Summary: A random Carlisle/Edward Drabble, set somewhere in the early twenties.
Dedicated, as always, to Stephanie
Someone will be sent later to investigate the booming noises that interrupted the night, and that person would be baffled by the lack of destruction and the twenty perfectly cylindrical holes in four bricks pressed two inches inward -
But with his forehead and cheek still hard against the back of the old brownstone, fingertips clinging into the bricks the way Carlisle does to his body, gasping to reclaim breath he doesn't need with his face buried against the back of Edward's shoulder and neck, thinking
if i had a singer something someone i was meant to find change unable to that was irresistible undeniable it's you always was
- Edward doesn't care at all. He'd have demolished the whole building to hear that, feel it indisputable and irrefutable, after the last few weeks. He laughed lightly, not out of breath and still floating, lips of granite making dust from the wall it brushed against when he whispered in very quiet, pleased, amusement. "I should yell at you more often, it turns your logic skills into mush."