THE PIANIST

SPACEBONGO

THIS IS THE BEGINNING OF THE EPIC THAT WASN'T. ALTERNATE REALITY WHERE EVERYBODY IS HUMAN. IT WILL BE CONTINUED BUT AFTER I HAVE A FEW MORE CHAPTERS OF MY OTHER STORIES IN HAND.

Edward met Carlisle the weekend before his seventeenth. Due to scheduling conflicts he couldn't celebrate his birthday on the day so Rosalie, his manager, had decided to throw him a surprise party beforehand to celebrate. Everyone who was anyone in the entertainment business had been invited to Twilight, an exclusive London nightclub that Rosalie had booked in its entirety, and there were so many people that Edward still doesn't know how he noticed Carlisle lounging at the bar with a pint of beer in his hand.

He supposes it could have had something to do with the sheer white shirt that Carlisle wore buttoned only half-way up his flat muscled chest, or the way his blonde hair gleamed almost white under the gaudy club lighting. Whatever it was it distracted Edward so thoroughly during a half-hearted debate about his music that Rosalie practically pushed him towards the bar.

"Go and fuck him already," She slurred in her thick New York accent, clearly annoyed that he wasn't acting his usual self, even though she normally hated his propensity to get into punch-ups over his music. "And if he asks," Rosalie added as Edward lurched towards the bar, "you already turned eighteen dick head!"

So Edward approached Carlisle with sweaty palms under the intentionally too long sleeves of his favourite black tee, and his heart hammering somewhere inside his throat, all the while wondering why exactly he had noticed the gorgeous man in a room full of gorgeous men. It was only when he brushed up against Carlisle's elbow, the soft worn cotton of his shirt just touching rough linen, and caught Carlisle's eye that he knew.

"I've been waiting for you my whole life," Edward whispered throatily, his face struggling not to grimace at the corniness of his first words to the most stunning man he had ever seen.

"Is that right?" Carlisle grinned revealing a set of perfect white teeth, the tilt of his lips belying the intensity in his eyes as they roamed over Edward's body. "You can't have been waiting very long then."

Looking back on that first meeting Edward supposes Carlisle meant to put him off but it didn't work because within seconds Edward was across the slither of space between them, his own chapped lips mashed firmly against the soft velvet of Carlisle's, and the kiss was so wet and long and intense that both of them winced when they finally separated to catch their breath.

"Please come back to mine," Edward whispered into the soft baby hairs behind Carlisle's ear, his hands fisting into the rough linen just above the waistband of the other man's worn blue jeans. He wasn't this guy—the one who approached and practically begged other guys to come home with him. He was Edward Mason for fuck's sake, the most famous and relevant classical pianist in his generation; men came to him.

"Okay," Carlisle whispered, his bright blue eyes dilating to black when Edward finally got the guts to look into them. "But you should know that I charge by the hour."

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