A/N: This was written for the TwiKinkFest. Huge thanks to those ladies for organizing. It's one of the best things to happen to this fandom in ages, in my opinion, and it's been so much fun writing and reading all the submissions.
As always, Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight.
Huge thanks to sadtomato for stepping in to help me out with this one.
Prompt: Carlisle/Edward. I want a possessive Carlisle. In character, he's the voice of reason all the time, but when it comes to Edward, don't cross him. Claiming Edward of some sort. I'd prefer Vamp/Vamp, but any works. Marks from the "claiming". Bareback. Maybe Edward has been flirting, trying to push Carlisle. Please!
ContentWarnings:Explicit M/M bareback vamp sex / face-fucking / mild spanking / maybe even a little rimming (but it's vamps so it's okay).
The first moment I saw him, I knew.
He was all long limbs and soft lips, hair the color of walnut set to flame. Even polluted with disease, his blood smelled sweet. Like he was meant for me. Made for me.
And so I took him.
He was my first. My first taste of human blood. My first companion. First kiss.
Now he is my pulse. My breath. His immortal scent beats through me with one word.
This human façade is a tedium, a pretense of life and nothing more. All day long, I preserve what was denied to me. What I denied to him.
Hospital white and bile green. Antiseptic like a flame inside my lungs.
And then the brilliant crimson that turns my veins to ash.
I hold my breath and hold skin tight to skin, suture wounds and heal the sick. My mind is an encyclopedia of toxins and medicines. Sometimes, I can taste the disease on the air. I hold a stethoscope to ribs, though, anyway. I pretend.
Sometimes I'm so tired of pretending.
At home, at night, naked on my bed and smelling of my love, he rests his head upon my knee and tells me he respects me. That he loves the part of me that needs to give.
But I do it all for him. All for him.
For the one I took.
With him, there's no façade. I am no human doctor, no kind presence warding off death. I am a lover. A sire.
Similarly, he's no disaffected teen, enduring yet another year of school, ennui like venom in his veins. He steps through that door and into our home, and he is what he is, entirely. A man. A lover. A vampire.
And I show him. Over and over again, I do.
"There's a new girl at school," he tells me one night. His hand is wrapped around my cock, stroking slowly as he speaks about his day.
It's been one of those weeks. One where the tedium of this pretense has been weighing on me particularly heavily. I've been only half-paying attention, but at his words and touch, I perk up.
I keep my pleasure from my voice but tilt my hips, sliding slickly through the circle of his fist. "Is that so?"
"Yes." He drags his mouth along my throat, nips the corner of my jaw. At my ear he whispers, "She smells divine."
The intimation in his voice awakens parts of me that have been sleeping. I groan and close my eyes, imagining him taking her, sinking teeth into flesh. Sinking his cock into her warmth.
It's an obsession of mine. My greatest fear and my greatest turn-on.
"You'd like to see that, wouldn't you, old man?"
"Stay out of my head," I grunt.
He sucks my earlobe, flicks it with his tongue. "I couldn't if I tried."
"Have you ever?"
"Never." He shifts and swings one leg over the top of mine so he straddles my hip. He's hard against my side, but he does nothing about it. Just moves his palm, strokes and slides.
He knows he's driving me mad.
So low, he growls, "Her hair smells like strawberries."
I'm so close. So close to orgasm. To violence.
"I'd kill her if you touched her."
"Tsk, tsk." He kisses to the corner of my mouth. "Whatever would people think? Dear Dr. Cullen, a murderer? The man they trust with their lives?"
"I am no man."
"No, no you're not."
We're not. We're something more. Something timeless and infinite.
But still the image assails me again. I imagine him, that long, graceful body that I love, thrusting hard into pliable skin. She's beautiful, blond and blue-eyed.
"Actually, she's a brunette."
And I can see it. I can taste it. And it's too much. Too real.
I push him off of me in one swift motion, power coiling in my muscles as I throw him on his back and hover over him. As I hold him down.
"Tell me. Tell me." Teeth against his throat, I growl.
"Tell you what?"
He's coy. Insolent.
"Tell me." I rut against him, swollen skin to swollen skin.
"Fuck, Carlisle. I'm yours." He writhes, thrusts up to meet me, and it's glorious. Perfect. "I'm yours." There's a whine to his voice and a tilt to his chin. "Go ahead," he mutters.
He knows what I want before I do. Already scarred with the echo of my claiming, his throat is an offering.
I sink my teeth in, and he cries out, body tensing, pulsing in a sudden sexual shattering. Blood and venom seep through the surface of his skin and there's wetness on my stomach, on my cock. It smells like sex and him. I lick the wound, seal it and make it clean.
And then I'm on him. I straddle his chest and pin his shoulders with my knees, shove my cock against pursed lips. "Open."
He does, and I slide inside. It's wet and warm and the scrape of teeth on needy skin. Deadly sharp, they remind me what he is. What I made him.
His golden eyes glow up at me, and I can see it written there. He hears and understands.
With my hands pressed to the wall, I fuck his mouth, push past the muscle of his throat, and he groans. I feel it all up the length of me, evidence that he wants this. He always wants this.
"Take me." I throw my head back. "Take it."
Take my love and my cock and my come. He sucks harder and purses his lips.
I curl my fingers into crumbling plaster and thrust, feel his hands dig into my thighs to pull me closer.
And then it all boils over. I scream his name and close my eyes.
And then I come and come and come.
I finish the note I'm making on my chart and hide my irritation with a deep breath and a tug on my tie. The nurse blushes when I glance up at her. "Yes?"
"Your, um…your son is here."
It's a strange statement, and I frown. My mind goes instantly to interesting scenarios – to his penchant for playing doctor or for visiting my office. For goading me into bending him over my desk. But it's barely mid-day, and the clouds are thick. It's not like him to skip school on a day like this.
"Yes." She bites her lip and fiddles with her hair. "He's, um, he's asking for you. He's in the emergency room."
It is ridiculous, the way my mind leaps to a million worst-case scenarios. To my immortal lover laid out on a hospital bed. It's impossible - laughable, even. But I can't help the vestigial fear or the protectiveness I feel toward my mate. I push to my feet and set my charting down.
My alarm must show in my eyes; reflected back at me in hers, they look inhuman. She backs up a foot. "I'm sorry, Dr. Cullen. I mean, he's fine. He came in with a patient. A girl. Says it's a classmate of his. He wants you to look at her."
It's all I can do to stand at human speed and keep my teeth in check as I thank her. I must do a good enough job, because her smile is relieved.
But still, the whole way down to the other wing, I am seething. When I get to him, I know what I will find.
How dare he bring her here?
How dare he?
I burst into the emergency room with all the urgency one would expect me to bring into it. The swinging hinges to the doors crack open, but I don't care. He's there. I can smell him. Can hear his laughter.
He taunts me. Mocks me.
He wants the monster he knows he can make of me.
"Dr. Cullen? Your son is right through—"
"Thank you." I grab the chart from the nurse's hand without a second glance.
Tomorrow, they'll say I was so concerned for my son. They'll forget the murder in my glare. The possessive heat inside my stare.
Humans always forget.
We never do.
He's smirking when I find him. "Hi, Dad."
"I thought you were going to kill a nurse," he whispers, too low for any of them to hear. "Your control is slipping."
I snap my teeth at him, wish I was biting stony skin instead of air. "You haven't seen the half of it."
"I'm counting on that."
Golden eyes lock on mine.
Beside us, someone sucks in a shuddering breath.
Edward and I turn as one, our masks back on, but there's no denying the tension in the air between us.
"No one noticed," he whispers.
But they will if I fuck you on that gurney.
"Think you've got the control to?"
My growl is almost too loud.
Smoothly, Edward steps forward and gestures with his hand. "Dad, this is Bella. My new friend from school. You remember me talking about her?"
How could I not?
Just as he described, she's a brunette, pretty in a wholesome way, I suppose. At his intimation that he's spoken of her, she bites her lip and blushes. My throat burns.
"Didn't I tell you?" Edward breathes. "She smells divine. Just imagine how she'd feel…"
I imagine how she'd feel to him. Coating his throat. His cock.
"I'm Carlisle Cullen." I address myself to her, not quite daring to hold out my hand. I skim her chart in a millisecond. "Looks like you had a pretty close call."
"Yeah. If it hadn't been for Edward…"
Stupid, stupid boy.
I hide my teeth as I smile. "You were lucky he was around."
For his benefit, I go through all the motions, checking her over, but she's fine. He knows that just as well as I do.
Nothing we're doing is about her.
Right on cue, he thanks me. "You're so good to come down and take a look. I was so worried about her."
I snap my pocket light off and tuck it away. "What a good friend you are, son." Turning to Bella, I add, "You'll be fine. But you should probably take the rest of the afternoon off. I'm sure your father will be worried."
"Does he get to go back?" she asks, gesturing at Edward.
He grins. "Someone has to spread the news that you're alive."
Not so fast.
"Actually, Edward, before you go, I'd like to speak to you about something in my office." Looking at the girl, I say, "It was nice to meet you, Bella."
She's sulking, but her manners are good enough. "You too, Dr. Cullen."
"I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot more of Bella," Edward goads.
The hell we will.
Were he a man of flesh and bone, I'd take his arm off when I yank him down the hall.
He growls at me like we're playing.
The instant the door to my office closes behind us, I have him slammed up against it, his chest to the yielding wood, my chest to his spine. Aching cock to the crack in his ass. For good measure I shove him up against the door again.
"You think it's funny?" I seethe. "A game?" I scrape my teeth against his throat. "Three centuries, Edward. In three centuries I've never been so close to killing a human."
He laughs. "You think you could have done it?" The next shove makes him groan, but it doesn't wipe the smile off of his face. "Oh Dr. Cullen. I think you're entirely too civilized."
This time, I break skin. "There is nothing civilized about how I'm going to fuck you tonight."
There is nothing teasing about this. Nothing but deadly intent.
"She's nothing," I hiss, an inhuman sound I scarcely recognize as my own voice. Without regard for propriety or consequences, I yank his pants down his hips, fabric tearing in my clutches. I bring my hand down on his ass. "Nothing," I repeat. "She's nothing."
And you're mine.
"She seems to have gotten quite a rise out of you," he pants, pushing back into my erection. Into my palm. "For being nothing."
Crack. It's too loud. Too risky and too much. We'll be exposed.
"They have no idea where the sound is coming from," he whispers, moaning and tilting his head back. I let my palm fly again. "God, Carlisle. You could fuck me through this door and they'd have no idea. No clue."
I can picture it. It would be so easy.
He's tempting me.
This time, when my hand connects with flesh there's the sound of stone on stone, a grinding, and he bites his lip to keep the cry from coming out.
I don't hurt him like this. My darling boy. My beloved mate.
"Do it," he grinds out. "Show me who I belong to."
It's like he's flipped a switch.
You. Crack. Are. Crack. Mine.
With his shaking exhale, I look down at what I've wrought – at the spider web of cracks across pale, hard flesh.
"It's fine. It's fine." He's gasping for breath, though, sagging on the wall, but it's not just pain. Already, the edges are knitting themselves together.
I step back and he sinks to the ground, a low, secret smile upon his face.
"Go back to school," I tell him as I turn away. I don't even look, though it it's painful not to. "My shift ends at six. Be waiting in the basement."
It's the only place where I can fuck him how I need to. The only room in our house where the walls are packed with earth.
"You don't even care that my ass is hanging out? What if Bella sees?" His tone is still teasing, but it's lost some of its edge.
I keep my eyes on my chart. We're not finishing this here.
"You'll make do."
When he slinks out of my office a few minutes later, it's with his pants fastened with paperclips, his jacket wrapped around his hips.
And it's with me, aching, behind my desk in my chair.
When I make it home that night, I'm still shaking, still lost in that image of him with that human. That girl. Of his gloating face and his body under mine, pressed to a door.
I need to own him. Take him. Fuck him.
Remind him over and over and over that he's mine.
Inside the house, the air is vibrating with the tension of two vampires on a precipice. I shed all the accoutrements of my human façade at the door. Briefcase and lab coat. Stethoscope. Even my shirt.
I go to him in black slacks. Black shoes.
A black, black mood.
When I open the basement door, I can smell him. I slam it behind me and fly down the stairs, catching myself on the banister. The wooden railing splinters in my hand.
He's naked. On his knees.
But his expression is anything but plaintive.
"This is how you wanted me?" He smirks and slides his hand along his cock. It's hard, long and swollen. Like he's been teasing himself for a while.
He has no idea what he's in for.
"You slut," I growl.
He's not. He's never been with anyone but me. We were each other's firsts. Our lasts.
In a flash, I'm on him, standing over him. His hair is in my hand, and I yank back hard. He lets me move him around the way I want to.
We both know that he could fight me off.
"You want a fight, old man?"
"Not at all." With my other hand, I tear apart my pants, rip them open to the knee. I push myself against his face, smear venomous pre-cum all over him. "I want that insolent little mouth."
He takes me in with one gulp, pulls hard, and I slam my own fist into my thigh. My stone skin shudders, but it just adds to the high. "Deeper," I tell him, though I'm already all the way in, my pubic bone flush against his nose. He tries anyway. The slurping sounds are obscene as he tilts his head. Slides up and down.
But there's something teasing to it, too.
I take his head in my hands and thrust myself into his mouth. "That's it," I groan.
It's my turn to taunt him. As I fuck his face, I tell him all the dirty things that no one else will ever know.
"You're going to smell like me. Tomorrow, you're going to go to that school dripping with me."
He moans around my length. I tug his hair harder, pulse faster. When I feel his teeth, it all crests over.
I pour myself into him with a roar.
Letting go of his hair, I let him slump backwards. He looks debauched already, my come on his lips and his hair a mess. Gasping for unnecessary air, he looks up at me. "Is that all you got?"
When he hits it, he shatters the wall. Sliding down to his knees, he looks broken, but looks can be deceiving. Looks are deceiving.
I am not deceived.
I see it coming. When I approach, I spot the twitch of his hand, the set of his lips. I'm still a foot away from him when he pounces.
I'm ready for it.
We slam into each other mid-air, a collision of bodies and needs, but I have the upper hand.
I always do. Because he gives it to me.
The next instant, I have him on his hands and knees on the concrete floor, hips high, his body braced.
"Could she touch you like this?"
I part his cheeks, take my tongue up the crack in a rough, wet swipe.
"Pin you down? Make you feel this?"
I lick all around his hole, and he groans my name.
"That's right," I urge him. Thrusting two fingers inside him, I sink my teeth into his cheek and revel in his scream. "Too much for you?"
"Not enough," he pants. "God, Carlisle." A hundred fantasies run through my head, all things we've done before. All things we'll do again. He falls onto his forearms. "Yes, fuck, yes. Do it to me. All of it. Do it."
My fingers slip out of him with a wet plop. I lick my palm and slick my cock and then line myself up.
"Fuck me. Please. Make me come."
I tease the ring with my head. "Beg better."
"Fuck, Carlisle, please. Show me what I am."
With that, he looks behind him, shining bottomless black eyes.
He knows what it takes to undo me.
"Mine," I growl, and then I'm in him, sinking deep, fast thrusts and his shoulder giving beneath my grip as I fuck him hard. "My mate."
Show me what I am, he said.
Not a boy but a man.
A vampire. A lover.
"Yours," he groans. His head hits concrete and he's thrusting back against me. "And you're mine."
I take my teeth all up his spine, opening a long, seeping line. He screams, and it's good.
"So good." His body clenches around me. "Please touch me. Please. Need—"
I wrap my hand around him as I fill him once more. A half dozen strokes and he shouts my name and paints the ground. His body is pulsing around me, and I'm done.
"You feel. So. Fucking. Good."
I bury my teeth in his neck, bury my cock into its home.
We both collapse forward, my body still deep inside his as I cover him and press my face against his throat. He pulls my arms around his chest, and somehow, even though I'm the one on top of him, the one holding him…I feel held.
"No one else," I breathe. It's a fervent prayer. A plea.
In the next instant, I'm on my back, and he's climbing up on top of me. Straddling my waist, he takes my still-hard cock into his hand. Lifts it from my stomach.
So slowly, he sinks down on me.
And I'm complete.
I pull him down, slide my palm around the back of his neck. For the first time all day, we're face to face, lips to lips.
His mouth tastes like me, his tongue firm inside my mouth and his lips just barely yielding. Up and down, he slides on me, kissing me. Loving me.
"Even when I go crazy, wanting you?"
He grins against my lips. "Especially."
We make love in slow strokes and gentle thrusts, a grind of hips on hips, and his cock, warm and dripping in my palm.
"Come on me," I beg him. "Make me smell like you, too."
He does so without a word. Without a sound. Painted in his love, I drive up inside him one last time and close my eyes and empty.
Everything flows out of me. The anger. The jealousy.
The never-ending, immortal fatigue.
Afterward, he falls on top of me, every inch of our bodies connected. His arms are tight around my neck, his face pressed to the side of mine. And I want it always. Always.
"It never has to end," he breathes.
At the wonder in my mind, he lifts up. Points golden eyes at mine.
"This is what you made me," he tells me. He places a hand upon my still, dead heart.
And this is what he makes of me. A man from the ashes of a monster. A man so desperately in love, it hurts.
He pulls out the rage and the idle insecurity. He forces the monstrosity out of me.
I touch his face and trace his lips.
This time, it's a question. "Mine?"
"Yours." He kisses me gently. "Always."