I have to admit, beyond being hotter than should be legal and smart, Paul was charming. And, against my better judgment, after our date was ending and plates had been cleared from our table, we'd hopped into his Jeep, and I ended up inviting him upstairs to my apartment. We talked more, sitting at my dining room table, listening to vintage Carlos Santana. I felt his eyes on my back while I reached for glasses, until I felt his presence behind me as I opened the Jack.

I smiled, and he rested his palms on either side of the counter, trapping me. "Yes? Can I help you?"

That dazzling smile broke, and I was done. He wet his lips, glancing to mine hungrily, leaning closer until they were pressed softly against mine.

It was like magic.

He kissed me like he knew me, like he knew my body, and I was his. His lips were so soft and so warm. Actually, his whole body was warm, hot really, and I briefly worried that he may be getting a cold, or the flu or something. That thought was just a fleeting one, though, because he sucked me into what his lips were doing to mine. His tongue slid across mine, tentatively, asking me if it was okay, and I stepped closer to him, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him to me.

His kiss was insane. It was addictive. Everything about him was.

Instantly, I felt his hardness pressed against mine, felt him softly grinding against me, felt him nipping at my bottom lip, and I knew I needed to stop this before we got too carried away.

Shit, I felt like a girl.

I pulled away, just as I felt his hands reach my ass and pull me closer. He ducked his head forward, reaching for my mouth with his, and I placed a palm on his chest to stop him with a smile.

"Later..." I said. I mean, I had to make him want it – want me – and he'd always come back if I made him wait. He'd be jumping out of his skin until the next time he'd see me, and that, folks, was a very good thing.

He grinned at me in challenge, his eyebrows twitching as he licked his lips again, and he may as well have been licking along my dick. I seriously felt him there.

Oh boy.

====



I had never seen a live boxing match before. I mean, beyond the occasional pickup game of basketball with Jake, I wasn't what you'd call athletic. We were all much more likely to check out a band or an exhibit than any sort of sporting thing. So, when Paul told me to just let him know how many people I was bringing to his fight, that we'd get front row tickets, I was more than intrigued.

"So, let me get this straight. You want me to go with you to an event with half-naked men, with perfect bodies, beating each other to a sweaty pulp?"

Jake was such an ass.

"Well, yeah."

"And, you really have to ask me this...why?"

I guess he was on board.

Our friends Embry and Mike came with, and we took our seats amid other spectators, obviously, but also a litany of coaches, and what appeared to be other boxers as well.

Okay, so, what Paul failed to mention was that this event would be as huge as it was. I was pretty sure it was televised, and the arena where it was held was almost stadium-sized. I don't know what I was expecting, but Paul, The Wolf, Atera was a fucking local celebrity. Of course our asses would have never heard of him – Jake watches even fewer boxing matches than I do – but, from what I could see, with his face plastered all over Brooklyn, shirtless, and with his satin shorts and gloves, he was kind of a big deal.

Paul was cruiserweight, but I didn't have to wait long to see him because the welter and middleweight fights before his were knock outs and done in less than 30 minutes. He entered with a deep-bassed hip hop song, flanked on his sides and back by whom I assumed were his trainers and coach. His shirtless body was shiny and slick, and my heart literally stopped for just a second when I saw him in those blue shorts. He looked like sin covered in sex.

He was lean in all of the places he should be, and had thick muscle along his arms, legs and thighs. He was focused, as his coach animatedly yelled something in his ear, beat on his chest, and rubbed his shoulders. And honestly, with the way those eyes darkened as he stared at the other guy in gold shorts across the ring, I felt seriously bad for the guy. Paul looked like he was gonna murder him, and chew his bones to broken, powdery nubs.

An hour or two later, his fight was done and we were buzzing with energy. I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets as we waited patiently in the cool night air for Paul to finish with the doctors and trainers on-site for his post-fight checkup. My body was still on fire after watching him beat the shit out of that guy. He was completely in control the entire time. His body danced and started a rhythm; he was controlled power in a beautiful package. I mean, Paul was a nice size – not too muscular, just big enough – but the way he threw those punches so mercilessly was a goddamn turn-on.

I saw him exit the large doors with a couple of other men, one of them a trainer I'd seen him with earlier who eventually fell away. He was bundled up and freshly showered, in jeans, a knit cap and boots.

"Hey! Congrats, man. That shit was awesome!" I really couldn't contain myself; especially after I saw that big ass shiny belt he'd won thrown over his shoulder.

"Thanks," he said softly, turning to greet each of the men standing there, and thanking them for coming out to support. After a few more moments of pleasantries, he continued, "You wanna get out of here? I drove."

His intense eyes were fixed hard on me, and, well, I guess I already knew the answer to that question. Although he'd just gone a few rounds, he looked no worse for wear, if not a little antsy.

"Yeah... Yeah, guys, I'll catch you later. Jake...lunch Sunday?"

"You got it. Hey, Paul, great fight man. Woo! You beat that guy's ass!" A round of laughter and approving comments followed, with Paul's appreciation and thanks. I will say this – I was proud of him.

We arrived at his truck, and I could literally feel the energy rolling off him. When we reached my side of the SUV, and before I could lift the handle to let myself in, Paul had me pinned.

"Are you going home tonight?" It wasn't really a question and, by the tone of his voice and the fierce look he had directed squarely at me, I could guess the answer he expected me to have.

"Paul...I have..."

"I want you to come home with me," he whispered, glancing around him, and harshly chewing the gum in his mouth. "Come home with me, Emmett." He was serious, and he wasn't taking no for an answer. I swear I felt the roughness in his voice go straight to my dick again.

God, he and my dick had been having conversations without me a lot, lately.

He pressed closer to me, looked around once more, and kissed my lips with an intensity that left me panting and grabbing at his hair, and grinding myself into him wantonly. He pulled away, eyes serious and dark as midnight, opening the door and making the decision for me.

"Get in."

I obeyed.

He forced the key into the ignition and we were in route in the next minute. I didn't know what to say; I didn't dare break the sizzling electricity in the cabin of his car by talking. Instead, I was quiet, watching the city lights as we sped toward Harlem. Paul was focused and on fire with energy. I could see it just as clear as I could see my own hand on his thigh in front of me. It wasn't a bad thing, just an intimidating thing. There was a little piece of me that was excited, as well. He was as sexy as I'd ever seen him, or even more so with the humming testosterone just at the surface of his flawless skin.

He pulled into a free space right in front of a sleepy row of mid-scale brownstones, cut the engine and hopped out of the car, almost simultaneously. He grabbed his bags and met me on my side with a look that bordered somewhere between mischievous and hungry. My heart was beating like a goddamn hummingbird and I felt like a fucking virgin on prom night. I had to laugh at myself, trying my best to calm the hell down.

Paul quickly lead me to the second floor of the building, with his hand on my lower back, flicking on a small lamp in his simply furnished but very modern and very cool-looking apartment. I didn't have time to look around much at all, though, because Paul's hands and lips and body were on me, attacking me with blind excitement and one-mindedness.

His lips found mine, his hands gripping my waist and jaw tenderly, but also with a force that left me breathless. Our mouths moved like it was something we should have always done, biting and sucking familiarly. I didn't know what else to do, and there wasn't much to say, so I followed him in the fury, gladly. He sucked and kissed down my neck, grinding his denim-covered dick into me.

He ripped my jacket off and threw it on the couch, never allowing our lips to part. My sweater and his hat were gone faster than I could register, as Paul stepped back for a few short moments to look at me – I mean, really look at me with those eyes, and there was passion and lust, unbridled.

"Damn..." he whispered, in a tone that I completely assumed was positive. As he ran his fingertips along the art I had etched across my chest, I felt like I would burn up, literally combust when he slid his open mouth and tongue along my right nipple, and then my left. He stayed there, sucking and licking each one, and humming once I'd started whimpering and moaning his name.

I wished to god that I wouldn't cum; I was just too excited. I needed to calm down, but he was making me way too hard. I was positive that if he touched any other point on my body that's what would happen. I could feel it stirring and burning, flaring through my veins. My dick was painfully stiff; my brain was completely warring with what my body wanted, and I knew that I was all too close.

"Paul..." He was unbuckling my belt...unbuttoning my jeans...sliding my boxer-briefs and jeans down, and dropping his beautiful body to its knees. "Shit..."

"Goddamn..." he whispered, inches from me.

I willed him to blow on me, or dart his tongue out to the tip just once, because I knew I would cum all over that beautiful face. Those thick lips – that gorgeous mouth wrapped around the head of my dick as he sank down on me, taking me and swallowing me until I felt the back of his throat. I tried to think about anything.

Baseball.

Fat people.

Kicking puppies.

Anything but the way that he looked on his knees in front of me: his sienna skin, his eyelashes flared out against his cheek with his eyes closed, his lips curled upward sliding toward and away from me. Not the way that he was bobbing his head back and forth. Not the slippery sound of my dick entering and exiting his mouth.

"Oh fuck..." I gripped the back of his head.

Goddammit... going too fast... going crazy.

I felt the tightening in my balls and I knew that this was a fucking runaway train, and I didn't even give a shit if it would stop, or slow down for that matter.

Idiot move number one when you're getting the best head of your life from the hottest guy in the universe: watching the saliva slide down his gorgeous fucking mouth as he has his lips wrapped around you. No, that isn't the best idea ever for trying to show him that you have some resemblance of dick control. No, not at all.

I moaned. Embarrassingly loud, I moaned.

"P– Paul...god...gonna–" I hissed as I felt his hand grip me, firmly, and his mouth ease away. His tight palm slid down to the base of my dick, and the other followed that one, making it feel like an infinity handjob. When he reversed...

Base of my dick to tip. Base of my dick to tip.

Then he released me and swallowed me entirely with his mouth, once again. I was fucking done.

My body unfolded into a series of contractions, releases, and spasms that I thought I would die from. The ground could have just as easily swallowed me up, because I'd never cum like that in my 27 years of existence on this planet. My toes curled inside my steel-toed boots and I came more, and it was so fucking satisfying. A string of profanities and his name left my lips, and I tried my best to find purchase in something – anything: the doorknob, Paul's short hair, his jacket; whatever would prevent me from losing all functionality of my limbs and falling to the floor.

He was silent, a rock against my writhing, and grinding, and moaning. He kneeled there with his hands on my dick, swallowing every drop of cum, and easing down on me one last time before sliding his mouth away. I was still twitching with my mind-altering orgasm when he stood and tenderly gripped me in his palm, stroking ever so lightly and licking the soft flesh of my earlobe.

I could only feel his leather jacket against my nipples and smell the mint from the gum he'd popped back into his mouth. He helped pull me back together, dragging my jeans back over my hips. I didn't provide much assistance, because, really, I could barely keep myself upright at that moment. Every part of me was on fire, every nerve ending raw and deliciously sensitive.

"You taste amazing. I want to fuck you tonight. Is that okay?" he asked, kissing and licking my neck. "Please..."

My dick twitched at his question, and I wordlessly nodded while he pulled me in the direction of his bedroom, which, much like the living room, was decorated with large, dark, masculine furniture. Late night darkness spilled into the space but, save for the sounds of our voices, it was peaceful...quiet.

"I just... I– I always get like this after a fight," he muttered, softly pushing me onto the bed and helping me out of my boots, jeans, and...underwear. "I– You just look so good. I'm sorry. You can run for it if you want to, and we don't have to talk about this again." He laughed, running his palm across his hair, and then pulling off his jacket.

"No!" I answered, a little more harshly than I'd meant to. There was no way this wasn't going to happen. No way on earth. He chuckled, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

"Sorry...sorry." He unzipped the hooded sweatshirt and yanked off the tank he wore, letting them tumble to the floor.

Oh Jesus.

Seeing him up close was just...

Oh god.

I'd seen him shirtless, boxing of course, but his skin was smooth and tight and soft in a way that I could only really appreciate up close, and under fingertips. Powerful muscle beneath smooth, copper satin. He had tattoos along his hip and forearm, and his shoulder.

And I could smell him. Freshness mixed with him.

I read the tattoo just under his collar bone, running nearly from shoulder to shoulder. I stood and stepped closer to him, getting my second wind, wanting to touch every part of him, and wanting him to touch me more. I ran my hands up his chest, caressing him before placing kisses across the delicate words, reaching to unbuckle his jeans, and slipping them off. I felt him swallow, thickly.

"It means... It means, 'Fear nothing but failure'. It's Kw`oliyot." I nodded in understanding and wrapped my hand around his thick, solid erection. His eyes fluttered closed, his teeth biting his bottom lip.

My lip. I wanted that lip and every part of him to be mine. I didn't know what any of this meant, but I knew that I wanted him for me only.

His skin was literally burning up as I pushed him onto the bed and took him into my mouth. He was big. I mean, Paul was huge, just like I thought, so I had to take my time with him, making sure I sucked and licked in all the right places. I ran my tongue along the underside, suctioning my mouth, and softly running my fingers over his balls, which caused his hips to jerk upward.

"Em...babe...wait..." He pulled at the back of my head, grabbed my hair, and tugged lightly. My slick swollen lips frowned in question.

"What baby? Let me make you feel good."

"Em...wait," he repeated, laughing. "You do that way too well. Shit."

I chucked, too, licking my lips and letting him pin me to the bed.

"Let me do this, okay?" he whispered, dragging his tongue across my nipple, then grasping my hips firmly.

"Okay."

Bent on hands and knees, he reached for a handful of condoms and a bottle of lube, allowing me another view of his muscular ass that I just had to palm for a few seconds. He turned back to me, spreading and bending my legs, placing my feet flat on the mattress. He poured a generous amount of lube on his hand and fingers, just after taking me into his mouth for a few more seconds.

That beautiful mouth.

My dick was hard again.

"I'll go slow..." he whispered, slipping one finger into me, carefully, easing his hand in and out...in and out. "Move your hips with me a little, baby..." he murmured, sliding his other palm up and down my dick, continuing his stroke with the other.

I moved my hips with the gyrations of his fingers, just as he had told me, and a white shock of pleasure ripped through my groin and up my spine. His eyebrows creased in concentration, lips parted, and body flexing with his practiced movements. I groaned with pleasure as he slid another finger inside, so easily, while pumping his fist up and down.

"Oh...god...Paul...shit..."

"Good, babe...good. Em, you're so sexy baby...so sexy. Does that feel good?"

I nodded, face grimacing as I tried to reach for his dick, but not able to conjure up enough energy or dexterity to do so with him making my body feel the way he was. I rolled my hips with him, as he massaged that spot that made my whole body tense and shiver.

"Please...Paul...shit...please, just..." I pleaded, reaching for him.

I just needed him inside me. I needed him so badly. My back arched in pleasure as I wrapped my hand around his, showing him what I needed, though he didn't actually need much instruction, as he slid along my dick. Somehow, he'd gotten a condom and the lube, and had squeezed enough to coat his rock hard dick, and replace his fingers with his hardness all in the same moment.

Oh god, oh god...

He moved his hips into me gingerly, trying to go slowly for my benefit, but I grabbed his waist and pulled him, urging him as deep as he could go.

"Oh, Emmett, babe...shit...so good..." It was a clipped, strangled whisper, as he pressed himself deeper, leaning forward until our chests touched and slid with sweat.

Paul moved against me, his back curving and his body thrusting with power, his face beautiful and strained. My begging grew louder and I locked my ankles at the dip of his lower back as he found the place deep inside me and laved my nipples with a flat tongue.

I could see the stripes of streetlight crossing his body in the darkness as he fucked me, and I realized just how beautiful he was. It was a simple thing, but it made me realize that this was much more than a one-time occurrence; this type of thing just didn't feel that good, or this right. I could fall in love with him; there was no question about that.

I loved how he said my name as he grinded himself into me. I couldn't take his murmurs, his deep voice, and his sweet breath on my neck. He rolled his hips, grabbing my ass in each hand, and pulling me against him rhythmically, moaning and cooing, urging me to keep going just the way I was. He angled his body against mine just-so and, before long, it was overwhelming; I felt my next orgasm building.

"Paul...babe..." I whimpered.

"Uh, huh, babe... Come on...cum for me. You feel so good. Cum for me again..." he panted, pressing firmly against my abdomen, never stopping his sure, steady stokes.

Wha...What is he doing? Oh god...

He pressed harder, the thick muscle of his biceps twitching and straining against his exertion as he went deeper, and pushed into me harder, enough to have me writhing, and bowing, and rolling my body. With my back arched until the top of my head nearly rested on the bed, I said his name.

I pleaded for him.

We, us together, changed into something altogether different. From this fiery, uncontrolled thing, to smoldering, molten passion.

He stroked into me no more than five times after that, with his hand pressed against my abdomen – when it shook my body. Every ounce of energy I had focused and concentrated, contracted around me, and I came. I gripped my dick, willing the spasms to end and continue at the same time, because it was too much to bear. I came all over my hand, and his chest, but he kept going, chanting my name, telling me how good I felt.

"Emmett...oh god..." He moaned loudly, his fingers threaded in my hair, gripping it at the root, making me fucking crazy. Making me feel like I wanted to come again, or…more. I wasn't even sure at that point, because my body was still possessed with contractions and release.

His body tensed above mine, stroking into me one last time before... "Em..."

He squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head, obscuring his face for just a few seconds, as he panted against my ear and continued small grinds and thrusts into me. Then, he laid his perfectly chiseled body against me. Our hearts were thrumming erratically. I could feel his beating against my breastbone.

After a few moments, he left me and I heard some rattling around, then the patter of water hitting tile. He returned and set a glass of water on the nightstand closest to us for me. He leaned over my body with fists on the mattress and kissed me gently.

"I'm getting in the shower. You want to join me?"

We stood in his amazing bathroom, and even more amazing shower, with his head resting back against my shoulder, letting the steaming water beat against our bodies. I said sweet things to him as I lathered soap on his smooth body. Said his name as I washed his short hair. Ran my lips along his neck as I reached for his already hard dick. I lathered it too, but stayed there, loving it, stroking it, until Paul was moaning and thrusting his hips into my palm.

I rinsed his body, then prepped him, placing his foot higher on one of the raised grooves in the tub, and slid wet fingers into him tentatively, until he was ready, panting and groaning. I bent him slightly, just enough to accommodate me, and I was deeply seated inside him in the next breath. Paul arched his back, ground himself against me with lips parted and eyes squeezed shut, he said my name again, as I stroked him with my fist, and eased in and out of him.

God he felt good.

"Don't stop…"

I never wanted to stop. He felt too good, so tight and ready for me; I could live here forever with him, like this.

It was early morning once we'd finally rested, my head on his chest, him coiling and uncoiling my hair around his fingers. We were silent for a long while, the streetlight still spilling into the room's darkness. I was so satiated and relaxed, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and watching his chest rise and fall.

"So."

"So," I parroted. He was the first to say anything. That had to mean something...right?

"Listen, Em... This didn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to."

I won't lie; my heart stopped beating for a second, just on the precipice of shattering into a million little pieces.

"Is... Is that what you want?" I shifted in his arms.

"No. I mean, not if that's not what you want. I mean...what I meant to say is that, well… I really suck at this..."

"No, no, I understand." I moved to get up. Maybe I could get a cab.

He held me in place. "No, you don't get it. What I mean is – is that I really like you. And, well, I was hoping that this wouldn't be the last time. Uh, I mean, not this – well, this too, but I mean, us… I want to see you again."

I smiled and nodded. Paul was stuttering. It was cute; he really did like me, a fact that made my heart skip, then start its normal rhythm again.

"I'd like that."

"You would?" That dazzling smile shined bright again, and I was home. I nodded in confirmation.

"Of course. I mean, I've already kinda broken you in. Don't want to have to find another hot, non-crazy guy in this city."

His whole body shook with laughter, and he ran his hand over his hair, then pulled me closer to him. I rested my head against his chest, once again, and we slid under his comforter. His fingers drew circles on my back and, before I'd ever realized, his rubbing slowed to a stop, and he was asleep. And I was just behind him.



===========================



This was my first pass at slash, so, I hope I didnt fuck it up too much.

Let me know what you think.

Oh, and in case you didn't know, Kw`oliyot is the way our Quileute friends say, well... Quileute.

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About AB+L

music enthusiast, burgeoning fic writer, lover of indian food, art and random oddities. jacob stan, fanfic-natic, shapeshifter enthusiast, obsessed with all things twi.


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