EDIT: Best Dry Hump in the Slash Backslash contest :D

Story Name: Never Like This
Pen name: EmmettGirl
Pairing: Edward/Carlisle
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. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.


The predicament of the paring may be offensive to some people, so, yeah, don't get your panties in a twist; you've been warned.

Thank you, for betaing this. I love you and your fic :)

Dr. Carlisle Cullen

As I came through the door I exhaled in relief. It had been a long day at work, and I had a sharp pain in the back of my neck from laboring over bodies all day. My muscles ached like I'd just spent five hours jogging at the gym, and my briefcase felt about a hundred pounds heavier than usual, like I'd hidden one of those bodies in there.

I dropped the briefcase hastily to the floor beside the coat stand. The sound it made against the wooden floor coinciding with the sudden relief in my shoulder was a sweet gratification. I toed off my shoes, not bothering to undo the laces before I leaned against the back of the door. I concentrated on the chill that permeated it from outside, and allowed myself to feel the coolness from my shoulders on down to my back until it reached the back of my legs.

I lifted my hand and ran my fingers through the blond hair atop my head, a recently acquired habit, closing my eyes at the utter stillness and silence. Well, except for a soft scratching sound I could hear emanating from the living room, and even that provided me some comfort in knowing he was there.

I detoured through the kitchen before going to him. I stopped at the cupboard above my head that held the wine glasses and reached for two, placing them side-by-side on the granite surface. I grabbed a bottle of already-opened red wine from the refrigerator before returning to the glasses.

I poured two even glasses before placing the bottle back and picking them up. I stopped in the doorway, not heading in just yet - just... admiring. His back was to the armrest of the couch, his legs folded up in front of him to give him something to lean his notebook against. He was scribbling so fast across the pad that it almost seemed like his hand blurred between one line and the next.

The lean muscles in his arms ran up towards his broad shoulders, his customary gray T-shirt stretching across his strong chest. His legs were clad in a pair of loose-fitting jeans that rode low on his hips, leaving a sliver of skin between his pants and shirt.

"Carlisle?" he called, raising his head from his book. His face was the most beautiful part of him. His jaw was sharp and defined and lead to a dimpled chin under plump, pink lips that forever seemed chapped. He was always licking them and coating them with moisture.

His slightly bent nose, along with the white scar under his left eyebrow, was the only reminder of his past of an unhappier life where his fists were just as much of a necessity as his sight or hearing. Atop his nose was a pair of black glasses that always left a small imprint on the bridge when he removed them. His eyes were the most beautiful shade of green - the color of the vibrant, green forests of his new home. They left no hint of his past in the gray streets of Chicago.

His hair was a peculiar bronze color that I had only ever seen on him and in the lone photo of his mother that he kept in a propped up frame on his bedside table. It stuck up in three-hundred-and-sixty degree angles, not helped by how he tugged it in between his fingers when he was deep in thought or frustrated. It made me just want to-

No. I stopped that thought. It was wrong to think of him that way. He was my son. Well, adopted son, but that didn't make it any less immoral.

"You gonna come in?" he asked, a smirk appearing on his face as he turned back to his work, finishing off the sentence in his elegant scrawl. I walked over toward the long leather couch and placed his glass of wine next to him on the coffee table. I kept mine in my hand, almost falling into the couch before turning to mirror his position, my right leg bent near the edge of the couch, my left in between his. His bare feet and my sock-clad ones touched in a seemingly casual, unconscious manner at the divide, but we both knew differently.

He lay down his notepad on the table next to his wineglass with his glasses folded together on top before picking up the wine glass, imitating my position to a tee by holding his glass with both hands in between his legs, his forearms braced across his knees. I noticed as he shifted that he relaxed his left leg, letting it fall against mine and press it against his other. I brought the rim of my glass to my lips, hiding my swallow caused by his actions with a gulp of the blood-red liquid.

"Rough day at work?" he asked, looking imploringly into my eyes like he was trying to draw the answer from them instead of waiting for the movement of my lips.

"You could say that," I answered cryptically, taking another sip of the wine. He raised one eyebrow at me, silently requesting me to elaborate. I unlocked our gaze, moving it toward my trapped leg subconsciously before realizing my mistake and tilting my head to the ceiling, staring at the smooth white instead. "I killed a child today," I said, my voice free of emotion. "A boy. He was so young. He hadn't even started school yet." I couldn't stop my voice from cracking over the last few words and I blinked my eyes tightly shut and inhaled a long breath.

I heard the sound of glass hit wood and felt warmth on my knee, an imprint of a hand on my outer thigh. I opened my eyes, sure that they would no longer betray me. His chin was resting in the dip in between my leg and his, his head leaning against the back of the couch. His hand rubbed firmly into my leg.

"You tried, Carlisle. All you can ever do is give it your all. Without you, he wouldn't have even have had the chance of surviving." He had said it before, and I would've thought that he'd be sick of giving me the same words over and over again, but he seemed to get me and knew I appreciated it every time.

"Thank you, Edward." I pushed my glass back, emptying it before setting it on the table. I smiled at him, laying my hand over his in contradiction to the respectable voice shouting in my head that it was wrong. He spread the fingers in his hand and entwined them with mine, his gaze centered on them. To anyone else we would seem like lovers, and we were, but we weren't at the same time.

I wasn't some perverted old man who fed on the naïveté of teenage boys. In fact, I wasn't really "old" at all - not even thirty. It was never my intention to think of Edward that way. As we gazed wordlessly into each other's eyes, I thought back to our first meeting a few months ago.


Bronze against white. His hair contrasted with the clinically white color of the walls, drawing in my attention. He was a breath of fresh air in a room full of injured and bloodied people. He, himself, seemed unharmed. I had seen him around the ER on several occasions in the past several weeks, but just a glimpse, a fleeting glance in my periphery.

It puzzled me, his being here. And, after mulling over possibilities in my head, each more ludicrous than the next, I decided to go and ask the woman behind the desk. She took that shift every week. She was sure to know.

"Oh, Edward Masen?" she questioned, leaning closer conspiringly. "Yeah, he's here every Friday around this time, always dragging some poor, sorry-ass drunk, who's too out of it to really be any credit to himself with him."

I replied with a quick, distracted "thanks", my mind already racing at thoughts of this Edward Masen.

I heard a flirtatious tone from behind ("Not at all") as I turned back around, looking for this infamous... boy - he couldn't be any older than seventeen. But my searching drew blank. He'd already left, I supposed.

It wasn't until weeks later that I saw him again. I only really passed through the ER fleetingly, as most of my operations were scheduled and I didn't typically go in there with any deliberation, only really because it was a shortcut to the dining hall, and, therefore, the coffee machine - my savior.

He was walking through the automated doors, a man's arm draped over his shoulders. The man was so close to unconsciousness that Edward was carrying almost all his weight. His expression was one of strain and, before I knew it, I was beside him, grasping the other arm of the drunken man.

Edward sent an appreciative glance my way as we set the man down in one of the chairs, his body slumped over so he wasn't in danger to himself by choking on his own vomit. I rubbed my hands together and returned my attention to Edward.

"Edward Mason, right?" I inquired, holding my hand out in front of him. He gave me a look of confusion at my knowing his name. Realizing my stalker-ish blunder, I elaborated. "I've heard a lot about you - what you do around here. It's pretty great stuff."

"Yeah, I'm Edward and... thanks." He smiled sheepishly, suddenly embarrassed for some reason. I had no idea why. What he did was great work, and quite unexpected in someone so young. He grasped my hand, shaking it more firmly than I would've expected from even a man of his stature. There was something in the touch that immediately calmed me; I didn't know what it was. It made the stress running mayhem around my brain soften to a dull roar.

"Dr. Cullen," I replied, by way of introduction. His eyes widened and I was immediately intrigued. "What?" I joked conversationally.

"You're the Dr. Cullen?" Edward asked incredulously. I raised my eyebrows questionably. "Do you know how much the women around here talk about you?" He chuckled. "You see that one over there?" He pointed to the corner of the room. The woman in question seemed to brighten in the light of my gaze. "She's here every week, just because she knows you walk through here around this time. I heard her talking about it to a friend of hers a couple of weeks ago."

"That's just... weird." My eyebrows crumpled at my suddenly limited vocabulary. There was a pause before I continued. "Anyway, it was nice meeting you, Edward, but I'm afraid I have to return to my work. Maybe we'll see each other again some night."

"Yeah, maybe." He smiled crookedly. "It was nice meeting you too, Dr. Cullen." He began to turn, and I don't know what provoked me to do so, but I grabbed his forearm, stopping him in the process. His eyes flashed to where we were connected before they returned to my face, something I couldn't discern in his eyes.

I hastily let go of his arm, afraid I had frightened the boy, before speaking. "Call me Carlisle."

"Carlisle." He said my name like he was trying it out. "Well, it was nice meeting you too, Carlisle." He smirked before turning, raising a hand over his shoulder in a farewell gesture.

I didn't quite know what to make of our little... interaction, but there was something in me that knew he was important. I didn't know how, or even in what way, yet, but I knew it wouldn't be too long until I found out.

The next week, all we saw of each other was a brief glance. A bagel was trapped between my teeth and a mug of coffee was in my hand. As he began to stand up, I tapped my watch with my empty hand, sending an apologetic look his way.

I didn't expect to see anything of him for another week and so was surprised when, while covering a shift for a friend, I entered the examination room that Wednesday, eyes on my clipboard, only to raise them to meet his incredulous ones atop the table. My eyes immediately zeroed in on his injury and I couldn't help the gasp that escaped me as I hurriedly made my way over to him.

"Dear God, Edward! What happened to you?" I exclaimed, concern coloring my tone. Though the nurse had made a good attempt at removing all the blood, more was seeping through an ugly, deep gash underneath one of his eyebrows, his eye swelling into a repulsive, purple bruise. My eyes swept worriedly over his face before I moved to my bag, threading a needle.

"Oh, nothing much, really... just a small fight." He averted his gaze from my face to the floor and wincing as the needle pierced his skin.

"Edward," I chided, seeing through his lie, "you don't seem like the kind of man who's easily intimidated." I hated how he was downplaying whatever happened. "You look like you're going to need stitches; we both know this wasn't just a 'small fight'." I realized that maybe I was being a little rude or presumptuous for someone I'd only ever really met on one occasion, but somehow I knew it was important.

He sighed dejectedly, speaking after a calculating pause. "It was just one of the guys at the home... They called me a faggot," he replied in a quiet voice, shrugging one of his shoulders. His gaze was trained to the floor, clearly ashamed of the situation.

"I'd like to tell you that it'll get better, but it doesn't." I smiled empathetically at him and he raised his head in surprise, probably due to the amount of women that "swooned" over me coinciding with the newfound information. I'm sure he could see the serenity in my gaze as he, in return, drew up one corner into his mouth into that half-smile I'd seen before. I could feel a sense of understanding pass between us.

"Uh, thanks?"

"Ha, yes. I guess I wasn't really very helpful - more negative than anything else - but, well, there's no use in being misled." He nodded thoughtfully in agreement. It was true, though. It wouldn't get better, and I was sure this was only the first in a long string of brutality that his sexuality would cause him. As this information set in, without my consent I felt my lips move to form words. "Edward, what exactly are your living arrangements?"


Within a month the paperwork had been signed and Edward had become my... son. A couple weeks after, we were moving halfway across the country to Forks, Washington, after a joint decision that a change of scenery would be good for the both of us. I didn't tell him how deeply devoted I was to my job in Chicago, knowing that it pained him to be in the same city that he most likely lost both his parents.

I was brought back from my reminiscences by a sudden wetness on my knee. My gaze abruptly moved from where it had drifted back to the ceiling and down to the dampness, only to be met with a hair of bronze-colored hair and a pair of emerald-green eyes, looking up at me through thick, brown lashes. My breath escaped my throat in a rush at the realization that the moisture I could feel on my leg was Edward's mouth through the material of my scrubs.

I tried to gather in my thoughts, a muted voice in the back of my head growing stronger was yelling, He's your son! "Ed-" My protest stopped just as quickly as he removed my lips, bringing them down in another open-mouthed kiss further up my leg.

He pulled his legs up and away from mine, drawing himself into a kneeling position and proceeded to repeat the gesture further up my thigh, still staring into my eyes with that strong emotion I'd seen on the first day I met him. Except, now I knew what it was - lust.

I moaned softly - too softly for him to be able to hear - as he pressed his tongue into the pressure point in my thigh. My hands flew to his shoulders as my head fell back onto the armrest. I closed my eyes tightly, trying to regain my morality. But, as I felt his kiss press into the sensitive spot just below my rib cage, two distinctive words reverberated through my head: fuck it.

My eyes opened in resolve, only to be met by Edward's less than an inch from my face. My breath caught in surprise at his sudden closeness. He leaned in, whispering in my ear, "Don't think." His forearms were braced on either side of my shoulders as he pulled away again, looking into my eyes searchingly, hungrily.

I wasn't quite sure what he was searching for, but I let him look, focusing instead on all the swirls and patterns trapped inside those vivid green irises, more intricate than you'd ever be able to guess at from a distance - mesmerizing. He must've found whatever he was looking for as my view was blocked by his eyelids while his face descended the short distance it had to make to reach mine. Our skin pressed together with that wonderful, relaxing, yet stimulating touch.

He went for my upper lip as I went for his bottom, memorizing the combination of his taste coated with vintage red wine - delicious. His lip was plump and I couldn't help but tease it, nip it with my teeth. At his groan, my hands rubbed firmly into his shoulders, making a path up his neck and into that smooth hair at the nape.

It was soft twined in between my fingers, and I couldn't help but run them through all the way to the crown of his head, to the longer locks, fisting them in my hands and tugging them sharply. Edward groaned at the gesture and thrust his hips into mine almost aggressively, rubbing his hardness into my own growing one. I answered his groan, pulling away from his lips as I tried to catch my breath, staring at that same damned white ceiling, somehow a less virginal color now in this heated light.

He pressed one of his open-mouthed kisses to the space between my jaw and the hard column muscle of my neck and I pushed his head further into me in response with the strong hold I had on his hair. My other hand escaped down his back, massaging muscle on its way down to the small of his back, bare where his T-shirt had ridden up. I slipped my hand under those low jeans, feeling the beginning of the crack of his ass, and pushed his pelvis forcefully into my own.

In a movement so fast I barely noticed (or maybe I was just otherwise distracted), Edward grabbed a hold of my hips, pulling me down to the couch's seat with a strength I had no idea he possessed. He threaded one hand through the hair at the back of my head, jerking into a position that gave him a better angle to ravage my tongue with his.

The other arm came around the back of my body, around my waist and down to my hips, compressing it in a way that I was sure would cause him to lose circulation. He lifted my hips with a new ferocity into his, our hip bones banging against each other in a way that should've been painful.

It became impossible for me to record the sounds that issued from both of our mouths. Moans and groans were mixed in between sounds that were so close to sobs that I would've been worried if I were not so focused on my own pleasure. Our eyes never broke contact and I could see the uncontained lust in Edward's, sure it was mirrored in my own.

"Eddd... ungh... I'm... gonnnungh..." I groaned indecipherably as I pressed up into him with a new intensity, breaking our rhythm. I felt him twitch above me at the change in pace and knew that he, too, was close.

"Me... fuck..." was his reply. The rough texture of his jeans through my scrubs rubbing against my length only heightened my lust, if that was at all possible.

"FUCK!" I groaned, though it sounded more like a shout. Without even realizing it, I pulled him impossibly closer to me, my arms around his shoulders pulling his chest to mine so powerfully I'm sure it would leave bruises.

I removed my lips from his, attaching them with teeth to the pressure point at his neck, sucking as I felt the rapid beating of his pulse under my tongue. My eyes clenched together so hard I could see stars, and my heart felt like it was going to explode through my chest.

A whimper of pleasure escaped me as my orgasm flew from my groin, outward in fervent pulsations, until I was emptied completely. At some point I realized that Edward must've come too, as I could feel his heartbeat slowing above me, his muscles relaxing before he fell into my chest.

He looked up at me from there, flushed skin, swollen lips, and deep purple love bite - my mark on him. But, it was not any of these things that captured my attention. It was the raw, unadulterated look in his eyes, something I knew shone through my own.

It was forbidden and not wholly understood, but it was there. Part of me hoped that it would never be understood... by either of us. But another part of me, a much more selfish part of me, yearned for its comprehension and for us to learn about it... together.