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wrestling is a respectable pastime



1. wrestling is a respectable pasttime

Rating 5/5   Word Count 1113   Review this Chapter

A fight to the death.

You're in your element, studying your opponent for signs of weakness, any gaps in those almost-impenetrable defenses. It's hard to find any. Well, it's just a matter of thinking harder, then.

Feint left suddenly, but he's already there, a half second before you. He knows what you're going to do next, but you do it anyway -- a heavy swipe towards his head with your right hand. The force of the blow could have torn him to pieces, but he isn't there. He chose the perfect moment to duck -- right after you'd pass the point where you could have pulled back. He's clever -- of course, you knew that already, and it would do you no good to play down his skill -- and he's definitely got much more experience. But you're strong, and it's your best asset. The only problem is that he knows that, too. Somehow, he's turned your skill into his main weapon against you.

Apparently, using your brute strength in huge movements makes it easier for him to slip under your guard. You're just barely managing to protect yourself, blocking where you can and dodging when it's impossible. It's a losing battle, but it would be stupid to just give up...

You're trapped -- out of nowhere, you're pinned to the ground. He's sitting on your chest, bent over with his teeth on your neck.

"Nice job, Emmett," Jasper says. His voice is a little muffled by your shoulder, so he sits up, looking down at you with amusement. "But you still can't beat me."

"Just you wait." You're disappointed in yourself, because after all these years you'd thought there was a possibility of winning. Jasper's just too skilled for you, and that thought triggers a wry grin.

"What's so funny?" he asks, still resting on top of you.

"I was thinking that you're just too sexy for me," and it takes a moment for you to realize what you said. If you could, you'd be blushing, but Jasper just laughs.

"Everything's going my way today," he announces, almost arrogant, and your eyes narrow.

You shove him off and flatten him against the wall.

"Oh yeah?" and it's your most challenging voice. Your faces are so close, they're almost touching. "Going your way, is it?"

You roughly crush your mouth to his, and surprisingly, you meet no resistance. He's limp in your arms, and you have to support him so he doesn't fall. His lips are smooth -- closed -- and suddenly you feel an inexplicable intensity, like everything is fire to your senses and you want more. (It might be Jasper's doing, you think, but then again -- it could be just you.) The energy seizes him too, then, and he's kissing you back with a force that's almost violent. You flatten your body against his, and he growls deep in his throat.

He bites down on your lip with enough force that you can feel it. You pull back, head spinning.

Then a grin spreads across your face. "That was fun," you whisper, and Jasper smiles.

A feeling of contentment sweeps through you and you're pretty much sure that Jasper did it this time. You narrow your eyes shrewdly and say, "You know, that's never worked on me."

"Well, yes," he admits. "Your emotions are so straightforward. There's no way your own body can delude yourself into pretending to be something you're not."

In a flash, you're the one that's pressed up against the wall, and Jasper leans intently forward. "That's the best thing about you," he says, and then kisses your neck. It's funny, almost, because you're both vampires, and for Jasper to choose your neck, of all places...

"That's not how you do it," you tell him, chuckling. "That cliche is so last century."

"So what?" he growls. "It tastes good."

"You're such an animal," you tease him. "All about the blood lust and the neck-biting. Can't you just act civilized for a change?"

Jasper rolls his eyes. "Sure." In one swift movement, he pulls off your shirt -- over your head, onto the floor. Then he does the same to his own, and as an athletic person by nature you can't help but admire his well-toned chest. Jasper might be thinner than you -- narrower, really -- but he's not wimpy looking, not in the least.

"Nice" is your only comment, and Jasper laughs. Apparently, he was expecting something more, the cocky bastard.

"You know," you continue, voice drawling for dramatic effect, "you really need to get off your high horse there, mister. You're not quite down to the level of us normal folks yet." A playful shove at his shoulder, but he dodges immediately. A grin spreads across your face and you jump at him, crushing him to the floor. (You're always ready to wrestle.) Both of you are shirtless, and it's much more interesting this way, actually. When you're trying to pin him down you "accidentally" brush your fingers lightly along the contours of his stomach and it feels really, really good.

"What did I tell you -- " Jasper says, in between dodges and feints, "-- about making fun -- of the Southern accent?"

"'It sounds much better coming from the mouth of a Texan lady'," you recite, rolling your eyes in an exaggerated motion.

"That's right," Jasper agrees, in the tone of a teacher educating a student. "And don't you forget it."

You stop fighting for a second and stare at him. "You're really serious, aren't you?"

Jasper raises an eyebrow. "I always am."

"You must have been real disappointed, then, when you ended up with Alice," I say, gesturing with one hand. "After all, she's from Mississippi, isn't she? How inferior."

Jasper glares, and he pokes you in the chest once. "Stop that." His tone is playful, but underneath it you sense worry, maybe even a little fear. (The emotions Jasper naturally exudes are probably helping this assessment.) Is he afraid of angering Alice? Is he afraid of being kicked out of the family, maybe?

"I guess we should," you mutter, pulling your shirt back on.

By the time the rest of the Cullens walk through the door, the two of you are sitting on opposite ends of the couch, quite innocently watching television.