Entry for the "Pimp My Bunnies" Contest

Title: Where You Belong

Author: sadtomato

Rating: M

Plot Bunny Inspiration: 7. Any M/M pairing, exluding Emmett because...ew. Ever heard of daddy!kink? No, not like incest, I mean where the more dominant partner likes to be called Daddy in bed. I want it! A lot of it! Maybe Carlisle comes home to find Edward watching a little daddy!kink porn, or perhaps Jasper slips up during sex and calls Edward "Daddy". Maybe a blushing, shy Seth makes his way to a BDSM club to find himself a hot Daddy, in the form of Edward. You get my drift. Totally hot, right?

Disclaimer: The original characters belong to S. Meyer, not me. This story contains graphic sex of the slash variety; also, please consider the prompt-if you're not into the idea of daddy!kink, this might not be for you.

Summary: Carlisle's new boyfriend is young, sweet, and sexy-but he's also incredibly shy. Can Carlisle draw him out of his shell? M for lemons and "Daddy" stuff-you've been warned.

Edward is beautiful when he comes.

"Are you close, baby?" I ask him, ducking my head down to kiss him. He moans loudly and clings to me, throwing me off my rhythm a little when he tries to pull me closer. He loves to be close.

"C'mon, tell me," I prompt him. "Are you almost there?"

He nods furiously, his forehead brushing against mine. His lips are pressed together, white with strain, and I wonder again what he's holding back from me. What he still won't say after all the times we've been together like this.

"Talk to me, Edward," I beg him, lifting myself up on my knees. I speed up, thrusting into him relentlessly while he whines and bucks his slim hips against mine. "Are you gonna come for me?"

I take his cock in my hand, still slick with lube, and stroke him until he starts to thrash.

"Come, baby," I beg him, knowing I won't last much longer. His body stiffens and he throws his arm over his face, covering his eyes. "Edward," I groan.

He shudders through his release, whimpering even while his mouth stays tightly closed.

He's beautiful.

I love the way his creamy, smooth skin glistens with sweat from the effort of straining and writhing below me. The soft, reddish hair on his head, usually so carefully arranged, gets all sweaty and disheveled. His face ... is probably lovely, but I'm not really sure. He always hides his eyes from me when he comes.

I first saw him three months ago; we've been fooling around ever since then, but he's only let me fuck him a handful of times. I thank the gods of road construction every day for ruining my usual route to work-if First Avenue hadn't been closed down this summer, I wouldn't have been forced to take Spruce instead. I wouldn't have left earlier to compensate for the extra time it would take to get to work. I wouldn't have stopped at the Starbucks near campus instead of the local place downtown I've been going to for years.

I wouldn't have met Edward.

He made my latte that first day, chatting with me quietly while he worked. I flirted shamelessly with the cute coffee boy, not really expecting it to go anywhere, but when I picked up my cup it had a message scribbled on the side:

555-9484. Please?

I called him that night and teased him about being so bold.

"What made you so sure I'm even gay?" I asked.

"The way you looked at me-I just thought ..." he stuttered.

"No, you were right. I was looking at you like that," I confessed. His breath hitched.

"You're embarrassing me ..."

He gets embarrassed so easily, my shy boy. On our first real date, beers at the High Q, he was so quiet that I wondered if he'd changed his mind, if he didn't really like me. Not until he threw himself at me in the parking lot, flinging his thin arms around my neck and burying his face in my shoulder, did I realize he was just as smitten as I was.

I find my release right after he does, pulsing inside his warm body. When I come back to my senses, Edward is still lying beneath me with his arm thrown over his face. I pull out of him carefully, quickly pulling off the condom and tossing it in the trash can next to my bed. He's breathing hard, in short little gasps, and I worry that he's hyperventilating.

"Sweetie, calm down," I beg him, flopping down onto the bed. I pry his arm away from his face, but his eyes are still closed. "Just come here."

I pull him against my chest, ignoring the sticky cum covering his belly. "Shhhh," I tell him, rubbing circles over his lower back. He tucks his face into my shoulder and shudders one more time before relaxing into me. "Good boy," I tell him, trying to comfort him.

"Oh, Carlisle," he whispers, nestling closer. "Say that again?" he adds, his voice so soft that I can barely hear him.

It seems like an odd request, but Edward never asks for what he wants-ever-and I don't want to discourage him from doing it.

"Good boy," I repeat, and he moans quietly against my skin. My mind starts racing, wondering why he's reacting so strongly to those words. Why he's holding me tighter but finally relaxing. I want to ask him about it, but he always seems so fucking vulnerable afterwards that I don't want to push him. Tomorrow-I'll talk to him tomorrow for sure. For now I just hold him until he comes back to me, until he pulls himself away, lays his head on my pillow, and stretches out like a cat.

"That was awesome," he says, reaching out to touch my cheek.

"Awesome, huh?" I love to tease him about his juvenile vernacular; he's twenty-one and an intelligent college student, but sometimes he talks like a kid.

"Totally, bro," he says, rolling his eyes at me.

"I think I'm a little old to be your bro," I retort, even though I'm only ten years older. Edward bites his lip, probably holding back a comment about my age. "C'mon, let's go get cleaned up," I tell him, urging him up off the bed. "We got you all messy."

The next morning, Edward doesn't have to work so we both get to sleep in. The mornings when he wakes up before five are tough-I always have a hard time going back to sleep alone after he leaves my bed.

We both get up around nine, and Edward shrugs on one of my Northwestern t-shirts before padding into the kitchen. I'm not a big guy by any means, but Edward is slim and wears his clothes two sizes smaller than I do; I love it when he borrows my too-big clothes.

I quickly use the bathroom before following him out to the kitchen. He's making me a latte on the home espresso machine I bought last month, making use of Edward's forty percent discount.

"Want some sugar?" he asks, just as I'm reaching around him to grab a bag of English muffins.

"Of course," I answer, leaning in for a kiss. Edward giggles when I pull away, ducking his head shyly.

"I meant in your coffee."

"Can you make it like you did last week? With the cinnamon and stuff?" I ask, moving around him to make us breakfast. We work together seamlessly, Edward creating fancy little coffee drinks while I scramble some eggs for us. We eat at the pub table in my kitchen, flirting a little, holding hands awkwardly while we try to eat.

Edward's full of energy; he wants to go out and run around town, take the dog to the park or go shopping. I argue that we should spend it at my place, together, because we rarely get a lazy Sunday together.

We find a pretty good compromise; a long run in the park with Max, my chocolate Lab, tires us all out, and we spend the rest of the afternoon lounging around and reading. I'm still thinking about his strange behavior from last night, but I'm hesitant to bring it up and ruin our peaceful afternoon.

Edward usually stays at his own place during the week and at my place on Friday and Saturday nights. Last week, though, he stayed on Thursday, too; this week he's been here since Wednesday night, and I don't want to let him go.

"I guess I should get home," he says, folding down a corner of the page he was on in his book. It's still early evening, but it's starting to get dark earlier and earlier these days. The sun is setting already, and my living room is bathed in warm, golden light. Edward looks beautiful in this light; he looks beautiful in all light, actually, but he's especially gorgeous tonight, curled up on my couch.

"Stay with me?" I ask. "I'm not ready for you to leave."

He smiles, his head ducking down in embarrassment.

"I have to open tomorrow, so I need to get up early ... and I don't have any clean clothes here," he says.

"Sure you do. I washed them," I tell him. I thought he realized that I'd thrown his laundry in with mine earlier today, but he seems surprised.

"You washed my clothes?" he asks quietly, looking up at me even though his chin is still tucked against his chest.

"Yeah ... is that okay?" I ask. I have to remind myself sometimes that Edward's not used to being cared for; he grew up moving from foster home to foster home, some okay, some bad, but he was never really part of a family. He always seems shocked when I take care of him or show him any real kindness.

"Yeah," he says. "You sure you want me to stay? I have to get up at four thirty."

"I'm sure," I answer, leaning over to kiss him. He hums contentedly and turns back to his book, opening it again and carefully unfolding the dog-eared page.

"I didn't-oh, fuck, Edward-I didn't ask you to stay for this," I tell him, tightening my grip on his hair. He's on his knees in my walk-in closet, sucking my cock like he's desperate for it. I was putting my laundry away when he walked in, naked, and pushed me up against the wall.

"Want to," he says, breathless, pulling away just long enough to assure me that he's into this just as much as I am. He picks his rhythm right back up, bobbing up and down at a furious pace. One of his hands is braced against my hip, the other wrapped around the base of my shaft.

"God, you're so fucking hot," I tell him, groaning with pleasure as the tip of my dick hits the back of his throat. Again and again, he takes me deeper, his eyes wide open and staring up at my face. "So sexy."

He moans around my cock, his eyes fluttering with pleasure, and I remember the way he reacted last night when I comforted him-he seemed to like it, to really let go. I wonder if that's what he's wanting in bed, too-some reassurance? I'm always vocal, telling him what feels good and how sexy he is, but it's usually more about what we're doing than praising Edward himself.

"You're so good at this," I tell him, loosening my grip in his hair. I brush it back gently and continue encouraging him. "Edward ... are you a good boy?"

His eyes squeeze tightly closed and he nods without losing his rhythm. The hand on my cock drops down, and I can see Edward's arm moving as he starts to stroke himself in time with the movement of his mouth.

"Look at me, baby," I urge him, scratching my fingers lightly across his scalp. "You make me feel so good. You're my good boy, you are."

He stops moving, my cock buried in his throat, and lets out a muffled groan. His fingers are digging into my hip and he wavers a little, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Are you coming, Edward?" I whisper, and he doesn't need to answer; his eyes tell me everything I need to know. He comes back to himself quickly, though, and starts moving his mouth over me again. I was already right there on the edge, and watching Edward get himself off pushes me right over it. Just a few flicks of his tongue and I'm coming, spilling into his mouth. He swallows around me hungrily, not releasing my cock until I'm completely spent.

Even after he lets it slip from his lips, Edward doesn't move from his position; he nuzzles into my hip, breathing deeply, and wraps his arms around my thighs.

"Baby?" I ask, stroking hair hair softly. "You okay? Was that okay?"

He doesn't answer, just nods slightly, his lips brushing against my skin. Eventually I pull him up to his feet and hug him close, and he smiles up at me.

"You taste so good," he says, pecking me on the lips.

"Edward, you're amazing," I tell him, kissing his temple. I need him to talk to me, to tell me I'm doing what he wants, meeting his needs. "Was that good for you, sweetie? What I said? You liked that?"

His pale cheeks light up with color, and he nods shyly.

"You know I want to give you everything, right? Anything you want, baby," I prompt him. His sweetness and innocence are so sexy to me, but it's nerve-wracking having to guess at what will turn him on every time; he's never really communicated his desires to me. I'm hoping I can open him up a little more with some reassurance.

"I think I need to put some clothes on," he says, shivering a little. He grabs some folded pajama pants and a t-shirt from my laundry basket and walks out the door. "I'm gonna clean up," he tells me quietly. So much for getting him to open up.

A few weeks later, he's all but given up on the pretense of going home during the week. He's stopped at his apartment once or twice to pick up a few things, but he's slept in my bed every night. I fucking love it-his things scattered around my apartment, his socks folded neatly next to mine. I love him.

I don't know when I realized it, exactly; it wasn't like a light bulb switching on ... more like a sunrise, gradual and beautiful and slowly warming every corner of my heart. I love Edward, he's become my whole world, and I want to make sure he knows it.

I make Edward's favorite dinner, meatloaf and mashed potatoes. I made it for him a few weeks ago and it immediately became his favorite-he said no one's ever made him meatloaf before. I set the table, even light some candles, and try to make things look romantic. Edward's face is blushing bright red from the moment he walks into the kitchen; he's embarrassed by the attention and the obvious atmosphere of romance, but I refuse to let him hide from me.

"I wanted to do something special for you," I tell him, kissing his temple.

"Why?" he murmurs, taking in the table setting with wide eyes.

"Because you're special. You deserve it," I tell him, and his eyes snap to mine. He looks ... confused, I guess, and it fucking breaks my heart. "You deserve nice things, Edward. You deserve to be treated this way."

Instead of answering, he moves to the table and sits down. I sit down with him and kiss him again before serving him from the fancy dishes I almost never use. I poured us both glasses of red wine, but Edward doesn't really like the taste; he doesn't complain, of course, but I can tell. I bring him a Coke from the fridge and he smiles sheepishly.

"Thanks," he says. "I mean, for all of this. It's probably ... it's definitely the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"Meatloaf is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for you?" I ask him, incredulous. He looks embarrassed, and I feel like an asshole for reacting this way. "I just wish ... I just wish I wasn't the only person who took care of you like this."

"I had one really nice family, they would do things like ... like have family dinners," he offers, and I nod encouragingly. "When I was twelve. It was like ... white picket fence and all that, you know?"

"How long did you stay there?" I ask, serving him some more mashed potatoes.

"Not long ... a few months, I think. Not even a whole school year," he says. He looks a little bit lost in thought, but I'm desperate to know more, to know him better.

"Why ..." I start, but then I bite my tongue. I want to know why they didn't keep him, why a supposedly nice family would let my sweet Edward go, but it seems like such a horribly rude question to ask.

"She got pregnant," he says, understanding what I started to ask. "They thought she couldn't, and then she did, and it was a small house and they didn't have a lot of money and ... she got pregnant." He looks so hurt, even though it was almost ten years ago.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. He leans into me, and I wrap my hand around the back of his neck, stroking behind his ear with my thumb. "Where did you go next?"

"Don't remember," Edward says, shrugging. It's quiet for a minute, and then he changes the topic without any segue. "Guess what my manager did today?"

I let him change the subject and listen to his story about the manager at Starbucks ordering the wrong kind of coffee for the espresso machines.

When dinner's over, he moves to clear the table, but I stop him. I reach for his hand and hold it tightly, maybe because I'm nervous or maybe because I don't want him to run away.

"Edward, I want to tell you something."

He stiffens, and his hand tugs against mine. I'm glad I'm holding him tightly; I won't let him go.

"I've never been as happy as I am with you. I know you're young, and we haven't been together all that long, and I'll understand if you're not in the same place that I am yet, but I need to tell you ..." I squeeze his hand. He's looking down at his empty plate, concentrating on it fiercely, but I need him to look at me. I use my free hand to tip his chin, to make him look into my eyes. "I love you, Edward."

His reply makes my chest ache.


"What do you mean 'why'?" I ask. "You're sweet, loving ... you're smart and fun, too. I just love you, every bit of you."

"Oh," he says, his eyes focused on our joined hands. "You really-are you sure?"

"I'm sure," I tell him. I tug on his hand, pulling him closer, and he moves to stand between my legs. "I'm positive, Edward. I love you."

"Carlisle," he breathes, throwing his arms around my neck. "I'm not good at-I mean, I don't know how to ..."

I didn't expect him to say it back. I guess part of me hoped that he would, but the rational side of my brain knows that my sweet boy is out of practice-that his heart doesn't know how to do this. I can be patient. He's worth it.

"It's okay, baby, I promise," I tell him. "I just want you to know. I'm gonna tell you that a lot, okay? Every day. But you don't have to say it back."

He's quiet, then, brushing his lips back and forth against my neck. The only sounds in the kitchen are the persistent drip from the faucet and the hum of the refrigerator. When he speaks, it's so soft that I can barely hear it. It's soft and sweet and just what I need, just like he is.

"Carlisle, I love you, too."

For all the ways we're growing closer, there are still times when Edward shuts me out. The worst is when I feel like he's holding something back while we're making love-it happens every time, where I can see in his eyes that there's something missing. Something he's waiting for me to do or say, and I have no idea what he wants.

A few weeks after I told him I loved him, he's finally starting to feel comfortable merging his life with mine. More of his things show up at my place, although he insists on keeping his own apartment; having a permanent home means more to Edward than I could ever understand.

He's sitting in bed, wearing just a pair of black briefs, sketching furiously on a big, white sketchpad while I wander in and out of the room, getting ready for bed.

"Are you ever going to show me what you're drawing?" I ask, trying to sneak a peak. He pulls it close to his chest, batting me away, and I laugh.

"When it's finished," he says. "Promise." He closes the sketchpad carefully and stows it in the nightstand on his side of the bed. By the time I finish puttering around, he's curled up on his side waiting for me.

"Hi," he says, reaching for me as soon as I slide under the covers.

"Hey," I answer. I pull him into my arms, tugging him closer, and let my head fall against the pillow. I'm tired from a long day of meetings with the hospital board, so my mind isn't on anything but sleeping … but Edward has other ideas. He's kissing slowly up my chest, past my collarbone, and then up to my neck. His lips are soft and gentle, exploring me and arousing me.

"You wanna fool around?" I tease, threading my fingers through his hair. He hums in agreement and continues his trail of kisses, letting his tongue linger on that sensitive spot below my Adam's apple. "You know what would make me really happy?"

"What?" he asks, nipping at my jaw.

"If you would tell me some of your fantasies, Edward," I ask, pressing him closer to me so he can't pull away. "If you would just let me in a little and tell me what you want." I haven't asked him quite so directly before, and never before we started fooling around.

He's quiet and stiff, his lips still against my skin.

"I feel like there's something that you need that you're not asking for, baby," I tell him, urging him to relax, to rest his weight on me. "I can see it in your face every time we have sex. I don't ... Edward, I don't want to pressure you, I just want to love you ... to satisfy you."

He takes a deep breath and lifts his head, looking into my eyes. He opens his mouth and then closes it, dropping his head back to my shoulder. I wrap my arms around him and squeeze tightly, pulling him further over me until he's lying completely on top of my body, his chest pressed against mine and our legs intertwined.

"What if you don't want what I want?" he whispers. I'm so glad he's talking about it, so glad he's acknowledging that I'm not crazy and there is something he needs, that my response is a little overenthusiastic.

"Baby, there's nothing you could want that I don't want, too," I assure him. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, though, I'm picturing a dozen different scenarios that could turn me into a liar. "If it's something ... if there is something that's not my favorite thing to do, we'll find a way to make it work, I promise."

He's quiet for a minute, just rising and falling on my chest. Then he asks, "What if what I want is wrong?"

I take a minute to quiet my mind and dismiss all the possibilities floating around in my head before I answer him. "It's not about right or wrong, Sweetie. It's about what makes you feel good, and what makes me feel good. It's just between the two of us."

I wait for Edward to speak, just rubbing his back and holding him. The silence is heavy at first, but gradually becomes more comfortable. He slides off of my body and curls up into my side, looking up at me with sleepy eyes.

"Is it okay if we ... just not tonight?" he asks uncertainly.

"Sure," I tell him, kissing his forehead. "I love you, Edward. I want you to feel good, and happy, and loved. The way you make me feel. That's the only reason I said anything, babe."

"I know," he says. "I'm just ... I'm shy," he says. I can't stop myself from chuckling a little.

"I know you're shy. I love that you're shy," I tell him, urging him to roll over. He settles on his side and I pull him back against my chest. "I love that you make funny faces when you're concentrating, and that you draw little hearts on my coffee cups when I come to visit you at work ..."

He falls asleep in my arms, after giggling and whispering the things he loves about me, too.

I wake up a few hours later to Edward writhing in my arms. At first I think he's having a nightmare, but the noises he's making are decidedly sexy and not frightened at all.

"Edward?" I whisper. "Are you awake?" He doesn't answer, but he does start grinding his ass against my cock. His rough movement and his little moans are making my body wake up a lot faster than my brain.

"Edward?" I say, a little louder, and he jolts awake.

"Carlisle?" he says, twisting out of my arms. He turns around to face me. "Were we ... was I sleeping?"

"Yeah, you were," I tell him, brushing his soft, bronze hair away from his face. "I think you were having a dream, though, baby. You woke me up."

"Yeah," he whispers. "It was ... it was a good dream."

"I thought so," I tell him, grinning. I roll him onto his back and hover over him, dipping my head down to kiss his neck. "Tell me about it."

"You were fucking me," he says, pulling me down so our hips connect. He's so fucking hard, straining against those briefs, and I grind against him while I suck at his neck. "You were fucking me so hard, Carlisle."

"Mmm," I moan, moving capture his lips with mine. I kiss him hungrily, and Edward doesn't disappoint; he kisses me back fiercely. He's all tongue and teeth and hot, wet mouth sucking at my tongue, and my cock is just as hard as his now. "God," I gasp, pulling away from his mouth. "You like it when I fuck you hard, Edward?"

"I love it," he says, pulling my face back to his. We kiss for a long time, grinding together like teenagers. I question him again when he lets me go and pushes my head down to his chest.

"Tell me about your dream. I want more," I beg, tugging at his nipples with my teeth. His voice wavers-with excitement this time, I think-as I drag my fingertips over his sides.

"You were so-oh, fuck, that feels good-so hot, Carlisle," he says, pushing at my shoulders to move me lower, guide me down his body. "You were fucking me and it was so ... it was dirty, it was so good," he tells me.

"Why was it dirty? Tell me," I demand. I pull his briefs down roughly over his hips, letting his cock spring free. I push the underwear down his thighs and he wiggles around, pulling them off with his feet and kicking them away. I push my own pajama pants off, toss them on the floor, and spread myself out over Edward again.

"You talked to me," he says, lifting his head from the pillow to kiss me again. His intensity is new and exciting. "Carlisle, get the lube, please," he whines.

I want him just as much as he wants me, and I'm not going to deny him. I crawl back to my side of the bed on all fours, leaning over to grab the bottle of lube and a condom. When I get back to Edward, he swats them out of my hand and pulls me back to him for more kissing.

I laugh at his enthusiasm and pull away from his iron grip, sitting back on my heels at his side. "Someone's impatient," I tease him, reaching out for his straining cock. He grunts when I wrap my fingers around it and closes his fist around mine, forcing me to tighten my grip.

"Need you," he says. "Need you so much."

"I'm right here," I tell him. "I'm not going anywhere, Edward. I'm yours."

His hand abandons mine and he feels around in the sheets, searching blindly for the bottle of lube. He opens it and holds it out to me, his eyes pleading. "Get me ready?" he begs.

"Fuck," I mutter, unable to control the way my cock jumps at his voice. I reach out and snatch up the lube, pouring it quickly over the fingers of my left hand. I give up on teasing him and drop my fingers down to his balls, letting them slip over the skin just behind them. "You want me to get you ready so I can fuck you?"

"Yeah," he says, lifting his knees. I settle between his legs so I can watch his face, touch his neck and chest and cock with my free hand.

"I talked to you?" I ask, wanting to keep him talking about his dream. "What did I say? Was I talking dirty?"

"Yeah," he groans, tensing as I work my finger into his ass, pressing forward against the muscles trying to keep me out.

"What did I say?" I ask again, punctuating my question with a sharper thrust of my finger. He groans again, and his hand moves back to his cock. He doesn't answer right away, too lost in the sensations of my finger in his ass and his hand on his dick. When I add a second finger, though, and start to brush against his prostate, he starts talking.

"Oh, fuck. You talked. You told me how much you love fucking me," he says, trying to spread his legs wider for me.

"I do love it, Edward. I fucking love being inside you. What else, baby?" I prompt, excited that he's finally talking. I don't know if it's the talk we had before bed, or the security that comes with middle-of-the-night closeness, but I feel like some of his walls are coming down.

"You told me ... oh, Carlisle, fuck. I'm fucking ready," he whines, pushing back against the three fingers I'm using now. I usually like to stretch him more, but his impatience is turning me on. I need to be inside him.

"Don't stop, Edward. Tell me," I demand, pulling my fingers away from him. I fumble with the condom a little before ripping the wrapper open and unrolling it down the length of my cock. I coat myself with more lube as Edward continues with the details of his dream.

"You fucking told me ... god, you told me I was your good boy," he says, his hand tightening over his cock. "I love it when you ..."

"I know, Edward," I tell him, settling between his knees again. I scoot closer and bat his hand away from his dick before I push his knees up towards his chest. I can't resist rubbing my cock against his, getting it slick with lube before I move down to his opening.

"Carlisle," he chokes, his hands gripping his knees tightly to hold them up. I look up at his face, locking eyes with him in the dim light.

"You're my good, sweet boy, aren't you, Edward?" I ask, lining us up. He nods furiously, his expression needy and desperate. "Does my boy need to get fucked?"

"Yes!" he cries. "Yes, Da-"

He stops himself, purses his lips together again. It hits me at that moment, what exactly he's holding back. What he's hiding, what he thinks is so dirty and wrong that I'll turn him away. I've engaged in my fair share of dirty talk over the years, but it was mostly playful and lighthearted. This seems like it's deeper for Edward, more important to him. More like something he needs to let out, rather than something fun and silly.

"Say it, Edward," I urge, pushing the head of my cock against him. I'm using just enough pressure so that he can feel me, but not enough that I'll actually move inside. He's frustrated, trying to push down against me, but he has no leverage in this position.

"Fuck me," he says, his fingers digging into his legs. He's already starting to sweat, either from the strain of holding his legs back or the excitement of the moment; I only know that his body is glistening, beautiful.

"Come on, say it. I want you to, baby. Be a good boy for me ... say it, out loud," I prompt him, rocking my hips ever so slightly against his.

"Please!" he begs.

"Not until you say it. Say it, Edward. Do it for me. I want you. Don't think, Edward, just-"

"Please, fuck me, Daddy!" he cries, interrupting my pleas. True to my word, I push forward into him, slowly stretching and filling him. "Oh, God," he says, throwing his arm over his face to cover his eyes.

"No, Edward, none of that," I tell him, bracing myself with one hand so I can pull the other away from his eyes. "I'm gonna take good care of you, and I want you to look at me. Look at Daddy while he fucks you."

His answering moan is all I need to hear. He doesn't look away from me again, not for a second, until I'm fully seated inside him. I hover over him, my hips flush against his ass, and lean down to kiss him. He's more shy this time, more tentative, but still passionate.

"Edward," I whisper, "it's okay. It's just words. Say whatever you want to say. I love you." We have a moment there, his forehead pressed against mine, where we drop the pretense of dirty talk and we're just ... ourselves.

"I love you too, Carlisle," he whispers, cupping my cheek in his hand. I kiss him again, but the urge to move is too strong and I have to lift my body to get some leverage.

On my knees, looking down at him, I feel stupid for not realizing it earlier. It's obvious to me now that what he needs in his everyday life-a strong man, someone to take care of his needs- has obviously manifested in his sexual fantasies, too. I know we probably still need to talk about this, especially his fear of rejection over it, but I can't bring myself to stop now. Right now, I just need to make him come.

"Good boy," I praise him, moving slowly. "I'll go slow, Edward, until you tell me you want it harder."

He just nods, his neck craning a little to watch where we're connected. True to my word, I'm gentle with him, warming him up and adding lube until he's grunting in frustration and trying to move against me.

"What did I tell you? Ask me," I tell him, reaching up to stroke his cock lightly.

"Need it harder," he pleads.

"Beg me," I ask, ducking my head to kiss his knee.

"Please?" Edward asks, still tentative. I shake my head and slow down my movements, forcing him to say what he really wants to say. What he needs to say.

"Fuck me hard, Daddy," he cries. "I want it!" I give him what he wants, slamming my hips against his, and he lets out a strangled scream of pleasure.

"That's right," I assure him. God, I'm not going to fucking last; I can't deny that talking like this is turning me on, too. And Edward ... Edward is so fucking sexy like this. Usually he's hiding his face, biting his lip, trying desperately to avoid giving in to his urges. Tonight, though, he's wanton and beautiful and so fucking in the moment that I can barely keep myself from just pounding into him and coming right away.

I set a steady rhythm and rest my hand on one of Edward's knees, holding myself up. My left hand is still a little wet from all the lube, and I use it to start stroking his cock in time with my thrusts. It's like I flipped the on switch again, and Edward suddenly won't stop talking.

"Daddy," he moans. "I'm yours." He babbles nonsensically, saying "Daddy" and "please" over and over again, his head thrashing back and forth. When his breath starts to hitch and the muscles in his stomach tense, I know he's close. I want him to explode; I want him to have the best orgasm he's ever had.

"Are you close? Is my boy gonna come?" I ask, stroking the head of his cock with my thumb.

"Yes!" he chokes out, his eyes wide and searching for mine. I move harder, faster-my cock and my fist-fucking him and stroking him until I know he's right on the edge.

"Come for me, baby," I tell him. "Come for Daddy. Be a good boy for Daddy and come all over my hand."

His whole body reacts, flushing a darker shade of red and shivering with intensity. He cries out as he comes, saying "Daddy, I love you," over and over again. His orgasm seems to go on forever; he's looking into my eyes the whole time. It's hot, but it's fucking powerful, too-I can see the love, the trust in his eyes as he really lets down his guard.

"I love you too, sweet boy," I assure him, squeezing every last drop of pleasure out of him. I'm so glad he came first, because I'm right there with him ... it only takes another two or three thrusts before I'm shouting out his name and collapsing forward, resting my body against Edward as I come, my cock throbbing with pleasure inside his tight ass.

When I come to my senses, I pull out of him slowly, holding the condom carefully so it won't slip off. I get rid of it and flop down on my back, noticing for the first time that it's after one in the morning. Edward's still on his back, panting, and his lips are moving silently.

"Edward, baby," I say, reaching over for him. He's still gripping his legs, and I have to pry his fingers loose and coax him down into my arms. He's saying, "Oh God, oh wow," over and over again, his voice barely a whisper. "Sweetie? You okay?"

"Hmmm?" he asks, his eyes unfocused. "What? Oh ... mmm, yeah. Never ... I've never felt so good ..." he says, snuggling closer to me.

I kiss his forehead and hug him tightly, wanting nothing more than to hold him. But we're both covered in lube, and I don't want to fall asleep that way.

"Let me go get a washcloth, okay?" I ask, and Edward nods sleepily. I could probably ask him for anything right now and he'd give it to me.

I clean up a little in the bathroom, and bring a washcloth back to bed to clean Edward up. He giggles when I touch him, and hisses when the rough fabric touches the head of his dick. I walk back to the bathroom to get rid of the washcloth and pee; when I come back, Edward is fast asleep, naked and curled up on my side of the bed. I crawl into his side and arrange myself around him, spooning him again, and focus on the even rhythm of his breath until I fall asleep, too.

In the morning, I open my eyes to find Edward staring at me, his cheek pressed against my pillow.

"Hi," he says.

"Hey," I answer.

"You slept a long time." His fingers reach over to brush my upper arm and then trail down to my wrist. I flip my hand over and capture his, twining our fingers together.

"Someone woke me up in the middle of the night," I tease. Edward's embarrassed, but he laughs instead of hiding his face.

"I ... um, last night ..." he says, squeezing my hand. I wait for him to finish his thought, but he seems tongue-tied.

"I thought it was hot, baby," I tell him. "I know you were embarrassed at first, but did you like what we did?"

He nods enthusiastically, the barely-there scruff of his beard scraping against the pillowcase.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask, pulling him closer. He drapes his warm body over mine, snuggling into my chest.

"Kind of," he says, surprising me.

"What did you think?" I ask, tracing circles over his back.

"I just ... I guess I want you to know why," he says. "I mean, one of the reasons I was so afraid to tell you about that stuff is that I thought you'd think I was crazy, or that I was like ... that someone hurt me." I stiffen, even the suggestion making me feel a little sick.

"Sweetie, I never would have-"

"No, Carlisle, that's the thing. I just ... I don't know. I remember when I was a kid, I used to lie in bed at night wishing so hard for a real family. My mom died when I was six, and I've always missed her, you know? But I never knew my father, so I would invent all these stories and fantasies about having a dad. I thought about it every night before I fell asleep. I think that ... I don't know, I guess when I got older and started thinking about sex, the two fantasies kind of got ... mixed up, maybe," he says, dragging his fingers through my chest hair. "I think that's why, anyway."

"I understand," I tell him, kissing his forehead. "Sometimes I think it's hard to figure out why people like what they like. But I think the important thing is figuring out if it's something we like doing together, you know? And if it doesn't make either of us feel bad, and we both like it ... why not?"

"So you liked it too?" he asks, rolling away a little so he can look into my eyes.

"You couldn't tell?" I tease, brushing my thumb over his lips.

"I thought maybe you did," Edward says, kissing my thumb. "Or else you did a really great job of pretending."

"No pretending," I promise, although it's clear he felt the same connection that I did last night. I love feeling this close to him, knowing that he trusts me enough to share this part of himself with me. I hold him tighter, vowing never to let him go. "No pretending. Never, not with you. I love you, Edward."

He smiles into my chest, drops a kiss there, and whispers his reply reverently. "I love you, too."

Thanks for reading. Please visit the PimpMyBunnies contest page for more info and a C2 with the other entries: /u/2814230/PimpMyBunnies