Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, but these boys are very much mine. Rated M for explicit M/M sex, a few too many parentheses, and a rather indulgent use of the word "boy."
a/n: I realized that it's been exactly a year, since I wrote "Stay" for Slash/Backslash 2.0. That fact alone was enough to prompt a re-visit because I've rather missed these two. But then I was asked to co-host Slash/Backslash 3.0, and I positively couldn't resist adding another scene. So please enjoy (with love) and think about what you're going to write for the best Twi BOY LOVE contest. After all, we always need more quality slash.
Thank you Prassacut, sadtomato, and Connie_79 for the encouragement, and to everyone who cares enough to revisit these two once more.
Edward hadn't stopped fidgeting.
He looked lovely, of course, in gray dress pants and that striped button-down Carlisle had purchased for him (just the right shade of green to match his eyes). But he was clearly uncomfortable, propped awkwardly against the bar, fingers tugging absently at one cuff of his pressed shirtsleeve.
"Here, drink this," Carlisle instructed, sliding a glass of wine across the smooth marble surface.
The boy picked up the glass but did little more than stare into the pale gold liquid before setting it down again.
"Edward," he said softly, reaching out to brush a fingertip along the back of his hand. "It will be all right."
"I know," he responded, but his voice wavered slightly. "It's just…" He looked up at Carlisle then, uncertainty marring his lovely face. "I care about what she thinks."
"Of course you do," the man assured, twining their fingers together. "And it will be all right."
Edward smiled, but it was clearly forced. "Maybe I should drink some wine."
"Yes." The man agreed.
Carlisle took a deep breath. It had been his idea, of course, inviting Elizabeth Masen to dinner. It was only right that he meet the young man's mother. And he'd tried for months to get Edward to agree. But every time he suggested it, Edward had come up with one reason or another as to why they shouldn't.
But the previous Monday (in Carlisle's kitchen over cups of black tea), Edward had finally agreed to dinner.
Carlisle had, yet again, broached the topic of Edward giving up his apartment when the lease ran out. It was foolish, he thought, for the boy to spend money he hardly had on a place he rarely occupied. But Edward had, until then, refused to even consider the matter.
It was the first time he hadn't immediately dismissed Carlisle's suggestion that they move in together.
Instead (with a resigned sigh and a rather grim expression on his face) he said, "I suppose you really should meet my mother."
So now they stood together in the crowded bar of Harry Caray's, waiting for Elizabeth to arrive. Carlisle had let Edward choose the restaurant. Personally, he thought the place was rather ridiculous. But he made the mistake of bringing him once, and Edward had fallen in love with the outlandish display of memorabilia. The steak, at least (Carlisle had to admit) was quite good.
At first, he had offered to cook a meal and invite Edward's mother to his home, thinking (perhaps) that he would feel more comfortable in private. But the boy had balked at the idea, citing a dozen reasons why his mother would know that he was practically living there.
Carlisle found the concerns a bit silly, considering the fact that Edward would actually be living there quite soon, but he didn't argue.
Harry Caray's it was.
Edward tensed beside him, spilling some of his wine. He shook it off his fingers; Carlisle dabbed up the mess with a cocktail napkin, grimacing when the boy wiped his damp hand on his now not-so-clean trousers. But he couldn't offer any words of reproof because Edward was turning away from the bar with a whispered "she's here."
Carlisle took another deep breath. Well, he had asked for this.
He left a few bills on the bar for their drinks and followed his young lover back through the crowd toward the restaurant's entrance to where Elizabeth Masen stood.
Edward stopped a few feet from the woman as if unsure of what to do. Carlisle stood behind him watching, waiting.
She was quite lovely (though, of course, with Edward's fey features and striking beauty, he hadn't expected otherwise). She wore her reddish blonde hair in a loose braid coiled about her head, and Carlisle couldn't help but note that her eyes were exactly the same shade of green as her son's
Edward, meanwhile, was not looking at his mother at all. Instead he was staring down rather awkwardly at his shoes. Carlisle wondered if he should say something. But, before he had the chance, Edward jerked his head up again, and he appeared to come to a decision.
He took a hesitant step forward and raised his arms to pull his mother into an affectionate (if uncoordinated) hug. "It's good to see you, mom," he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
"You too, baby," she responded, rubbing a hand down his back. "You too." And, for the first time, she looked past her son to fix a critical stare on Carlisle.
Though his stomach clenched at the clear scrutiny, he managed a smile, and her eyes softened slightly. Carlisle was (suddenly, uncomfortably) very much aware of his own age, aware that the woman – Edward's mother – was actually a few months younger than he was. But, of course, he'd known that since the inception of their relationship.
He took a deep breath, resisted the urge to run a nervous hand through his hair, and waited for Edward to make introductions.
After a few moments, he pulled away from his mother's embrace and looked over his shoulder (bottom lip caught between straight, white teeth). "Um, mom," he began rather shyly, stepping back to stand beside Carlisle.
The man placed a reassuring hand on the small of his back.
Edward glanced up at him before continuing: "Mom, this is Dr. Carlisle Cullen. My, er, boyfriend."
Oh Lord. He sounded painfully young. And it was all Carlisle could do not to cringe at the term Edward chose to describe their relationship.
Boyfriend. It seemed trite (school boy crush) and entirely insufficient to describe what they had. But he managed another smile and extended his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Elizabeth Masen," she said, taking his hand. "The pleasure is mine, Dr. Cullen."
"Carlisle," she repeated, ruffling Edward's hair.
He ducked out of her reach, an adorably embarrassed expression on his face.
"Shall we sit?"
They both nodded, and Carlisle followed behind as the hostess led them to their table.
"How have you been, Ed?" Elizabeth asked, once they'd been seated.
"I've been fine." The boy looked at Carlisle then (a faint blush seeping onto pale cheeks). "I've been really good actually."
His mother looked rather uncomfortable. She took a sip of water. "I see." Her voice was flat, curt.
It was certainly not the reaction Edward was looking for. He frowned.
"You've been well." It wasn't really a question, but his mother nodded anyway.
"And how is Tom?" he asked after several long moments. His gaze was fixed on his mother, but his eyes were carefully blank, cold.
Carlisle tensed when he realized that Edward was referring to Elizabeth Masen's boyfriend. The man who had treated him so cruelly.
She twisted her napkin between her hands. Clearly the question made her uneasy (as well it should, Carlisle couldn't help but think).
"Actually, I wouldn't really know." She looked down and then up again, green eyes holding Edward's glare.
Carlisle took a sip of wine. Resisted the urge (yet again) to reach out and touch the young man seated beside him.
"You see," Elizabeth continued when it was clear Edward wasn't going to respond. "We're taking a bit of a break. I…" She looked down once more. "I suppose I just need some time. Some time to think things over."
Edward was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I'm glad."
Carlisle was impressed by how calm he sounded. He said nothing.
His mother frowned. "Well, I'm not sure it's a good thing," she quickly added a bit defensively. "And I still wish you hadn't stormed out of dinner quite like you did that night. I mean, Edward—"
Carlisle had to cut her off. "Elizabeth," he said firmly. Both mother and son looked at him, startled at the interjection; he'd said very little since they'd sat down. But he continued, voice low and clear. "Your boyfriend hurt Edward very much that night. He had every right to leave."
"Perhaps he was a bit…unkind," she responded, clearly a bit flustered, "But—"
"No." Carlisle repeated. "There is no excuse for what he did, for what he said."
Although he looked rather surprised, Edward smiled, a slight curve of pink lips.
Elizabeth took a deep breath and clasped her hands together. Everyone seemed to understand how significant her response would be; after all, she was making a choice. Finally, she looked at her son. "You're right. I'm sorry Edward."
The boy nodded. It was a start.
Carlisle took the liberty of ordering a bottle of wine (a lovely Petit Syrah he knew Edward would like; God knew, he needed it).
Elizabeth ordered a vodka tonic.
He shrugged, motioning for the waiter to fill Edward's glass and then his own.
His mother actually pursed her lips, as Edward took a small sip. "Well," she said, "I suppose you are twenty-one now." Her eyes darted to Carlisle. Somehow, however, she managed not to inquire as to his age, though it was quite obvious she wanted to.
Carlisle did not roll his eyes. Instead, he smiled and placed a hand on the boy's knee.
Elizabeth Masen did not miss the gesture. Her eyes widened slightly before she lifted her water glass to her lips and schooled her expression.
Edward glanced timidly at Carlisle.
It was going to be a long meal.
"So, Carlisle," Elizabeth said once they had placed their orders. "Edward tells me you met at his café."
"And what do you do?"
"I teach. Biology."
Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully but said nothing.
"I was a visiting professor at Northwestern this last year," he added, sliding a fingertip along the rim of his wine glass. "That's how I met Edward."
His mother frowned slightly. "You took Biology, honey?"
"No, no," the boy corrected quickly. "Carlisle never actually taught me. He just spent time at the café after class, grading papers and such."
"Oh." Elizabeth looked down, folding and unfolding her napkin. "That's good then."
Carlisle smiled at the young man; his pale fingers were tracing patterns on the white linen tablecloth.
"But visiting," the woman said after a few moments, propping an elbow on the tabletop. "Does that mean your term is up, or will you teach another year?"
"No. It was a one-year position," he answered.
"Oh. I see."
Carlisle couldn't help but think she was pleased. But she hid the small smile expertly behind her cocktail glass.
Edward was no so discrete. He glared openly. Carlisle resisted the urge to kick him under the table.
"So where will you go now?" Elizabeth inquired, clearly interested.
"Hoping for somewhere far, far away?" Edward cut in before the man had a chance to answer.
Carlisle squeezed his thigh (hard), but the young man only turned his glare on him. "What? It's true."
"Edward, that's not what I meant…" the woman tried.
"It's okay, mom. He's not going anywhere."
Elizabeth Masen frowned but said nothing.
"It was better for my career," Carlisle tried before Edward could say anything else, "to not take another position next term." He took a sip of wine before continuing. "I need to finish the article I'm writing, get published. Then I will be able to find a more permanent position."
Carlisle took a steadying breath and pushed on. "And Edward is thinking about applying to graduate school, pursuing a Masters degree and teaching certificate. So, in a year, we'll see."
Elizabeth Masen's eyes were fixed steadily on her son. "You're considering applying to the same universities," she finally said (after a moment that stretched and stretched).
Carlisle thought she'd caught on a bit quicker than, perhaps, she wanted to.
Edward flushed and looked down, but he nodded.
His mother, if anything, went a bit pale. But somehow she managed a small smile. "That's lovely," she said, but the words were clearly forced. "I had no idea things were so…serious."
The waiter appeared with their meals, and they sat in awkward, painful in silence. Carlisle knew his steak was cooked perfectly, yet it still tasted of ash in his mouth.
Edward wasn't eating. He'd selected the filet (medium rare) with a side of spaghetti. Carlisle knew it was one of his favorites, but he'd barely touched it. Elizabeth Masen watched her son closely, and Carlisle knew she was also watching him watch Edward.
He wanted to tell the boy to eat. He wanted to take a roll from the basket and butter it for him. He wanted to reach over and take Edward into his arms, pet his hair, tell him he loved him, tell him everything would be all right.
But, of course, he did none of those things.
He knew it was important for Edward to reveal the intricacies of their relationship to his mother on his own terms. He certainly didn't want to do or say something that would make the boy more uncomfortable, something that his mother could interpret as inappropriate.
Carlisle, himself, had never felt more on display. It was an odd feeling, really. He was older than the woman, but yet he felt like he were a schoolboy again, seeking permission, asking approval to date his crush.
He would have laughed out loud at the absurdity of the situation, if he weren't intensely aware of Edward's discomfit and concern.
He refilled his wine glass and then Edward's; Elizabeth's critical gaze followed his movements. He sighed.
"You know what, honey," Elizabeth said, placing her fork on the side of her plate. "I spoke with Jessica Stanley's mother the other day."
Edward narrowed his eyes, took a long sip of wine, said nothing.
"You remember Jessica, don't you?" his mother continued. "Delightful girl. You had such a crush on her in grade school."
The young man drummed his fingers on the tabletop and stared coolly at his mother.
"Well, anyway, she's coming into town next weekend, and I thought it would be nice if you called her up, offered to take her out to dinner or something." She looked at Edward hopefully. "I think she really might enjoy that, and her mother—"
"I can't," he said abruptly, cutting her off. "Carlisle and I are going to Milwaukee. I've never been, you know. And the Cubs are playing the Brewers."
"Oh," she said simply.
Carlisle hid his surprise behind a sip of wine. They'd made no such plans. But a road trip sounded like a lovely idea. They'd never traveled anywhere together before.
"And you can take the time off work, Ed?" Elizabeth asked after a few moments.
"Don't you need the money?"
Edward shrugged, but then narrowed his eyes slightly. "Actually, I'm thinking about giving up my apartment."
At that, his mother's eyes widened; she was clearly startled. "But what will you do?" She paused, then understood. "Oh. Oh, I see…" she trailed off, fingering the ring she wore on her index finger.
"We will need to talk about this, of course." She glanced at Carlisle.
It was all he could do to remain silent, though it irritated him that her first impulse was to treat him like a child.
Edward said nothing; he twirled a bite of spaghetti around his fork.
Elizabeth shook her head. "Frankly, I'm just not certain I can approve."
"Pardon?" Carlisle had to interrupt.
The woman scowled at him but continued to twist the ring on her finger. "You must understand," she said, "this is a private matter. One my son and I will discuss at a later time."
Carlisle shook his head (doing his best to fight the anger twisting in his gut). "You're right," he finally said softly, though his voice was laced with deliberate fierceness. "This is a private matter. A private matter between Edward and myself."
Elizabeth huffed and made to protest, but he continued. "Your son is an adult. He has been supporting himself for over three years now, and, I am sorry, but I hardly see how his living arrangements concern you."
Carlisle noted the color rising in her pale cheeks.
Edward stared rather defiantly, as if challenging her to say something else in objection.
But his mother simply took long sip of her drink before looking around for the waiter. She signaled for another cocktail.
Carlisle drained his wine and frowned at the empty bottle.
"Well," Elizabeth said a bit curtly, "as long as you've considered all the consequences and implications of such a decision."
Edward opened his mouth but closed it again quickly, biting his lip to keep the (no doubt inflammatory) words from slipping out. He took a sip of water, set the glass down again carefully, and pressed his palms to the tabletop. "Yes. I…we have."
Carlisle was pleased with his calm reply; he placed a hand on his thigh, smoothed a thumb along the soft fabric of his dress slacks.
Elizabeth frowned a bit. She seemed to have been expecting an argument. But then she nodded and reached across the table to brush her finger along the back of Edward's hand.
He did not pull away.
"That's good then."
The boy smiled. "It is."
Afterward, they went to the bar. Carlisle thought it best to distract Edward a bit after a no doubt disquieting dinner. The sat side-by-side on the worn barstools, his young lover's thigh pressed warmly to his own.
They said little; Carlisle watched the flickering shadows play across Edward's face, darkening his eyes, highlighting lovely cheekbones. He was mildly concerned (though not surprised) when the boy seemed to drink the cheap wine Bella poured a bit more quickly than usual. But he simply placed a hand on Edward's knee and left him to his thoughts.
A while later, Edward drained the last of his wine (his third; Carlisle had been counting) and stared down at the crimson ring circling the bottom of the glass. Then he looked up at the man for the first time. His cheeks were flushed from alcohol and warmth (a rosy pink), but his eyes were sad. Still, he smiled. "Thank you," he said, his voice barely a whisper.
"Hmm?" Carlisle asked, reaching out to trace a thumb along the boy's jaw, encourage him to hold his gaze.
"Thank you," he said again. "For forcing me to eat dinner with my mother."
He chuckled softly, and Edward's smile brightened (a soft curve of lips).
"You know," the boy continued after a few moments, "I think, despite everything, she couldn't help but like you."
It was Carlisle's turn to smile. He took Edward's hand in his, laced their fingers together.
"I mean, she was horrified to realize that we might actually be sleeping together, and I know she was dying to ask how old you are, but I think she liked you." He paused and shook his head. "I'm not entirely sure how you do it, you know," he murmured, only slurring the words a bit. "Make everyone like you."
"She realized that you were happy, Ed," the man responded, brushing the hair back from Edward's forehead. "She just wants you to be happy."
"Mmm," he said noncommittally, swaying forward slightly toward the man. His breath was warm against Carlisle's cheek and smelled of wine (rich and tangy sweet). "Everyone likes you," he said again, tilting his head to touch his mouth to Carlisle's neck. "I like you."
"Yes," Carlisle said, pulling back slightly, but the boy only leaned in closer, lips sliding a bit wetly along his throat.
"I have to piss," Edward announced suddenly, mouth still pressed to Carlisle's skin.
At that the man laughed loudly and, putting his hands on Edward's shoulders, forced him upright. "Why am I not surprised?"
He shrugged but managed to stand (albeit ungracefully) without spilling anything or knocking over his stool.
Carlisle followed him into the restroom. He wouldn't have, usually; they always respected one another's privacy. But Edward was rather drunk and didn't appear too steady on his feet.
He was standing at the washbasin, leaning forward, palms pressed to the cracked porcelain. He looked up as Carlisle entered but said nothing. The man walked around the partition to the urinals and relieved himself. As he was pulling his trousers back together, he felt Edward beside him (a slip of a shadow over his shoulder), and he looked up.
The boy's cheeks colored prettily, and he looked away. "I, um, need to go."
"Naturally," Carlisle responded.
Edward fumbled with his zip and pulled out his cock. The man watched him absently.
He looked over his shoulder at the older man.
"I can't…" Edward looked down at his hand.
Carlisle couldn't help but like the blush that splashed across his face, down his throat, to his collar.
"I can't go," he finally managed softly. "Not with you looking at me like that."
Carlisle raised an eyebrow.
Edward's blush (if possible) deepened. "I'm…I'm getting hard."
The man smiled but moved away (out of sight). After a few moments, he heard a soft sigh and then the steady stream of liquid against the bowl.
Edward emerged, cheeks still delightfully pink, and washed his hands. Carlisle stood, arms folded across his chest, watching him. When he was done, the boy balled up the paper towel and tossed in the bin, but made no move toward the door. "I'm still…a bit…" he faltered, looked down, shoved his now clean hands into his pockets. "Well, you know…"
Carlisle did know. "Using the loo turns you on now?"
Edward scowled. "No. You turn me on."
The man laughed. "A stray breeze could turn you on."
Edward narrowed his eyes but then shrugged. "It's possible." He took a step toward Carlisle. "But it would still be rather awkward to go back to the bar like this." He made a vague gesture with a hand, motioning in the general direction of his groin.
"Rather overdressed for this fine establishment?"
"No." Edward huffed and moved his arm again (the same sweeping motion). "Hard."
Carlisle felt a hint of color warming his own cheeks. "Ah, I see."
The boy nodded but said nothing.
"And what do you propose to do about it?"
Edward moved forward; though they weren't touching, Carlisle could still feel the heat from his body against his skin.
"I thought, perhaps, you could help me out." Edward looked down again. "You know, if you want to." Somehow he managed to look very young and incredibly wanton all at once. He bit his lip then added quickly: "So we can go back to the bar, of course - before Bella notices."
Carlisle felt quite certain that the girl had already noticed their absence, but he'd had (perhaps) one too many drinks to care. He ran his fingertips down Edward's arms lightly, earning a delicate shudder, as green eyes fluttered shut.
"And what," Carlisle refused to be embarrassed by how rough his voice sounded, "would you like me to do?"
Edward's eyes opened again (already dilated and clouded with want). "Touch me."
Carlisle slid a hand down the Edward's chest. The boy held his breath as fingers toyed with his belt buckle. Then Carlisle slipped his palm lower to press against the snug bulge in Edward's pants.
He gasped (wet lips parted slightly) and moved his own hand to cover the older man's. "It won't take long."
No. It usually didn't.
Edward didn't move their hands, but he was rocking his hips gently, pushing himself into Carlisle's fingers. "Oh…oh…" He increased his rhythm, and Carlisle heard the breath catch in his throat.
"It feels good."
The man shifted his fingers, pressing harder and eliciting another gasp from Edward. The boy's other hand came up to clutch at Carlisle's shoulder, pulling him closer. He could feel the warmth of Edward's breath against his throat, as he murmured no doubt mindless things.
"Oh God, yes…don't stop." He was already close. Carlisle could tell by the way the words sounded more like a hiss, the way his breath shuddered and broke.
But suddenly he remembered exactly where they were – in the men's room, standing in front of the washbasin where anyone could just push open the door and—
He stilled his movements; Edward groaned.
"Not here, love."
The boy opened his eyes, an adorably mutinous expression on his face. "Why on earth not?" he managed through rather clenched teeth.
Carlisle gestured to their surroundings.
Edward's answering glare seemed to imply that it was a perfectly appropriate place for such things.
"And," the man tried then, looking down "I'm sure you don't want ruin your good slacks."
Edward rolled his eyes and pressed his own palm to the front of his trousers to rub.
Carlisle allowed himself to enjoy the sight for a brief moment before glancing toward the door again. Then he made an assuredly reckless decision (the boy never failed to impair his ability to think rationally) and quickly maneuvered him around the partition and into the single stall.
Carlisle barely managed to slide the lock before Edward was reaching for him (fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt). His kiss was clumsy (he was, after all, quite drunk). Their teeth knocked, and Edward bit at his lip, but he didn't care because he could feel Edward pressed against him, could taste him in his mouth and on his tongue.
Carlisle's hands were at Edward's waist, undoing his belt, tugging at his zip. Then he pulled back from the kiss to slide dress slacks down over narrow hips.
Edward panted against his neck, as Carlisle slipped a hand down to brush his fingers against his cock (now damp and warm).
"Oh…oh God," Edward breathed, eyes wide and slightly stunned, as the man sunk gracefully to his knees. "Just seeing you like that…so hot. I'll, I'll come." He was already shaking, as he looked down at Carlisle.
The man slid his hands up again, lifting the boy's shirt, and licked a line between pale hipbones. He could feel the ripple of firm stomach muscles clenching beneath his tongue.
"Stop teasing me," Edward gasped, and Carlisle looked up to see him shut his eyes and thud his head against the wall (untidy hair glinting in the harsh florescent light).
The man laughed but wrapped his hand around his cock once more, sliding fingers to the base of the shaft, before closing his mouth over Edward's hard prick, taking him in as deeply as he could.
Edward's back arched; he thrust once, twice, a third time and came with a startled cry.
He swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. Edward hadn't moved, but Carlisle could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
"God, you'll have to teach me how to do that some day, Professor," he finally said.
Carlisle couldn't hold back the laugh. "Teach you to do what, precisely?" When the boy made no move to redress himself, he carefully tucked him back into his slacks.
"That," he repeated, rather breathlessly.
"I haven't a clue what you mean." Carlisle laughed again. "As we both know you're quite skilled at sucking me off."
Edward leaned his head back against the stall again and ran his tongue along his lip. If Carlisle wasn't already quite aroused, the sight alone would have done it.
"Yea. But I've never managed to get you off so quickly."
The man smiled and pressed a kiss to Edward's rather warm cheek. "I assure you, that has nothing to do with your proficiency."
Edward didn't look convinced.
Carlisle continued, "I am, if you recall, quite a bit older than you are."
At that, he smiled (pink lips curving just so). "I know. It turns me on."
"Everything turns you on."
He shrugged. "Touché."
"Come now," Carlisle said, taking his hand in his. "Bella's sure to have noticed."
The girl just smiled knowingly when they finally returned to their seats. Carlisle (much to his chagrin) felt the blush return to his cheeks.
Edward, clearly, obviously sated, was oblivious. He propped an elbow on the bar and rested a flushed cheek on his palm, that little dreamy smile still playing on his lips.
Christ. Carlisle wanted to bury his face in his hands. They might as well announce it to the entire bar. He took a steadying breath and stole another discreet glance at the boy. The boy whose green eyes were far too bright, whose ridiculous hair was stuck to his lovely forehead with a telltale bit of sweat.
"Another Scotch, please," Carlisle announced.
"What he's having," Edward chimed in.
"Water for him," Carlisle quickly amended. "He's cut off."
Bella laughed. Edward was (thankfully) too happily content to object.
Later, they lay curled together in bed. They reached for each other so naturally, so easily now (clung together like vines, like ivy).
Carlisle smiled and pressed his mouth to Edward's hair, breathing him in. The smell of the boy was as familiar as his own, but it never failed to soothe, invite, intoxicate him. He slid an arm around Edward's waist and pulled him closer still.
They were both naked. They often slept that way, even when they were simply sleeping. Edward had commented once that he preferred it like that, and Carlisle had smiled at the sincerity (innocence, openness) of his expression as he described how risqué it felt to sleep without clothes, skin touching skin.
It was certainly an indulgence the older man could approve of.
"Did you mean it?" Carlisle asked after a few minutes.
"Hmm?" Edward managed, voice slurred with sleep.
"That we'd go to Milwaukee this weekend. Are the Cubs actually playing?"
Edward laughed, twisted in his arms. "No. I made that up. I have no idea where they're playing."
Carlisle paused, slid a hand down the boy's back. "Would you like to?"
"Like to what?"
"Would you like to go to Milwaukee…or anywhere?" He tried to sound casual but suddenly, desperately he wanted to get away for a while with Edward.
The young man turned his face up to his. "Yes, I would." Then: "where will we go?"
"Anywhere you like."
Edward nodded seriously, lips pressed together. "I've never been to the beach."
Carlisle smiled. "We'll make arrangements tomorrow."
The boy turned then, body stretching, sliding against his. Carlisle groaned as he felt his ever-present erection trail a damp line down his thigh.
"What time is it?" Edward asked. "You up for another go?"
Carlisle laughed at that. Edward's choice of phrasing never failed to amuse him. "I suppose," he said, rolling over, pinning the boy snuggly beneath him, "I could manage, as you put it, another go."
"Good," he breathed, wriggling a bit.
The man enjoyed the press of Edward's cock against his stomach.
"Because you've made me incredibly hard." He wriggled again, as if to emphasize his point.
"I've noticed," Carlisle said, kissing him, opening his mouth against the delightful sounds he made.
Edward was still moving beneath him, hips lifting, shifting. "Oh…oh yes…" he breathed (lips slipping along Carlisle's jaw). "Can we…" he gasped, "can we do it like we did the first time?"
At that, Carlisle pushed himself up on his elbows to look down at him. Edward groaned at the loss of friction and narrowed his eyes rather petulantly.
The man forced himself not to laugh. "Tell me," he asked, still holding himself above the boy. "Do you mean the first time when you showed up at my house in the middle of the night and nearly came in your trousers on my front porch? Or the first time when you did come in your trousers – in public I might add – in the corner booth at the pub?"
Edward tried to look cross but only managed to look mildly amused. "No, you prat," he said, hooking a leg around Carlisle's thighs, pulling him down again. "The first time we did it properly." He made a show of looking around. "You know. In your bed." Then he frowned. "Don't you remember?"
Carlisle did remember. The boy (naked, awkward and aroused…and beautiful, so beautiful) stretched out beneath him on the bed. The frantic press of bodies, as they rocked against each other. And Edward's eyes (so green and so wide) as he came between them.
Carlisle kissed him once and took his hands in his (stretched them above his head and pinned them there).
Edward moaned when he began to move.
The older man was still amazed at how well they fit together, his cock sliding in the narrow valley of Edward's hips, Edward's pressed between their bodies. Carlisle could feel his heart pounding against his own chest. He could feel the ripple of muscle, as Edward tensed and shifted beneath him. He could feel the warmth of too soft skin against his own.
"God, yes…like that." Edward's eyes were squeezed shut, pink lips parted (just so). "Like you're fucking me."
Carlisle paused. "Do you want me too?"
"No…" The young man opened his eyes again and shook his head. "No. Just…don't…stop."
He pressed down once more, and Edward cried out, back arching, shoulders pushing into the mattress. Then, suddenly he stilled, warm slickness spilling between them, smearing with each snap of Carlisle's hips.
He gasped, as Edward pulled a hand free from his grasp, slipped it down to curl warm fingers around his cock. "You now."
Later (once they were clean and dry and curled together once more), Edward settled back against the man's side. They lay quietly for a long while. Carlisle felt the steady rise and fall of the boy's chest against his own, and he thought he must have fallen asleep.
But then Edward turned his head (mouth pressed to Carlisle's collarbone) and murmured. "Did you mean it?"
"What?" Carlisle asked softly, fingers in the boy's hair.
"Did you mean what you said last week?" Edward opened one eye (a slit of green staring up at the older man). "About me moving in…permanently?" He spoke calmly, but Carlisle could hear the uncertainty there.
He laughed, pressed another kiss to Edward's lovely hair. "Yes. I meant it." He stoked a fingertip across the boy's cheek. "I meant it, just as I meant it the two dozen or so other times I'd said it before."
Edward closed his eyes again. "I'd like that," he sighed; the man could feel his body relax against him. "I think I'd really like that."
Carlisle smiled, unsurprised at the warmth that unfurled in his chest. "I'd like that too."
a/n: The 3rd annual Slash/\Backslash contest is almost here!
Pastiche Pen's and AngstGoddess003's original Twi-boy love contest is back, and we want your boy slash. I am co-hosting Slash/\Backslash this time around with Capricorn75, and we're sharing judging duties with Conversed and TheLadyinGrey42.
Submissions will open August 1 and run through Sept 5. For complete rules and guidelines please visit the Slash Backslash ffn profile page:
www (.) fanfiction (.) net/u/2110516/Slash_Backslash
And, be sure to follow slashbackslash3 (or a_violet_a and capricorn75) on Twitter for more details.