Beautiful Disaster

We remain lying like that for a while, and once I can move again I turn my head to look at his face, finding him smiling at me in turn. As the sweat slowly dries on my back the realization of the capital mess we’ve made passes through my mind, but I don’t care.

"Are you done staring into space yet? Because I’m starting to get a weird feeling in the hip you’re lying on, so if you don’t mind, get off me," Jazz huffs, then laughs when instead of moving I just look at him. "What?"

"Nothing," I snort, then pull back a little as I smirk at him, and start to laugh.

"You’re such an ass**le," he grunts, then punches me in the shoulder, both as payback and to get me to move, but his success is greatly impaired by the fact that he’s laughing himself. Shaking my head, I extend my hand to him and draw him to his feet.

We end up standing way closer to each other than we’re used to. The moment feels strange and a bit awkward, but Jazz diffuses it by reaching up and drawing my head closer still, brushing his lips almost tentatively against mine. I happily moan into his mouth as I let his tongue snake in, then squeeze his ass almost possessively as he kisses me. He continues to laugh, rubbing his half-hard c**k not very subtly against my thigh, and the meaningfulness of the moment dissipates into stupid foolery, leaving us both grinning at each other.

"Come on, let’s grab a shower, I think we both need it," I propose. Jazz nods, then looks at the couch and the decorative spots left drying on the fabric.

"She’s so going to have our asses for this mess!"

"Oh yes, she will," I agree, then smirk. "Unless we keep her too busy to notice."

He strikes a pensive pose, arms crossed and the fingers of one hand scratching his chin while he looks at the ceiling.

"Could work. If we try hard enough, that is. But let’s shower first. I’m starting to feel vaguely gross standing here like this."

We drag our sorry selves upstairs, both too tired to race each other.

Showering is a somewhat industrial undertaking, more cleaning, less groping. After drying off we end up on the bed. I snort when he leaves the usual Bella-sized distance between us, then scoot over until I’m close enough to touch him comfortably if I want to. But for now, we just look into each other’s eyes, getting a little lost in the moment.

"I’m sorry if you felt I was deliberately ignoring you," I finally start the talk we need to have eventually. "I really wasn’t. I just don’t work that way. I don’t play games."

He holds my gaze calmly, then sighs.

"I know. I wasn’t intentionally acting like a twelve year-old girl."

The surprisingly accurate analogy makes me smirk for a moment, but I try to remain serious.

"For all our sakes, don’t do it again. We can talk about anything in or out of the playroom, but I won’t play guessing games. When something comes up, you tell me, and we’ll deal with it. Okay?"

"Sure," he agrees, then grunts. "Don’t know why I was acting so stupid.

Guess I was simply afraid you’d just -"

"Kick you out?" I presume.

"Reject me," he clarifies, his gaze not quite avoiding mine, but also not holding it for more than a few seconds. "I wasn’t sure if I was ready to handle that so soon again. That’s why I simply wanted to wait. It wasn’t like I needed to run to you and tell you the moment I realized it. And it didn’t exactly happen from one day to the next, anyway. One day I just knew. And then, out of the blue Bella gets in my face, telling me that I have to talk to you about it, or else. You know how she gets when she sets her mind on an idea."

"Like a hyperactive chihuahua?" I tease.

"To you maybe! To me, more like a Rottweiler, growling and teeth snapping included."

"Not much difference then," I surmise, making him share a sympathetic grin.

"Yeah. It was actually quite funny. There I was sitting, musing over my morning yogurt, and all of a sudden she’s all, you need to tell him, you know? Or else you’ll drive all of us insane, and then we’ll have to burn the couch again."

"Which we might have to, anyway."

"Whatever, you know what she meant. I tried to act as if I didn’t understand what she was talking about, but she didn’t buy it. And ever since then she’s been bugging me to talk to you. Guess I should have listened."

I nod, smiling.

"Rule number one for living with Bella – listen to what she says. She’s usually right."

He answers with a noncommittal grunt.

"I just don’t understand how she can see stuff like that so clearly, when even I wasn’t all that sure what was going on myself."

"Because she’s good at reading people. And, to be frank, contrary to both of us, she has the emotional distance needed to keep from acting like a moron."

"Guess so," he agrees, then regards me a little pensively. "Am I ever going to get an answer? Or should I just let your actions speak louder than words?"

"Do you need an answer?"

I feel a little weird turning the discussion to this topic, but judging from the way he’s grinning at me, I can tell that he’s mostly yanking my chain.

"Not really. I mean, it’s just semantics, right?"

"You might want to sound a little more convincing," I tease back, then pull him close for a quick kiss when he looks almost offended. He grunts some kind of unintelligible protest into my mouth, before he slings an arm over my side and shimmies towards me until almost the whole length of our bodies is touching. We continue to touch each other, and explore and kiss already familiar territory with unfamiliar intimacy.

I moan softly when his hand eventually finds my c**k and starts stroking me, slowly and languidly. It’s not enough to make me hard fast, but enough to tease my arousal from its usual base level. I try to reciprocate but he pushes my hand away with a laugh, forcing me to look for something else to occupy myself with. Only before I find anything, he suddenly stops, looking a little guilty.

"You should call Bella. I think she was genuinely pissed, not just frustrated with us both for not doing what she thought we should."

I pointedly look down at where his hand is still wrapped around my semi erect cock, but of course he’s right. I presume she took off to visit one of our friends, or my mother if she was really mad, but things could go downhill fast if I leave her locked in that state of mind for too long. And while I think that I haven’t done anything wrong, she will still blame me for having let things slide for too long.

"I will. But you might want to consider finishing what you’ve started first?"

"Not sure I should," he grinned. "That would just lead to more and more, and then it’ll be past midnight and she’ll castrate us both for leaving her worrying for nothing for so long – not sure getting you off now is worth that."

Sighing theatrically I accept defeat, then get up and walk downstairs to retrieve my cell phone from my discarded pants. I have one missed text, from Bella, telling me in very few words – three to be precise – that she is at Rose’s. The stupid guy part of me considers just replying in kind, but after the ‘did you cook’ remark, ‘come home now’ might not be the best idea. Plus, from the lack of dishes on or around the stove I can tell that she hasn’t, anyway. I’m not that stupid.

Walking over to the window front to peer outside, I hit speed dial. Bella picks up on the fourth ring, and I wonder if she’s had her cell out waiting to hear from me.

"Hey," I greet her, a bit cautiously. I hate having to talk to her on the phone when things are a little strained between us; I prefer to be able to read her body language.