lifetimeprelude | March, 1921.

Entry tags:

unfinished

March, 1921.

I imagine I am very politely driving Edward insane.

My eyes are still different; the minimal interaction I have had with others has been curtailed and stiff. I do a lot of writing and hunting now, and feel more...inhuman, than I have in some time.

Edward does what he can. I am grateful to him here, now, always. We are in Minnesota for no reason I can adequately discern - but it is somewhere different, Edward says, and I did promise him travel. He has a wandering soul sometimes. This may be good for him - I am unsure.

Regardless, I am here in the apartment we have rent by week and Edward is elsewhere.

I am bored.

- C.C.

Carlisle to all comers would appear asleep - sprawled across a low couch belly-down and eyes shut.

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God you are fucking insufferable

Beaming.

Carlisle bites his lip as he watches the growing expanse of Edward's bare chest with a suppressed groan.

All but for the smallest tug at the edge of his lips, upward, here and then completely gone, it might have looked as though no reaction had happened at all to those.

Just button and button. Pulling his shirt from his pants so he could finish the rest, leaving it open with only the thick silver ring at his breast bone, and only then raising his arms over his chest to turn to the buttons at his wrist.

Then he pushed up on one arm to shrug out of one arm rather gracefully even for it being in an odd position. And then the other side. Taking the shirt and folding it once before laying it over the back of the couch.

There may have been the flicker of a smirk when he glanced over when he finally turned himself so his feet were on the floor and not the cushion.

Carlisle's fists clench to keep the lust from shaking in his fingers.

Do you know what you do to me?

Edward had leaned down to attend to his shoes. Which had only come off and were presently held at the backs by his first two fingers, when he paused.

His gaze flicked back to Carlisle. "Show me."

Edited 2010-03-18 00:59 (UTC)

Sweet Christ.

Carlisle pushes his pants down to his ankles and steps out of them, releasing himself from constraints and cloth and barriers

so he can kneel, mouth to Edward's chest and feeling him there

hands in Edward's lap, moving higher

trying to be everywhere at once.

A marvel, always. Beautiful regardless of gold or red, but even more so when Carlisle could again see himself as such. Somehow the thought squeezes even into the shudder that tremors his body, causing a groan into blonde hair when he leans forward.

For a moment one hand fisted into Carlisle hair, before uncurling.

Edward shook his head against Carlisle's, before pulling back with a shake of his head, as amused as direct. "You can't understand how hard it is to be patient when I can hear all of that."

Without stopping anything Carlisle was doing, Edward moved finally to getting rid of his pants. It was marvel, with the admission, that he didn't decide to rip them then.

You make me lose patience too, Edward --

And with pants gone, Carlisle goes back to tasting Edward anywhere he can reach, moving against and up and Carlisle takes the most polite of little licks against Edward's prick.

The taste of him.

"Fuck. Carlisle."

His pants might have been lucky, but the pillow next to him was not when his hips thrust forward and his hand landed on it to keep his balance.

Carlisle just groans lightly in response, inflection lifting as if to ask a question if his mouth weren't otherwise occupied.

Edward considered tossing the pillow at Carlisle's head for the sound, except then the thought was lost against his tongue.

He settled for just letting his upper body fall toward the back of the couch while he continued to shudder, moving with the rhythm of Carlisle's mouth.

Fuck patience. God. Fuck thinking.

For once, Carlisle is able to clear his mind of anything but this and him and maybe Edward taught him how. Taught him the need of it.

Carlisle starts to hum for effect here, seeing what pushes the man under and in him just a little further til he can watch Edward crack in half.

Fingers scrabbled from the furniture cloth, down his legs, almost to reach out for the head of golden hair attached to the cheeks which brushed his skin so consistently, then back up, to end with clutching part of his own upper legs.

Silence radiating from him even when his fingers were clenched, shaking, vices, and his teeth buried against his bottom lip, with his head pressing into the cushion when his hips began to claim a rhythm all their own.

Carlisle just wants to taste him.

Take him in.

you can touch me Edward

He doesn't get why Edward isn't.

Holding back, trying to remain, to give without demanding for days that don't pause without sleep or anything schedule to break them apart, turning into weeks, then months, still waiting, still trying, clings.

Even on some tentative level.
Snapping, like taut bindings, at the words.
Fingers for the briefest second digging deeper into his skin.
Before a millisecond later they are where they had almost been.

Twinning into soft golden hair, threading, and gripping hard, with a hiss. As much giving in as trying to hold back from crossing a line between want and violence, that already just as present in his head after the last event as well.

Thank you

It's wildly applicable.

And Carlisle's happy.

Which is only adding to the storm in his head.

Which will never be quiet, never be curtailed or fade out, but he can almost fall under it. The sensation of Carlisle. The burst of happiness the causes him to tighten his fingers into fists, even with the hair still clutched and to tremor as control began to give way.

Just. Just. A little more. Further. Harder. Something. Anything. For the depth of what might be pleading in his head, all that left his lips was,

"Carlisle."

Still kneeling in front of him:

"I should have done that sooner."

Edward released his grip on the head between his legs somewhere in the middle of up and over and momentary oblivion. On one hand there's knowing he's close and almost feeling it's not close enough.

But all he manages is is a mumble that isn't disagreeing.

Carlisle whuffs a laugh against Edward's thigh.

"You are too perfect like this."

Carlisle gets jostled by the leg he's leaning against. The hrmp sound would be even passingly more believable if it wasn't fuzzy. Edward did at least open his eyes and settle them back on Carlisle.

Gold eyes and a smile is all Edward gets when he looks down.

It takes the passing of almost a full second.

But Edward picked up his hand and brushed his fingers tips along Carlisle's temple toward the edge of that smile. That he had missed.

Carlisle slowly but surely comes back to himself.

He doesn't want to, but he does.

Carlisle thinks vaguely of hunting, or staying undressed in the apartment all day.

He let his hand stop, watching Carlisle.

It was Carlisle saw this all differently, if Edward had found reason to relish that apparent difference. The last of his clothing strewn unlike the perfectly folded beginning pieces. A success regardless.

"We can."

Laughing then, "Which option?"

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iwouldfollowyou - 2010-03-23 13:32 (UTC) - Expand

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