Summary: TBIEH Futuretake: It all starts when Edward says seven words I never thought I would hear him utter: "I'm not having sex with you, Bella."
Hi there! So this was an outtake I wrote for Fandom Fights Tsunami—it's just a silly, small look into TBIEH's Edward and Bella's near future and coincidentally, it takes place around the 4th of July. I guess it would fit in somewhere after the fourth "part" of the epilogue.
thank you americnxidiot for taking a look at yet ano-thor! (even if I didn't give you time to beta it.)
It all starts when Edward says seven words I never thought I would hear him utter.
"I'm not having sex with you, Bella."
He plops down on my couch, crossing his arms and wearing a look of determination I've only seen a few times before. One time it was when he was at match point with Emmett in Wii tennis. And then another time, when he was searching for something. That may have begun with 'g' and ended with 'spot'.
Ironic that this time, he's wearing that look for pretty much the opposite reason.
"You're not going to have sex with me," I reply.
He nods. "Nope."
"You're not going to have sex with me," I repeat, my incredulity building.
He raises his eyebrows, which makes them more arched than normal, and nods, as if to say, 'yeah, that's what I said.'
"You? You. You, Edward Cullen, the man who keeps only two pictures in his phone, one of each of my boobs—you are not going to have sex with me."
"Bella, what part of 'I'm not going to have sex with you' don't you understand?"
"The part where you are not going to have sex with me!" He laugh. " Do you mean ever again?"
He snorts and looks at me like I'm crazy. I get this look a lot. "No. I'm not going to sleep with you until you agree that we'll tell my parents and Charlie that we're dating when we see them this weekend."
"So love is blackmail?" I ask.
"Love is knowing the other person's weaknesses and manipulating it to get your own way," he informs me.
"You're such a romantic," I mutter. I flop down on the couch next to him. "And since when is sex my weakness? You're definitely the hornier of the two of us."
He laughs. "Ah, but see, that has its advantages."
"It's simple. I want sex all the time. Anytime, anywhere, anyway, I want it. Outside, in the shower, cooking, at work, at home, in public—"
"Get on with it," I say, rolling my eyes and wondering if he understands just how much he was contradicting himself. He grins broadly.
"Okay, so if I want sex 100% of the time, you want it, let's say… 95%."
"What? No way," I say. "That is way too high."
He raises just one eyebrow in a way that reminds me that he knows exactly how often and how much I want sex by making me want it right now. "Fine. Let's say 90%." Begrudgingly, I agree, even though we both know it's closer to 95%. Maybe 98%.
He continues, "So that 10% of the time, where I want sex but you don't? It's all been practice for this moment. I am more used to not getting sex whenever I want it, whereas you? You are a brat when it comes to sex. I spoil you."
"You heard me. You are like… Michelle Tanner."
I look at him confusedly and slightly horrified. "Is that a Full House reference?"
"Yup. Anytime you want sex, I'm all, 'You got it, dude,'" he says and I crack up.
"Two minutes, and you're already going crazy," I tease, poking him. He laughs and slips his arm around me, pulling me into his side as he reaches for the remote and turns on the TV. "You'll never last."
"Oh but Bella," he says, his voice low. He runs his lips along my ear as he speaks, making me shiver a little. "I think we both know just how long I last."
I turn my head so we are nose to nose. "Edward, you just tried to convince me you'd be good at not having sex… by telling me how good you are at having sex."
I smirk. "You're going down."
He lets out a laugh somewhere between a chuckle and a snicker and I can feel his breath, all minty and cool, wash over me. "Oh, I will. Happily. Just as soon as you agree to tell our families."
I roll my eyes and sit back. "Oh, innuendo! It's so clever! It makes you so sexy! Oh, Edward! I must have you this instant!" I crack up at my own theatrics.
He snorts. "You won't be laughing when you say that in a few days."
"In a few days, we'll be at your parents' house for Fourth of July. And Charlie will be there. And I guarantee I will not be having sex with my father twenty feet in the vicinity."
"We'll see." He shrugs again. "Who knows? Maybe I'll break you by then."
Not if I break him first.
I've always suspected that deep down inside, I am secretly ridiculously sexy. Like Marilyn Monroe, men would die or kill for me sexy; I've just always thought I was too above it all to tap into that.
Nope. Turns out I never tapped into that side of me because it doesn't exist. I am not a seductress. In the days following, I thank God that Edward and I worked out, because I'm not quite sure who else would bother with me. I sure wouldn't.
There's the night I'm cooking pasta sauce. Edward's sitting on the kitchen counter, and I decide to pull that sexy move I always see in movies where I taste a bit of the sauce and then hold out the spoon for him to get a lick. About three seconds into sucking on the spoon while looking up at Edward, I gasp and yank it out of my mouth, only to find that I've singed the entire tip of my tongue.
To Edward's credit, he doesn't laugh in my face. He just waits until I'm running my tongue under the faucet and laughs from behind me as he watches.
Here's the thing, though. Edward is sexy. He's sexy when he falls asleep on the couch, his head tilted back and his lips parted slightly. He's sexy when he roams around his or my apartment in his standard home attire, which is a pair of threadbare sweatpants that defy gravity with how low they sit on his waist. He's got those two dimples right above his ass, and I swear, those dimples taunt me. I mean, it's ridiculously how attractive those two holes where flesh should be are.
He's even sexy when he's just being playful and cute—like the night he asks me to teach him how I braid my hair and then spends two hours trying to learn it while I watch the Food Network. In the end, all he winds up doing is making a million knots in it.
He remedies this by doing something I never thought would be sexy, but totally is. Seating me in between his legs in front of him on the couch, he slowly, gently brushes my hair, working out every tangle and twist. As he runs the brush through my hair, he follows with his hand, massaging my scalp a little. After a few minutes, he lifts my hair away from my neck, running his nose along the back and side of it, continuing behind my ear, and then kissing my shoulder.
I fall back into him, and he drops the brush, sliding his arms around me, splaying his hands on my stomach under my shirt. It always feels so good when he touches me, but especially now, after two very long days. I turn my head to kiss him, burying my hand in his hair.
Within two minutes, he's lying on top of me on the couch and the gentle, deep kisses have turned fast and frenzied. My knees are up around either side of his hips and the force with which his body moves and his hips flex into me as we kiss has made his pants slip over his ass. I use my toes to pull them down further as he takes off my t-shirt, letting our mouths separate for only one second before he's kissing me again. He is hard and hot between my legs, and he's pushing right where I need. He pulls my bra strap down and moves his mouth from mine to my breast, teasing it with his tongue.
The thought crosses my mind that Edward can keep his sex embargo. I'm happy with a dry hump.
Unfortunately, I'm a moron and happen to say this out loud, which causes Edward to stop and lift his head. I tug on his neck to try and get him to return to what he was doing, but instead, he sits up.
"Ah. So close. I'll break you yet," he declares, panting slightly as he gets up. "The sex embargo has now become an orgasm embargo."
"I can still give them to myself," I argue.
He shrugs, but I can see his eye twitch, a sign I've come to recognize as frustration. "Go ahead. You know they're not as good as when I do it."
I decide to change my tactics. "Edward," I say, moving my hand along his shoulder. He leans into my touch involuntarily. "Why are you doing this to yourself?" In a move that is far bolder than I am, I slide my other hand up his thigh toward the "this" I am talking about.
He grabs my hand just before my hand can grab him. "I think this is what they call a barter."
"Yes. I'm trading in my balls for my principles."
I roll my eyes as he gets up. That night, out of anger, I sleep on the couch in his apartment. Or at least, I sleep on the couch till about 1am, when I decide that it is uncomfortable, and I miss Edward's warmth next to me.
That's the first time I realize I'm probably going to lose.
The next day, I'm almost sure I'm going to lose. It's only sheer will and stubbornness that keeps delaying the inevitable. We're sitting at the bar with Alice and Jasper the night before we go to the Cullens' place. Emmett and Rose have already left for Tennessee to spend the Fourth of July with his family, and Alice and Jasper are in that sickening phase where they can't keep their hands off each other. They're literally making out every two seconds, and it's awkward to say the least.
"Ready to give in?" Edward asks me.
"Please," I say, snorting. "Being around these two is like the most effective way to want to keep from having sex."
He laughs. "Yeah, it's pretty hard to want to have sex when you're throwing up in your mouth."
"What about you? Ready to throw in the towel?" I ask.
He shrugs. "Not even close."
I snicker. "I don't know, you seemed pretty, uh, close, last night."
To my surprise, he laughs. "I'll admit, I was. But here's the thing, Bella." He motions with two fingers for me to lean closer, so I do. Then he whispers in my ear, "You know how much I want you, right? All the time, anywhere." He slides his hand up my thigh—it's nowhere near indecent, but the slow feel of his hand on my bare leg lights me on fire. The way he grips my thigh, not tightly but possessively, with his fingers splayed so he can cover as much area as possible, reminds me of how he sometimes moves my legs during sex to get the right position. His pinky dips just under the hem of my skirt and with his cool breath running down my neck, I'm almost ready to give in right here in the bar. On the barstool, even. "You'd just have to say the word, even right now, and I'd take you home and do whatever you wanted me to do to you. And if home is too far, I'd find somewhere closer."
I think I actually let out a squeaking noise, I'm wound so tight at this point.
Then he pulls away slightly, so we're eye to eye and says, "But Bella, I want you to agree to tell our parents more than I want that."
He sits back in his chair; the only tell in his poker face demeanor is the slight twitch of his left eye. Me, on the other hand? I'm pretty sure my entire body is twitching.
It's on the drive up to his parents' house that Edward finally shows even a small sign that this is affecting him.
"So, I'm thinking I have to up the ante," he says. Emmett lent us his car to drive up in, and I can't help but notice how smoothly Edward changes the gears, his hand wrapped around the shift like—
I sigh and thread my mind away from those thoughts. Now, more than not wanting to tell Charlie or the Cullens, I'm intrigued as to why Edward is being so adamant about it. He hasn't really explained; every time I bring it up, he just says that it's the natural progression of the relationship. To which I argue, how natural can it be if you have to blackmail your girlfriend into doing it?
We've actually been arguing quite a bit in the last day or so; it's all pretty civil, just little bickers here and there. But it's still more than the usual for us, and I can't help but think that the sexual frustration is making it worse.
I turn my head to stare out the window as I say, "Up the ante?"
"Yeah," he nods. "This is fast becoming harder for me than it is for you."
I smirk. He's got a pretty good poker face, but he's also taken like, eight showers in the last three days. I mean, I know it's summer, but I'm pretty sure he's hot for an entirely different reason: me. I snicker, far too proud at my inner monologue, and then, flicking my eyes to his crotch, I say, "Oh believe me, I believe that."
He rolls his eyes. "You know, I was going to let it slide if you were nice about it. But you weren't. So now, you're on a sex and snuggling embargo."
"What?" I can hear the sharp edge in my voice. Not sleeping with Edward is hard enough; but not actually sleeping with him would be torture. I've gotten extremely used to falling asleep with him. In fact, I can't even remember the last time we didn't spend the night together bar a business trip he had to take.
"Yup," he says, nodding. "And not just for while we're at my parents'. If you don't agree to tell them this weekend, Bella, the embargo continues."
"Snuggling, Edward? Really?" I'm trying to be nonchalant about this, like I couldn't care less, but Edward knows me too well. Depriving me of snuggling—depriving me of him, really, is hitting where it hurts.
He smirks. "Yeah. Sex, you can do by yourself—"
"Oh believe me, I have," I interrupt. I enjoy the fact that his eyes glaze over, and I know he's picturing it for two seconds before he shakes himself out of his thoughts.
"As I was saying: you can have sex all by yourself." The left side of his mouth quirks because he's still a guy, even if he's shaming his gender by cockblocking himself so thoroughly. "But you can't snuggle by yourself. And you, Bella," he says, taking his hand off the gears to rub my knee, "are a grade-A snuggler. If snuggling was every drug on the planet, you'd be Courtney Love."
I roll my eyes, but inside, I can hear the implied dun dun dunnnn. I'm pretty sure my days are numbered.
The Cullens' house is massive and lovely, but its upstairs hasn't been refurbished like the downstairs was. The classic wooden floorboards sometimes squeak or sigh when weight is put on them—which is not ideal when I'm trying to sneak all the way from one end of the house to the other, where Edward's bedroom is located, especially when I have to pass not only Carlisle and Esme's room, but the guest room, where my father is sleeping.
But it's been three days now. Three days since I've slept next to Edward and six days since I've slept with Edward. And that's led to the most lousy week of actual sleep I've ever gotten. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Somehow—and by somehow, I mean tiptoeing with my body and arms hunched like I'm a cartoon villain—I get across without waking anyone up. I let myself into Edward's room, holding the doorknob down and releasing it slowly, as if the quiet click will wake the house.
Edward is sprawled on his stomach on one side of the bed. My heart flips to see that even when I'm not there, he still sleeps on the left side, with his arm outstretched to the right, where I would be. In the heat, he's kicked off the sheets and is just in his boxers. The moonlight filtering in through the gaps in the curtains shines on his skin and makes me want to touch him everywhere.
Especially those two lower back dimples, more pronounced than ever because of the way the shadows fall. Hello, my friends.
I get that feeling I do sometimes, where I miss him even when he's right there, and I walk to the bed. Leaping ungracefully over his body to my side of the bed, which is closer to the wall, I lift his arm and lie down.
The movement wakes him, which I'll admit may have been why I did it. He squints one eye open and mumbles, "Are you here to cuddle with me?"
I laugh and scoot closer to him. "Maybe." I push my cold toes on top of his, and he recoils, grunting as he jerks his foot away.
"Can't cuddle with you," he mumbles. Even if his words are belied by the way puts his arm around me and pulls me closer, he turns his head the other way.
"Why not?" I say, burying my face in the side of his neck.
He hums quietly, pulling me even closer, but doesn't turn his head, so when he speaks, I can't hear his answer.
"What?" I ask, craning my head.
"Because I'm on a sex and snuggling embargo," he says, still half asleep.
"I'm not after the sex. Can't we just cuddle?" I plead. I am surprised at how much I just miss being close to him.
"Why not?" I huff.
"Because I think I'm about to break you."
I roll my eyes, starting to get irritated, partially from his stubbornness and partially from the fact that he doesn't seem to care that I'm a little desperate for him right now.
"I don't get why you're pushing this so much," I tell him.
"I don't get why you're fighting this so much," he retorts.
I sit up fully, sighing. I knew this was too big to simply brush away by sneaking into his room, but I really have missed him. Edward might have wanted us to tell our parents, hell, he might even be blackmailing me to do it, but he would never actually do it against my will. So we've been keeping our distance from each other a bit; unfortunately, being that he is both my best friend and my boyfriend, even a small gap between us feels doubly big.
A few seconds later, I feel him rouse. He flips on to his back and slips his arm around me, coaxing me to lie down. I turn on my side, burrowing into him. I lightly run my fingers over a spot on the side of his waist, just below his ribs, where I know he's extremely ticklish.
He shudders and says, "Quit it," slapping my hand away before he twines our fingers together.
"I hate fighting with you," I tell him.
He turns his head, resting his chin on the top of my hair. "Me too. This is torture."
I roll my eyes, because I know he's making fun of me. Granted, even our fights are pretty mellow—we're just not shouters, though I do get kind of irrational sometimes. He'll simply match it with that imperturbability that usually keeps me sane; but when I'm angry, it just infuriates me, because I just want to get a reaction out of him the way he gets them out of me.
"Want to do that thing we do?" I ask him.
"I told you, we're not having sex," he says. I pinch him lightly, which makes him jump and laugh, because he knows that's not what I'm talking about.
"I let you go first," I offer graciously.
He sighs. "I hate doing this."
"Maybe we need," I say quietly.
He is still for a moment. "Yeah, okay."
I try to pull away slightly so I can look at him while he talks, and smile when he protests my movement. Instead, he flips on to his side, opening his eyes fully as he tucks one hand under his cheek. I mimic his position, but place my feet, which are warmer now, on top of his. He wiggles his toes a little, and they brush along the bottoms of my feet, which makes me giggle.
I nudge his elbow where it is resting next to mine. "Go ahead."
"Okay, so my girl—"
"Ah! No!" I interrupt. "You know how we have to start it."
He rolls his eyes, an act that should annoy me more than it does, except that when he does it, his eyelashes almost touch his eyebrows and look so pretty that it melts away my irritation. He has no idea how much of a fool I am for him.
"For the record, I still find this as dumb as the day you suggested it."
"For the record, I don't care. It works. It's important to set the scene. I told you how it worked for my improv group," I argue.
Another eye roll, and my treacherous stomach flips again. "I'm not sure why we're listening to the advice of an amateur theater group called 'Troupe Doggy Dog," he mutters. "And you were in it for like, four days, before they kicked you ou—"
"Just set the damn scene, Edward."
He clears his throat, and in the most bored, disinterested voice he can put on, he says, "Hello, my best friend Bella. How strange to see you in this coffee shop."
Inserting extra enthusiasm in my tone, I say, "Ohhi, also my best friend Edward! How wonderful to see you. How are you?"
Breaking the exchange, Edward whines, "Bella, this is so stup—"
"Edward, for the love of God and our sex life, please play along."
He sighs. "Fine." He puts on a strange tone again, purposely over enunciating his words. "I am okay, Bella. I had a fight with my girlfriend, who is absolutely not you."
"Well," I reply. "Since I am your best friend and definitely not your girlfriend, tell me about it."
This part, I know he appreciates, because his voice returns to normal, and he grabs my hand, playing with my fingers as he speaks. "My girlfriend doesn't want to tell our parents we're together yet. Which I find a little ridiculous since we've been together for nearly six months now."
"It'll be five months this month," I correct.
"Which is nearly six months," he retorts. "Usually, I get it; she's a bit commitment-phobic, but she loves me, and that's all I need." He raises his eyes to meet mine as he speaks his next words. "But sometimes, it just hurts my feelings."
I break out of character, my superior theatrical training be damned. "You can't say that! You're totally playing on my sympathies as your girlfriend!"
"It's not my fault you can't push aside being my girlfriend to focus on how you would react if you were my friend."
He's got a point, and I pull our joined hands to my mouth to kiss them. "Maybe I can't," I say quietly. "So can we just talk about it as you and me?"
He laughs. "Yeah, I think I'm okay with abandoning the role-playing. Unless—"
"Focus," I warn him.
He grins slyly at me. "We will return to that topic."
"Sure, but maybe when we're not in the middle of denying each other sex. Or in your parents' house."
He chuckles. "Good point."
"Edward… I can't do this anymore. I mean, it's all fun and games till it's not fun anymore," I say. I really need things between us to be fixed.
"Just explain again," he says, and his words are so gentle that I would do anything he asks. "Tell me why you don't want to tell them."
"Because it raises all these expectations," I say.
He cocks an eyebrow. "Do you not have any expectations beyond this? Because I do and—"
"Other people's expectations. It's fine if you or I have expectations," I tell him. "It's good, it's what keeps us working. And you—" I raise my hand to cup his cheek "—you are literally perfect at this."
"At what? Being the pushy, needy one in a relationship?" he jokes.
I give him a smile but I'm at my most serious when I say, "No. You're perfect at being with me."
"You do realize you're only supporting my argument," he says.
I sigh and roll on to my back before turning to look at him. "You know if I agree to it now, it'll be for all the wrong reasons."
"What are these wrong reasons?"
I shrug. "Guilt for making you feel bad. Or just plain horniness."
He laughs. "I'm okay with that."
"What?" I jerk my head towards him. "You're supposed to feel guilty that you are making me feel guilty."
"Nah, not so much," he says, smirking. "But I do feel horny know I am making you horny. Does that count?"
I laugh despite myself. "Can we at least cut out the snuggling embargo?" I roll into him, positioning his arms around me as he laughs. "I've really, really missed sleeping next to you."
He sighs. "One day, I will find the place you have hidden my balls." He kisses my temple lovingly. "But yes. We can forget about it." I'm about to say thank you, silly as it might sound, when he adds, "All of it. Any and all embargoes."
I tilt my head up to look at him, and he's smiling. I love that he's just not gotten his way, but still he's smiling. He kisses me sweetly and chastely and says, "Turns out, I am feeling a little guilty about making you feel a little guilty."
And maybe it's reverse psychology or maybe I just need to get my own stubborn head out of my equally adamant ass, but now I'm ready to give in too. Edward has never led me wrong. And if other people, people as important to us as his parents and my father, are going to have expectations of us, I need to deal with it. I have to stop letting Edward down because I'm afraid. He'll take it and still love me, which is precisely why he doesn't deserve it.
So, smiling, I kiss his lips twice and very quickly, before I say, "Alright, let's tell them tomorrow."
A slow smile grows on Edward's face, and then he lets out a quiet whoop. "Oh man, reverse psychology totally works." I laugh as he grabs my face with both hands and kisses me. "You sure? I don't want you to be guilty over me being guilty over you being guilty."
I giggle again. "I'm not feeling guilty, I promise. I'm a bit terrified, but I'm not feeling guilty."
"Terrified? I don't—"
I cut him off with a short peck. "Don't worry about it. I really am okay with this."
He grins and kisses me, this time long and deep. I roll onto my back, pulling him with me. He hovers over me, gently letting his body weight rest of me before pulling away to look at me.
"So…" he says, smiling lightly. "Sex embargo is lifted. Things between us are all good and well. Do you want to…"
"Honestly?" I say. "Not really. I mean, I love you and I've missed you, but even the idea of being caught by either of our parents—especially my dad—kills any sex drive I have."
"Oh thank God," he says, flopping over and off me. He wedges his arm under my shoulders and pulls me to him. I lift my leg and splay it across his hip, and he rubs my thigh. "Seriously, that whole risk of getting caught thing is hot—unless it's by people I'm blood related to."
I laugh and agree. "So I guess we can just snuggle?"
He laughs too. "Snuggle junkie. Yes we can. But you'll have to sneak back to your room in the morning so that we don't accidentally tell them before we actually, you know, tell them."
"Okay," I say. Then I lift my head and ask him, "Are we weird for not wanting to have sex right now?"
He chuckles. "Not weird; just hyper-aware that our parents are twenty feet away."
Suddenly, I remember something. "There is one thing I want to do."
"Flip over," I tell him.
"Flip onto your stomach."
"Okay," he says skeptically but does as I ask.
And there they are. I run my fingers over the tiny divots in his back before leaning down and kissing them, which makes Edward laugh. I've missed you, my old friends.
I sleep soundly that night.