Jed Fics

You have been doing this for over a decade now, but sometimes, most of the times, it still shocks you how beautiful he is.

You’re lying on the bed, looking up at him undress; as he undoes each button, he reveals perfect tanned skin, muscles shifting underneath it, and as he starts unbuttoning his jeans, you can’t help but wonder why is he even here.

‘Money’ says that tiny voice in the back of your head that you manage to stomp into silence most of the times. It isn’t just that, it can’t be just that. You’re not as rich as some of the others who have tried their luck with him, you’re not as handsome as any of the others; he has little to lose if he leaves, he has no reason to keep your secrets… before it even starts getting ideas, you stomp into silence that other voice you fear even more and smile back as he drops his trousers.

He is so much taller than you now, you remember when he wasn’t. His hands are warm against your skin, his body firm against yours. You start sucking on his neck and you know you could leave a mark, you’re allowed to, it’s your right… but you don’t.

He kisses you then. You wonder what it will be like when you get older, if you lost your teeth, would he still kiss you? Sometimes you don’t know if his tongue flinches hesitantly at the first touch because of the old times, because he knows you like it or because he doesn’t.

You remember the first time you kissed, he said he had only ever kissed a girl but he hadn’t really liked it, he said he avoided it since. You asked him how he knew he liked boys, and he said he had done things but that the drunken boys back home thought kissing was out of the question, so you offered, you weren’t thinking then, but he liked it, you know he liked it.

He sheds his underwear then, and his impressive hardness rubs against your thigh making you shiver; when you can avoid it, you try to stay as clothed as possible, but today you’re fully naked and you suddenly become hyperaware of it. He doesn’t look down on you, his hands don’t flinch when he touches you and as he drops kisses down your chest, it’s as if you were some supermodel, it is as if you were as beautiful as him. That makes it a little bit worse.

You run your fingers through his hair as he wraps his hand around you and strokes your cock while running his tongue across your hip, he knows what you need today and doesn’t make a show of licking two of his fingers as you bend your legs at the knee.

He always seem to know what you need, he always does it swiftly and without questions and you feel so worthless sometimes, you don’t have the right to own such perfection, you should make do with much less… but you haven’t really had to make do in years, he has devoted himself to you entirely and you still don’t quite know why ‘in five years it will be half his life gone on you’ says the unfriendly voice and you do nothing to shut it down this time, you just close your eyes as he closes his lips around you.

You melt into his touch and respond easily to his probing fingers, he always does it so delicately, and finds the right spot right away; he pushes his fingers in while shoving your cock far back in his throat and withdraws them as he pulls back sucking on the head, he’s skillful and eager, he does things flawlessly but not mechanically, and you get lost in the pleasure, for a minute or so, until the voice speaks up again, and you’re too far gone to know what it’s saying but still, you pull on his hair and he pulls out and away.

He caresses your leg and as he starts lifting it over his shoulder you wordlessly scoot backwards and turn over onto your stomach, and there is a shadow of disappointment across his features but he coughs it away as he bends over and kisses you, running a soothing hand down your back.

He stands up and goes rummage in your bag, he comes back quickly and kneels behind you, silently lubing up after putting on a condom, you remember back when you didn’t use them. You remember him stutter and blush and frown when you suggested you started using them ‘Aren’t there any others? It’s not safe if there are others’, and he angrily replied ‘Of course there are others, you go with others right? So do I!’, and there are no others, not for you, but you don’t dare to ask him again.

He thrusts inside you and it still burns, you lift up on your elbows and he pushes in slowly before pulling back, he kisses between your shoulder blades and caresses down your arm and waits until you nod to start picking up his pace.

You remember the first time you were inside him, you were as gentle as you could possibly muster and he cried afterwards, you felt so insanely guilty but he said he was happy, so you believed him. You stayed the night, he slept on his stomach and you didn’t sleep at all, he snored and twice you knew he was dreaming, once with an obvious erection and he half-humped the sheets, but you didn’t touch him. You signed him up to driving lessons the next day.

You groan deeply and he reaches around you to wrap his hand around your cock and it’s perfect. He never breaks the rhythm, he hits your prostate with every thrust and strokes your cock in sync perfectly, your whole body is pulsing in pleasure, and then it peaks. You start shaking, you go weak at the knees but he holds you up while keeping his ministrations, you spill over his hand and contract around him and he grunts appreciatively while his thrusts go quicker and shorter to prolong your pleasure.

When it’s all over, you whimper and sink in the sheets and he kisses the back of your neck, he thrusts into you rapidly, and soon enough you feel him tremble above you, you feel his cock pulsing inside you, you don’t feel his cum filling you up and you still feel the loss.

He slumps above you and you kiss sloppily before he pulls out and walks to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and get a towel to clean up, you take the towel from him and wipe your forehead, then your stomach and the sheets and then you toss it to the floor.

He then signals you to scoot over and makes you move to the side of the bed away from the wet spot, and although it is a big bed and you could both fit on one half of it, he lies down where you just were, and you’re not touching.

You’re naked, sharing a bed, looking at each other and you kiss goodnight, the last thing you hear before you fall asleep is his voice, the last thing you see before you close your eyes is him smiling at you.

You wish this could last forever. After all, it’s as close as it’s going to get to a happy ending; for either of you. 

You don’t remember the first time you spoke but you remember the first time he spoke to you. “Ed’ard” he said, and that hasn’t changed since.

You have been listening to him sing all your life. You remember when you heard Britney for the first time, the way he kept muttering misheard lyrics way after your bedtime as you tried to fall asleep. It was better than any lullaby could ever be.

You can’t understand how people can say he can’t sing, you get it when they say neither of you can, means they hate you or whatever, but when they say you can and he can’t, how can they say that? You know sometimes he doesn’t really reach all the notes, but if they actually listened, they would know better.

You listen to him, though, you truly do, every second of every day, every word, stuttered, stammered or shouted, you listen. You listen even when you make him think you don’t.

You take every syllable and every sound and archive it in your head, every image of his mouth curving around a word, of his crooked teeth catching on his bottom lip. You watch and listen all day and reminisce all night. That’s how you know he can sing. Why won’t they listen?

Some people talk about how you rarely sing and just let John take charge, they say it’s laziness, but as usual, they have no idea at all.

John asked you once and you lied “I want them to hear you sing, they should!”. It was a lie because as much as you want it, the reason you don’t sing is so you can hear him sing.

A year or two ago, you used to sing to each other like others sing to the mirror. You could make him sing you every single love song that you wanted, but you don’t really do that anymore. You sing to the cameras instead.

You have your own songs now, he looks at you and calls you his, he says you are not alone and you never will be, he says it’s you and him and nothing else matters and you tell yourself you believe him and tell him as much right back.

Someone once told you that you can’t lie when you’re singing, that no matter how flawlessly someone hits the notes, if they are not singing honestly, it’s not good singing at all.

That’s how you know John can sing better than anyone else, because he wouldn’t be saying those words to you if he didn’t mean them, would he? So what if he never does it behind closed doors, so what if you have pretended not to listen when he whispers them to Liam.

You love him, you love him, you love him… sometimes you wish you couldn’t sing.

You like the way his breath catches at the back of his throat when you first wrap your lips around him. It’s only then when you feel like you’re giving him something nobody else can.

You’ve been “together“ for three… four years now,  and every time it’s the same, he inhales sharply, the airflow breaks and it comes out in a shuddery sigh as you sink him deeper between your lips.

Today is the first time you sleep in a hotel room of your own, no fake names, his room across the corridor and no reason to wait an hour after he leaves to walk out.

Today you had dinner together and you sat by his side and he laughed at your jokes and gave you a hug in public… today you skipped on going out with the rest of the band to celebrate the end of the series and the expiration date of the NDAs, although you are probably the one with the biggest reason to celebrate.

He runs his fingers through your head, gently, massages your scalp almost innocently and you take him deeper still, holding on to his clothed hips as he traces his index over the shell of your ear.

He says your name in a gentle sigh, he barely makes any sounds whenever you do this, he barely changes the way he breathes and he never ever talks dirty. He calls you “luv” and “gorgeous” and “Leem” but nothing more. He never begs and he never orders, you wonder if he’s like that with other guys… you wonder if there are other guys at all.

You haven’t really been with that many people, when you were younger you got into some drunken experiments with guys back home but you had never done anything “serious” until you met him. A girl had tried to get with you once but it was such a sad affair that you avoid thinking about it as much as you can. A year or so ago you gave a stranger a handjob in some toilet stall, but that was it, still, you couldn’t eat for days, so you’ve never done that again, not even when he hasn’t called for weeks.

You pull back for a bit, look up at him licking your lips and use your hand for a while, you know he likes to see you smile so you do and he smiles back, he caresses your cheek and your jaw, he traces the outline of your lips and as you playfully try to bite his finger he contains a laugh and bends down and kisses you, and when your tongue makes contact with his, you still feel the same nervousness you did back when you first kissed.

You don’t know why, he’s not too rough or too gentle, he kisses as casually as the people on TV do, but you still get butterflies in your stomach; he holds on to your neck and nibbles on your lower lip and pleasure shoots right to your cock, you wonder what you will do today, you hope that whatever it is, in the end, he’ll cum inside you. That’s what you like the most.

He pulls back and consciousness comes back to you, you were holding him against the wall next to the door and you’re both fully dressed and you feel silly and blush for some reason. He is still nodding towards the bed by the time you’re already sitting down and unbuttoning your shirt. You suddenly realise it’s the shirt you had on when Linda gave you the good news, you open your mouth and look up at him with a goofy smile and see the recognition in his eyes. As he walks toward you, unbuttoning his own shirt, he says simply “We’ll get you new clothes.”

He’s kissing you again and as you lay back on the bed, you sneak your hand under his shirt to trace down his spine. You hope he lets you undress him entirely this time, sometimes you just miss that.

You are on the bed and although you’re now taller than him, you feel the same way you always have in his arms, a bit like a possession, a bit like a gift, and you throw your head back as he plants soft kisses down your throat.

When you reach down to unbutton his trousers and let the hint of a request shine in your eyes, he cups your cheek again and says softly “I’m a bit tired today, Leem.” And you don’t show any disappointment as you say with your best smile and wink “I know just the thing, then!”

His shirt is not entirely open and his trousers are not even down to his knees but it is enough, you have shed your clothes except for your underwear and as you wrap your right hand around the base of his cock and your left hand around yours, he seems pleased and that makes you happy.

You take his cock in your mouth and you skip all the stops, you sink him as far down your throat as he will get, your nose brushing against his stomach, you use your thumb to tease behind his balls and as you moan gently, you try and suck hard as you can as you bob your head up and down. You’ve gotten really good at this, and he tells you so, “You’re very good, Leem,” he whispers quietly and you look up at him, your smile clear in your eyes, you love knowing you can make him feel like that.

His hips start thrusting up, and you love the way he smells, you love every inch of his skin you get to see, you love every stuttered breath and every touch of his fingers on you.

You know he’s getting closer, you’ve done this enough times to know, and you encourage him doing exactly the things you know he likes, running your tongue down the underside, sucking hard on the head as you tease his slit, caressing his balls gently as you deepthroat him while you hum things he’d like to hear.

It doesn’t take long after that, with a quiet shudder he pulses inside your mouth, you feel his cum hit the back of your tongue and slide down your throat, you relish the fact that in a way, he came inside you and only you. You watch him as he rides out his orgasm and don’t pull away until he stops shaking and then you clean him up so gently it’s almost love. You button up his shirt and trousers again and you take off his shoes as he smiles languidly at you and you smile back.

He kisses you one last time before closing his eyes and clearly beginning to drift off and you stand up, get dressed and turn off the lights before closing the door behind you without a sound.

When you get back to your room, you’re no longer hard and that’s okay, you didn’t feel like taking care of that today anyway. Too many emotions for a day, too many things to do tomorrow.

You fall asleep almost immediately, thinking how any day now, you’ll be the one paying the hotel bill.

R as well, probably will turn into a series.

The kid seems so much younger than he is; you know he’s legal, you’ve been with boys younger than him but you still feel guilty.

It’s been over a year since he started writing to you; you met him a few months ago and despite his questionable talent you gave him your personal number and haven’t looked back since.

He’s sprawled over the sheets and smiling up at you, when you try to break the awkwardness by unbuttoning your cuffs, he blushes, and you get the sudden urge to run away. He has been the one seeking you, it shouldn’t be so difficult.

He sits up and cups your face so delicately that you could cry, it’s not his first kiss, it’s not the first kiss between the two of you even, but the clumsiness of his lips against yours and the gentle flinching of his tongue upon first contact still gets to you.

His shirt is too big for him and without meaning to, you notice it’s a cheap knockoff, you try to kill the guilt again by burying your nose against his neck and placing soft kisses across his heated skin and it’s all shot to hell when he whispers apologetically “It’s me Da’s”.

You pull back and look straight at him, you see the warmth and then the embarrassment and finally understanding in his eyes as your simple “Maybe not talk much?” seems to sink in way deeper than you intended to. He smiles awkwardly and softly and he nods before planting wet kisses on your neck. You vaguely hope this doesn’t last long.

His fingers wrestle with your buttons and he bites his lip in concentration, you grasp his wrists to stop him… you don’t want him to see you before you see him.

He seems to get you, every untold instruction, every unspoken need fulfilled swiftly if clumsily, he’s not as scared as he should be, he’s not as scared as you would be, he’s not as scared as you are, and as he lies back down on the bed, unbuttoning his shirt seemingly at once too quickly and too slowly, you see what he could be, the man he’ll be one day, the absurd amount of beauty some gangly kid from Tyrone has no business having, the star that could have the world on their knees and is currently shedding his too big trousers to reveal superhero underwear. Your mouth is so dry it hurts.

His skin is soft, and when you touch him his hairs stand on end and he lets out a shuddery sigh, you place an adoring kiss on his breastplate and hook your fingers on the waistband of his pants, dropping soft kisses as you scoot downwards.

He smells of all the things you no longer have, of too much time and too little money and half eaten dinners cooked by someone who loves you, he smells of freedom and bravery and wonder, you wonder if you take some of that with each kiss, if he could give you a bit of this magic when he touches you, but try not to think about that.

He’s hard already, and he’s all grown up but his thighs are still covered with the downy hairs of a child, and when you look up at him, the way he’s grabbing at your shirt, looking afraid for the first time, it kicks up all the wrongness of the situation and by the time you realise what you’re doing, you are holding him against your chest and running your fingers through his hair, as if that could make it any better.

He’s a smart kid, in a way he is, you’re now lying flat on your back and as he mimics what you did earlier, dropping open mouthed kisses down to your waistband, wrestling with your belt and muttering in his thick accent “I want this, I want this” you realise you’re probably his first and you want to die.

“Wait!” you call out and he jumps back, breaking all contact with you and although you’re washed with relief, it physically hurts to lose him; and although every inch of your being longs to do this, you can’t silence your conscience and maybe for now, this will be enough.

You beckon him near and he obliges, throwing himself in your arms and kissing you with a clear smile, throwing his arms around your neck. You can feel him with every part of your being and it’s almost unbearable. He tries to scoot lower once again but you stop him, you roll over and you’re on top of him and you stomp down the notion that you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of seeing that face.

You whisper “It’s okay like this”, and he relaxes in your arms and spreads his legs and you don’t fit perfectly but it is more than okay.

You are aligned with him and your hardness rubs against his, sharp pleasure shoots up your spine and down to the tips of your toes, he’s sweaty, hair matted to his forehead, mouth slack and cheeks red, he runs his tongue down his lower lip and then you bend down and catch it between yours, his moans are stuttered and he throws some incoherent phrases here and there, he’s shaking, if he wasn’t clearly approaching orgasm you’d think he was crying.

And then it happens, he says your name in a broken whimper and you can feel his cock pulsing against your stomach, against your own, you can feel his cum spilling over his belly and mixing with his sweat, with your sweat. He is still shaking when your own climax takes you by surprise, the most intense orgasm you’ve had in years, you barely make a sound but he knows, and he’s kissing your cheeks and forehead and you vaguely wish you never recovered from this.

He gets under the covers and makes room for you, and you get in for a while, he’s falling asleep when you see the time. You have a plane to catch.

“Where are you going?” and he looks every bit like the kid he is, you can taste bile at the back of your throat.

“I have an awards show tomorrow.” And you don’t meet his eyes as you button up your shirt, as you start pulling up your trousers.

“Stay the night? We can go out really early, we can talk about things you like, tell me, do you like cars?” and like every time there is something you can’t fix you reach for your wallet.

“I can’t really. I’m sorry, I have to be there for the boys. You can order something to eat, yeah?” you take out two hundreds and place them on the dresser. He’s not looking at you. “I like cars, yeah, do you?”

He whispers softly “Yeah, I like cars.” And you shut down the voice that is telling you to stay, that is telling you to hold him. You go near him and give him a half-hearted hug and plant a kiss on his cheek.

“I’ll call you soon, okay, Leem, I’ll come visit soon.” And he smiles up at you before pecking you on the lips one last time before wandering off to the shower.

You don’t look back as you dash out and don’t stop until you reach the lifts and you check yourself out in the reflection noticing you buttoned up the wrong way. You distract yourself by thinking of all the people Ronan must thank tomorrow in his speech.

You’re doing more than you should be doing anyway, it’s not as if you have time, it’s not as if you have freedom.

AGAIN, R, hard R, NC-17 maybe D: 

Edward stretches his arms above his head and wonders if it would be any easier if he was bound.

He has never done this, John had, lots of times, maybe not the full way, but boys here and there… not boys really, men, he had done it enough times before Liam… he balls his fists and concludes maybe he should try to stop thinking about John. Having his eyes closed isn’t helping.

Patrick’s fingertips travel down his chest, circle his left nipple, play with the downy hairs on his belly, hover above the waistband of his boxers and Edward is relieved to feel himself growing hard despite his nervousness. “Have you ever done this before?”

Edward shivers, but manages to sound final enough when he stares the older man down saying “We can talk or we can fuck, we’re not doing both.”

Patrick nods in response and bends over to lick a trail down Edward’s belly button, Edward immediately decides he likes this docile, less attractive version of Liam way more than he ever liked you-know-who.

He reaches down, sitting up slightly and tugging on the hem of Paddy’s t-shirt, he manages to get it off soon enough and he looks down with curiosity and mild disgust, John’s abbier than that, paler too, still, he bends down and plants open mouthed kisses down Patrick’s chest, closes his mouth around a nipple and reaches down to undo his trousers, palming him through his pants. He wants to get this done and over with as soon as possible.

He doesn’t get it, what would make John seek the arms of someone else, someone who would undoubtedly smell so foreign and not necessarily inviting, someone hairy and gross and old, someone who isn’t that big anyway… but he tries not to think about it as he wraps his left hand around the base of Patrick’s cock and his lips around the tip.

Patrick groans above him, stretching on the bed and kicking off his trousers that Edward had kept bunched up around his knees, he caresses his back and reaches for his ass and Edward gets goosebumps, Patrick seems to think it’s because he’s so turned on and starts some awkward dirty talk that includes the words ‘good boy’ and ‘gagging for it, innit?’, Edward would laugh if he wasn’t otherwise occupied, even less smart than the idiot himself, go figure.

When they switch places and Patrick engulfs his dick, he can’t help but feel scared, it’s just odd to have some stranger’s lips instead of his brother’s, they don’t fit perfectly around him, it feels good, perhaps better than John because Patrick isn’t gagging, and he’s doing something with his tongue that is sending shocks of pleasure up and down his spine, but he can’t take it for long, he pushes him off and when Patrick goes in for a kiss, he turns over on all fours… and once again Patrick thinks he’s just being a horny teenager.

Patrick’s fingers are so much rougher and thicker than John’s, when they circle around his entrance and start to poke inside he doesn’t like it, so Edward swats his hand away and with his best seductive demeanour he says “Let me do that…” before shoving two of his own fingers in his mouth and sure enough, Patrick doesn’t ask any questions.

Edward feels beyond naked, legs spread, his own fingers working inside his ass, his cock hard hanging between his legs and trying to put on a show for Patrick who is looking at him while pulling on his own cock… he can’t wait to get this over with so he says “Hurry up, I can’t take it much longer.” And Paddy complies.

The burn is intense, he’s bigger than John, it doesn’t fit inside him perfectly, he’s not writhing in ecstasy from the moment they make contact but it’s good enough, Patrick fucks him hard and fast and he pushes back just as intensely, squeezing his muscles trying to bring him to the edge as soon as possible, Paddy says “You’re so tight” and Edward bites his tongue because there is nothing he could say that wouldn’t ruin everything.

Soon enough, Patrick’s rhythm starts to falter and Edward increases his, he reaches between his legs for his cock and he thinks only of the sensation, the way his prostate is being hit repeatedly and his own hand rubs his hardness… he doesn’t think of where he is or who he is with, he tells himself he doesn’t think about John. And then he comes. His orgasm is intense but somehow disappointing, he wipes his hand on the sheets and holds on to them as Patrick keeps pounding into him until with a sharp grunt he pulls out and covers his ass in sticky white that is also different from John’s. Edward reaches back and runs his fingers through it and Patrick seems to like that, so he plants a kiss on his shoulderblades… that’s when he runs to the bathroom.

He comes back into the room wrapped in a bathrobe and Patrick’s still there, still naked, he doesn’t look at him as he sheds the sheets and lies in bed under the extra duvet they always request.

“Can I stay?” asks Patrick behind him. 

He doesn’t look at him as he replies simply “Whatever, Temp.” 

He can hear the rustle of clothing as Patrick puts on his boxers and after a while, he can feel the bed dip with Paddy’s weight.

And by the time Patrick languidly throws an arm around his waist, he pretends he’s asleep, like a horny teenager. 

I know I said PG-13 but I’m sorry, can’t think of anything else, I guess this is a soft R?

It’s a wordless arrangement, one of those twin things that people wouldn’t understand, or so they tell themselves.

They have never talked about it, not properly, they tried once and they ended up breaking some of the rules and getting a bit too close, so they never tried again.

For now though, they like it, it’s not awkward or scary, it’s a game, and games don’t matter, there’s nothing wrong with games, games aren’t sins - kids are meant to play, it says in the Bible. And as far as they are concerned, they are still kids, even if most of their similarly aged friends have been struggling against the term for a year or two.

It started simply enough, they were in the shower, together like they did sometimes for no reason, and Edward, for no reason, got hard, John wasn’t about to let him think he was the bigger one so he touched himself until he got hard too, and then Edward was touching himself as well, and then it was over. John won that first time.

It happened like that sometimes, although they had tried to stop showering together and they didn’t know why; but most of the times it happened under the covers, especially when they shared a bed, and lately it had been happening in the mornings, they’d get out of bed and head into the bathroom together, without saying a word.

Tonight however, they were just in the living room, their parents and brother out for the day, they were watching TV and when their arms brushed - they knew.

Sometimes it was like this, they’d look at each other while they were doing it, Edward was reaching to touch John’s cock with his right hand while John reached for Edward’s with the left, their shorts were bundled up around their knees, breath coming shorter and quicker, biting their lips to keep quiet just in case someone would hear.

Edward could feel John’s eyes on him, travelling across his face, to his lips, down his body until they landed on his cock, and he did the same… John’s lips were swollen, sweat was running down his face and he felt the urge to lick it so he tried looking elsewhere, when he spotted the leaking tip of John’s cock, the urge grew stronger so he decided to close his eyes and look away.

John let out a stuttered moan, Edward could feel his own climax approaching but he knew he would win this round, John’s cock was pulsing against his palm, hot and hard and then he felt the spasms and droplets as well as John’s erratic thrusts and deep groan that signaled it was over.

And as John rode out his orgasm and Edward was starting to reach down for his own cock to get that done and over with, John swatted away his hand and holding on to the base, shoved Edward’s cock in his mouth.

If he was honest, it didn’t take him even a second to come after that, nothing had ever felt so wonderfully right, if so terribly wrong, John gagged and choked and sputtered cum all over his skin and the couch, and it was embarrassing and he shouldn’t really have responded by throwing himself at John and kissing him, lapping up at his own cum and moaning like some sort of possessed soul. They didn’t do that, those were the rules, still, some rules were meant to be broken.

Thank you :) ♥

No worries :) xx

It’s one of those things, the sound of John’s voice through the wall, the way Edward can tell the way he’s moving, if he’s wearing clothes or he’s not.

Edward hates it, when John walks out on him leaving him asleep in the room and goes to find Liam, when he gets out of the bed, loosening Edward’s arms around him and sneaks out - but it always happens.

He wonders how it started, how he didn’t find out sooner, how he became so good at lying to John, how John became so good at lying to him.

“How can you be tired?” John mocks in the morning, because he slept much less than him after all, didn’t he? Because Edward was out cold by midnight and John saw and it took him aaaages to fall asleep after that like, so long and he even like, got out of bed to go to the toilet twice… Jesus, Edward, you slept so much longer, how can you be tired?

And sometimes John doesn’t come back, the noises die out and the sound of sheets and skin dies out but the door doesn’t open again. He knows John is asleep through the wall, he can even tell from the way he’s breathing if he’s dreaming or not. And Edward waits until morning.

Edward hears the alarm in the room next door, hears a giggle and the rustle of clothing, he hears his brother tiptoeing and wrestling with the key, and he rolls over, and when John gets under the covers and wraps his arms around him, he doesn’t flinch, and when Liam comes knocking on the door half an hour later, he’s fast asleep.

How can he be tired?

Thank you so much :) ♥