Office Frustration

This one-shot entry was submitted to the 2012 Driven to Desire Challenge.


Rating: M (language, adult themes)
Genre: Angst/Romance
Pairing: Edward/Bella


Summary:
Want—it's too meager a word for what I feel about him. He's like water to my desiccated soul, oxygen to my suffocated life. I need him. Yet I can't have him. AH ExB


Disclaimer: (Content and legal)
Warning: Characters in adult situations related to consensual sex.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. Copyright 2012 - Do not copy for translation, republication, or re-transmission/transfer without express permission of author except for personal consumption as a downloaded mobile product on a mobile device.

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Office Frustration


"I'm so fucked."


He sighed after this admission, so deeply that his breath tickled the tiny hairs along my arm. I clutched my drink a little more tightly, swishing the vodka and ice. I wasn't mixing my drink as much as I was distracting myself.


I couldn't look at him; I risked losing myself completely in his eyes. Instead, the tiny curl of lemon peel lying on top of the ice in my post-meeting, after-work cocktail held my attention.


Or at least it held my gaze. The rest of my body honed itself like a homing beacon on his every word, his every breath. I could almost feel his heart beating through my skin. I could smell his sadness and regret, mingled with the scent of him and his cologne, even from across the table. My thighs clenched reflexively, wanting to wrap around his hips; my legs itched to tangle with his long ones beneath the table. My arms were taut and locked, resisting the urge to reach for him.


"I'm such a fuck-up, too," he added as an afterthought.


"You're not a fuck-up," I muttered into my glass.


But you're definitely fucked, I thought to myself. And so am I.

Office Sweet: Crushed

They say that denial ain't just a river in Egypt.


I say it's the freight train running through my home office and my email, the one I managed to conveniently forget about Monday while pining wistfully over a white dress sleeve cuff flicked in rush hour traffic -- the train pulling a load of longing for a corporate life past.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He emailed me.


I haven't heard from him in ten years.


Well, up until an email late spring, sent to my oldest personal email account. It looked like a form message one might send out in bulk, so I drafted a reply and never sent it. That draft is still parked in my email a handful of months later, a leftover wishful thought.


Yesterday there was another email -- Join me in my network, it read.


I ignored it, thinking it was another form missive sent out in bulk.


It dawned on me as I sauteed pork paillards for dinner that I never did look at the network.


Fuck.


He'd left digital fingerprints, actually looked me up, looked at my profile. He looked at me under my real name, under my real life account although the email was sent to a pseudonymous business account I use for consulting.


He's still tall, lean, floppy-haired; his eyes are still greenish-hazel and still crinkle at the corners when something makes him smile. His jaw is still sharp, his chin still blessed with that lickable cleft.


Fuck.


He's still the same smart but easy-going guy who likely shaped the marketing outreach of a popular breakfast food many Americans eat. He's still the same cautious fellow who could persuade a Fortune 100 company to try something utterly new and bleeding-edge.


He still makes my heart flip, my mouth water, my throat clench.


And he still wears those crisp white dress shirts with a silk tie, like the one I saw yesterday during rush hour.


Fuck, fuck, fuck.


I am crushed on the rails under that freight train named Denial, uncertain how I missed it as it mangled me on Monday.


[Copyright 2011--all rights reserved. | Graphic: ted_major via Flickr]

Office Sweet: Momentary Monday madness

It's been a rough day. It's the first day I've missed the life I walked away from, missed the friends and acquaintances of that life. Perhaps I'm beginning to heal after the trauma suffered this past year within the confines of that other life.


Worse yet, I found myself longing for the life I had even earlier -- another life I walked away from nearly ten years ago. The desire came over me out of nowhere, hit me in the gut like a sucker punch.


Right in the middle of rush hour traffic.


I saw him at the wheel of his dark blue Audi sedan, the third car in the left hand turn lane at the red light. He had that closed off look, like his mind was still in a conference call long ended. His eyes looked off into a distance not on the horizon in front of him, long past the intersection before him.


He flipped his arm and flexed his wrist in a fluid one-two move, lifting his left arm from the steering wheel, looking at his watch, then moving his now-fisted hand up to support his head against the window as he waited for the light to change.


It was that flick of the wrist--shifting the crisply starched cuff of his expensive white dress shirt just so above the bones of his lean wrist--which did it for me. That movement I've seen thousands of times, performed by the bright and rapacious young men in middle and upper management, like a fisherman's lick of the wrist as they cast their line.


Yeah, that move. It catches my eye as if a lure has been tossed in front of me; it means time is wasting away and a move must be made rapidly before the opportunity slips away, before bait has been pounced on and the line run out taut and taken by another more eager for the chance.


I am thinking of heated business meetings, close and intimate, passion for success and the bloodlust  for the business kill filling the conference room, only to lead to quiet business dinners with voices exchanging numbers sotto voce over espresso while high heeled pumps are kicked off under the table and stockinged feet dart back and forth beneath the linen table cloth.


And I reminisce about crisply chilled martinis with briny olives served at the country club in the lounge where one will find the finest collection of white business dress shirts and silk ties actually worn by men were one to look at a certain hour of the day. I can hear the low hum of their voices, slowly increasing in volume with the number of martinis quaffed.


I feel wretched for missing these things today.


I feel even worse for missing him.


And him.


And them.


[Copyright 2011--all rights reserved. | Graphic: _Davo_ via Flickr.]

Zipless

Entry #31 - Truly Anonymous Twilight O/S PP Contest

Title: Zipless (originally posted at FanFiction.net)

Picture Prompt Number: Nbr. 36 (guitar) (See SparklyRedPen's Ficspiration Gallery)

Pairing: Bella x Edward

Rating: M-Mature for adult themes

Word Count (minus A/N and Header): 3670

Summary:
She thought she deserved more; he made it clear she did. She only needed a little push to realize the truth. AH ExB

Warnings and Disclaimer:
Warning: Characters in adult situation involving consensual sex.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. Copyright 2012 - Do not copy for translation, republication, or re-transmission/transfer without express permission of author except for personal consumption as a downloaded mobile product on a mobile device.

~ o ~ O ~ o ~ O ~ o ~ O ~ o ~

Zipless

The pub was hot and close, steamy with the body heat of so many people standing cheek by jowl within its confines. There was standing-room only, every cranny filled from the seats in front of the windows at the entrance, to the booths along the wall across from the bar, to the fireplace area inside the inglenook next to the band's dais. A haze of human-generated moisture hung in the air above the crowd, reeking of perfume, aftershave, and alcohol. The air vibrated with the energy of live music pulsing through the low hum of many voices.

She stood at the far end of the bar, her right thigh resting on the edge of a stool where the counter met the wall. Her friends had paired off and left her behind already. They'd offered politely to escort her home, but she knew they really didn't want to do that. She'd have been cooped up in a cab with two people doing everything possible not to fuck each other under her nose. She didn't want to deal with another reminder of her status—a much-neglected girlfriend relegated to third wheel.

As packed as it was, Bella didn't have the drive or the strength to push against the crowd pressing into the pub to listen to the band. She opted to stay put, wait out the last set, let the crowd ease, and then make her way home. She had nothing else to do that warm summer's evening; why not simply stay put here at her usual watering hole? She liked the band anyway. This would be her treat to herself: a night out, lost in anonymity, listening to music.

The Summer Girl

Boys on Boards Contest

Title: The Summer Girl

Pen name: FemmeMal

Characters: Bella/Edward (AH)


Summary: She was a summer girl - only in town for the summer in the tiny northern waterfront community of Baytowne when she meets a certain rusty-haired boarder who rocks her world. One-shot E/B AH M-rating for language, sexuality. Boys on Boards 2011 Contest Entry, originally published at FanFiction.net.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. Copyright 2011--Do not copy for translation or republication without express permission of author except for consumption as a downloaded mobile product on a mobile device.

Word Count: 9279

~o~O~o~

She was a summer girl - only in town for the summer, unlike the townies who lived year round in the tiny northern waterfront community of Baytowne.

Being a summer girl meant that Bella associated certain sensory experiences with visits to her father's home. Flights into the tiny regional airport were like no other; she insisted on window seats just so she could enjoy the vast stretches of uninterrupted blue water over Lake Michigan and then only minutes later, the dark green of forests of upper Michigan broken only here and there by the occasional clearing.

On descent and ascent from the same airport she had been lucky enough to see deer running through clearings; these were rare treats she treasured, as if Mother Nature had been kind enough to give her a singular, informed peek behind Nature's otherwise random appearance.

Her excitement mounted with each mile of the road from the airport to her father's house. She rolled down the window of her dad's police cruiser to inhale deeply the scent of pines and damp forest matter, smelling the coolness of the lake before she saw or heard it as the car passed by periodic small inlets near the highway. With each new and remembered sensation she felt closer and closer to home.

Home. This place thousands of miles away from her mother and her school felt more like home to her. The dry, baked browns of Arizona where she lived with her mother felt sterile to her - this place, so richly green and blue and brown and fragrant with smells never felt that way. It felt like unlimited potential and endless possibility, waiting to take root and grow like the acrid acorns' promise lying on the moist leaf mold of the forest floor.

Conversely, return flights to Arizona were as if Bella were going to the moon. Desertification extended not only across the landscape but to the color of the buildings, the people, the air itself, as if life was sucked out of it. She loved her mother, but she could not help feel that each time she returned after summer vacation that her life was put on hold, dried up and waiting the restoration of water and green to her soul.

How odd that her mother was so bubbly, like an unexpected spring in the desert. And how odd that her father was so taciturn and restrained, in the midst of such lush summer growth. Somehow it all balanced out, but she still felt more at home with her father than with her mother.

She thought wryly to herself from time to time that her parents should have renamed her Persephone - Demeter's daughter and Hades' young wife, condemned to split her time between sylvan earth and barren hell - after their divorce when her mother moved to Arizona. The only expanses of green she would see for the nine months of the year she spent with her mom were at golf courses they passed, and then only fleeting views at a distance from a speeding car window along the highway.

Lovers' Academy -- Uncut Version

Author's notes:
This one-shot was originally written for the Age of Edward 2012 contest, posted at FanFiction.net; this uncut version exceeded the contest's word count limit. A shorter version rated T was submitted instead. PLEASE NOTE: THIS VERSION IS RATED M FOR ADULT THEMES, SEXUALITY.


The story is loosely based on a Chinese myth, The Butterfly Lovers, which has a much sadder supernatural ending. Setting is during Tang Dynasty in eastern China.


Cultural notes:
The Tang Dynasty era was fairly liberal; divorce was permitted, and women could initiate it. However women did not have equal rights per se. Feudal era morals remained; women were still treated as chattel belonging to the family and men were expected to guide them throughout their lives. Women could be educated, although again they were expected to be under male guidance. Unsurprisingly, attitudes towards women were more conservative in the country versus urban areas. The Tang Dynasty also saw strong females in roles of power, including Empress Wu and Empress Wei (in addition to Wu's remarkable rule, she kept a harem of men).


Characters' Chinese names:
In Chinese culture, family names come first, with given and generational names following. Edward Anthony Masen would be arranged as Masen Edward Anthony (roughly approximated in this story as Ming=family, EnDian=given/generational name). Women typically keep their family name even after marriage. Chinese astrological birth signs are given by year and noted below by character.


Edward Masen = Ming EnDian - born year of the snake
Jasper Whitlock = Wu ZhaoXuan - born year of the snake
Bella (Bill) Swan = Shi BiLang (male alter ego: Shi BinLi) - born year of the snake
Charlie Swan = Shi KangHan (father of Bella/BiLang-BinLi)
Renee Swan = Xue RongNing (mother of Bella/BiLang-BinLi - kept her family's name)
Alice (Alan) Cullen = Shen AiLiu (male alter ego: Shen AoLun) - born year of the snake
James d'Eville = Xie ZhaoMao - born year of the tiger
John d'Eville = Xie JingHao (father of James/ZhaoMao)
Mary d'Eville = Bai MaoRong (mother of James/ZhaoMao - kept her family's name)


Terms:
[1] min jiao - litter or seated sedan conveyance, generally carried by two or more porters.
[2] xiao di-di (shah-ow dee dee) - little brother
[3] mei-mei (may may) - big sister
[4] fuqin (foo chun) - father, more formal use
[5] muqin (moo chun) - mother, more formal use
[6] bàba (ba ba) - papa or dad, used more commonly within the family
[7] māma (ma ma) - mama or mom, used more commonly within the family
[8] qin ai de (sheen eye duh) - dear or love, a term of affection; may denote friend or romantic interest (Ex. "Good morning, dear" = "Zaoshang hao, qin ai de" (Zow shang how, sheen eye duh)
[9] 'passion of the sleeve' (duan xiu zhi pi) - slang phrase referring to homosexual desires
[10] qi (chee) – term used in feng shui describing energy flow

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Lovers' Academy


As she entered her chambers, a young man grabbed BiLang and put his small, soft hand over her mouth to stifle her scream. "Shhhh...it's me, AiLiu!" the youth whispered.


BiLang's surprise and flailing gestures made AiLiu laugh; she'd successfully fooled BiLang into believing her companion-maid was a youth.


AiLiu was as excited as BiLang about their impending journey, especially since she had a real problem in which to sink her teeth. As a maid she was exceptional at dressing ladies, but she was no longer challenged. Disguising BiLang and herself as young male students was a dare she tackled head on.


"AiLiu! You nearly scared me to death! Don't do that again until we are well-practiced at these disguises, or I'll end up in a coffin dead of shock and not in a min jiao [1] headed for school!"


"I'm so sorry, BiLang, I was just so excited about leaving that I completely forgot my disguise. I'm flattered you think it worked!"


BiLang continued to clutch her chest, feeling her heart rapid thuds slow to a more normal pace. "Ugh. If it worked any better, you'd be cleaning up a puddle of urine and laundering this gown. What else do we need to do before we get on the road?"


"I've gathered clothing and accessories for both of us which should last the duration of your studies. You need only try them on, and then ask your father to coach you a bit more on how to act like a youth. Your scrolls and supplies are packed, as are the goods for your quarters at the Academy. We're ready to leave tomorrow if you practice today."


AiLiu pushed and pulled BiLang out of her beautiful gown and into her new boy's wear, the looser fit, stiff fabric and wide sash hiding BiLang's slender figure. Taking a knife to BiLang's long silky hair, she shortened it to a length men commonly wore, pulling it back into a braided queue. BiLang's brows still looked too feminine, shaped into a soft, narrow arch; AiLiu messed them up, taking a small amount of softened bees' wax to press BiLang's brows into a more unruly, boyish shape.


They checked their appearance in a metal mirror; they looked more like teenage boys than the young women they really were. Giggling at first, they caught themselves then practiced laughing more deeply before seeking out Shi KangHan for further coaching on achieving the illusion of manhood.

Little Boy

They'd exchanged emails and tweets for several years after a particular political convention. She thought he was sweetly charming; he thought she was funny-sassy.


He'd begun to pay close attention to her after his then-girlfriend overheard her tell yet another common friend that he was awfully cute. The girlfriend didn't last much longer than the convention, but the messages they exchanged afterward outlasted a couple terms in Congress and a president.


They flirted mano-a-mano at various conferences. At each one she kissed his cheek a little firmly, a little too long on greeting him, and perhaps a bit too close to his warm full lips. He hugged her just a little too close, his left arm around and parallel to her bust line and his right arm conveniently pulling her hips in tightly towards his, his nose in her dark brown tresses as he squeezed her small frame.


During the worst of the keynote speeches by blowhard pundits, they'd sit together. He'd lean in towards her, elbows on the table, his hands clasped below his chin, watching her closely. Very closely; she could feel his breath on her forearms resting on the table.