A/N: WATER. This fic flows like fucking water. G'damn dominant Carlisle being all … and… fuck, make him stfu.
For many people, the BDSM scene was much more than a kink. The reason it worked so well, the reason why bruises and pain weren't signs of abusive, unhealthy behavior, was because it fulfilled a deep-seated need within both partners. It was why Edward had sought a modicum of relief by dabbling with one-scene partners, and why he'd been so desperate when he glimpsed what he could have with Carlisle.
In its essence, submission was about release and domination about helping the submissive. There was a great amount of pressure and responsibility in being a dom. The trust a submissive put in their dom was not something to be taken lightly. Never, ever, at any point was an act of D/s about the dom. It was always about what the sub needed, without exception-an often confusing idea given that a dom could and mostly did derive sexual pleasure out of the situation.
But D/s was not always mingled with sex and attraction. The need could be fulfilled without the sexual element.
It was Tuesday morning, and Carlisle was in his living room when he heard the expected knock at the door. He closed his eyes briefly and breathed in through his nose, centering himself. He rose and went to the door.
Esme Platt stood on his doorstep, lovely and composed as always. He knew her well enough to see the signs of nervousness-the way she tapped one finely manicured fingernail against her leg, the catch of her breath when she raised her head to meet his eyes. Still, she smiled when she greeted him. "Good morning, sir."
"Come in, young lady."
That broke the tension some. Esme was three years older than Carlisle was.
"Let's sit."
She followed him to the living room and sat in the chair that faced the sofa. "Now," Carlisle said, "it's been four weeks since I saw you. Why don't you tell me what's happened."
Her cheeks went pink. "Oh, sir. I've been such an idiot. I-"
"Stop."
She snapped her mouth shut.
"What's my number one rule?" he asked.
Her lips pursed in an o as she realized what she'd just said. She ducked her head, looking down at her lap. "Be kind to myself."
This was one of Esme's deepest and longest running issues. She put herself down so much it broke his heart. "What did we agree on?"
Esme paled. She blew out a breath, and opened her purse. She pulled out her hairbrush-oval and wooden-backed-and handed it to him.
"Good girl," he said. "Now come here."
All in all, she got the hairbrush over his knee for treating herself poorly and a lengthy session with a wide leather strap while bent over the arm of his couch for various other agreed upon misdeeds, all on her bare bottom. He asked her about why she had done the things she had done and how they made her feel as he spanked her. He assured her over and over she wasn't bad. He wasn't here to judge her. He was here to help her. Let it out, he said. Midway through the hairbrush she was weeping softly. By the time they were done with the strap, she was kicking and screaming, her body limp over the couch as she sobbed freely.
"There now. All done," he said, putting the strap aside. He pulled her up to her feet and then down with him on the couch, gathering her onto his lap. Her arms went around him, and she buried her face in his neck, crying so hard she gasped. He rubbed her back and murmured sweet things in her ear, telling her she was a good girl and all was forgiven. He let her cling to him as tightly as she needed to until her tears quieted to hiccups, and she was heavy and pliant in his arms.
Carlisle didn't get off on causing people pain. He derived no sexual pleasure from hurting people, nor did he think it was healthy that anyone would. Often times, especially in the early days of their association, making this woman cry had almost brought him to tears. He wasn't her dom but her disciplinarian. She was a married mother of two, and no one else in her life could fill this role for her. He did it because she trusted him and because he alone in her life could understand that she needed it.
When her breath had evened out, he pulled back a bit, taking her face between his hands. He used the pads of his thumbs to wipe the tears off her cheeks. "Better?" he asked.
She sniffled but smiled and nodded, lovely as ever though her face was splotchy and her eyes as red as her ass. "Thank you," she said, throwing her arms around his neck in a hug this time.
"You're welcome." He kissed the top of her forehead. "Go on upstairs, and I'll get the tea," he said, releasing her so she could go splash cold water on her face and compose herself again.
By the time Esme came back downstairs, the tea was ready. She sat down at the table, wincing a little as she did, and Carlisle couldn't help but see Edward sitting there, wiggling in his seat. He smiled at the memory as he set the cup of tea in front of Esme and sat down himself.
Esme tilted her head, studying him in the quiet minute they spent adding sugar and cream. "Something's happened," she said, not asking.
Carlisle looked at her over the rim of his cup. He liked this part, when the submissive side of her was content, whatever little voice that screamed need in her head calm for the moment, and they could be what they truly were to each other-best friends and confidants. He didn't have a lot of close friends, and only Esme knew everything about him.
He told her about Edward and only stopped talking when she laughed. "You're smitten," she said.
"I am not."
She laughed again. "You are."
"It's not like that."
"Oh, I'm not telling you what it's like. I'm telling you that when you talk about him, you get this foolish little grin on your face. And you've been going on for five minutes about how infuriatingly stubborn he his."
Carlisle frowned, taken aback. His cheeks flushed warm. "It's not my fault that stubborn is his primary characteristic."
"It's not your fault, but you like it." Her tone was teasing.
"Are we in high school?"
"Oh, you let me enjoy this. You like him."
Carlisle gave an exasperated huff. "Of course I like him. I liked him before I had him shackled to my bed."
"You know what I mean." She fixed him with a knowing look. "Carlisle Cullen, if you think this Edward is stubborn, you should have a long look in the mirror." She chuckled, taking a sip of her tea. "But okay. I get it. You don't want to think about it like that. You were saying about his stubbornness."
Carlisle didn't answer right away. He drank his tea, trying to get his thoughts in order. He wanted to dismiss what Esme was saying outright. He definitely couldn't think about it right then. "It's just that I'm concerned, and I'm not entirely sure that I should be."
He drummed his fingers on the table. Generally speaking, it was a hard and fast rule that whatever happened in the bedroom stayed there. He would never think of betraying any person's innermost fears, needs, and desires by talking about them behind their back. However, the role of a dom could be difficult. Doms were only human, and subs often laid a heavy weight on their dom's shoulders, trusted them to bear the responsibility of that load. It took a considerable amount of strength, and having someone to talk to was often imperative. This was especially true when he was considering pushing an issue that could blow up in his face if it wasn't handled correctly.
But he trusted Esme. She was impartial, compassionate, and she would never use the knowledge he gave her. "Edward hasn't ever cried at all in my presence, but specifically he hasn't cried when I punished him."
Quirking an eyebrow, Esme shifted pointedly in her seat. "I'm not going to ask you if you went easy on him because that's a ridiculous question."
Carlisle scoffed. "The opposite, actually. The first two times, I was terrified I'd read him wrong. Those punishments were hard, and we didn't talk about them first. It was a risk I felt comfortable in taking, but it could have gone wrong quickly."
"It worked out though, obviously."
"Oh, yes. Edward doesn't like being a novice at anything. You should see him at the hospital. If he comes across a case that stumps him, he obsesses over the literature and asks a million questions."
"There's that smile again."
"The point being, Edward isn't new to the scene. He appreciated the fact I threw him into the deep end of the pool, so to speak. So no, I wasn't easy on him. In fact, I pushed him pretty hard."
"But no tears."
"Not one." Carlisle leaned forward on the table, cradling his cup in his hands. "What bothers me about that isn't the lack of tears in and of itself. It's that I'm almost positive he's specifically trying not to cry. His body tenses, and he'll go as far as the cusp of hyperventilation to calm himself down before he cries. At least that's what it looks like to me." Breathlessness was a normal reaction to that kind of pain and helplessness, but the way Edward did it-his eyes screwed up tight and his body coiled-looked like the antithesis of a natural reaction.
"Have you asked him about it?" Esme asked.
"Like I said, I'm not sure yet if it's something I should be concerned about." If they were in a romantic relationship, Carlisle wouldn't have hesitated. Romantic partners should have been able to talk about anything. But he wasn't Edward's boyfriend; he was his dom, and that was a much different relationship. Whether or not Edward cried enough wasn't necessarily any of his business. "He gets a high sense of satisfaction after his punishments. He craves that-someone to take him to task." His lips twitched. "And he likes the aftereffects. He's not scared or confused or anything like that."
"Hmm." Esme tapped the side of her cup as she sipped. "I don't know. Myself, I don't understand that reaction at all, the idea of holding back tears. For me, that's the whole point of what we do. When you get me to that point where I stop fighting and submit, give myself over to the moment and the pain, that's the part I need. The kicking and screaming and crying. I don't get to do that anywhere else but with you. And then when you hold me and tell me it's okay, I believe you. I don't know that I feel safer and more content than in those minutes afterward." She smiled at him, a little shy, and he smiled back.
"But that's my experience, my need," Esme said, a thoughtful expression on my face. "People have different needs. Didn't you say you did it for the endorphins, the adrenaline rush?"
Carlisle chuckled. "Partially," he said, leaving it at that.
"And that makes sense too. I've known people like that, who like the extreme side of what we do. People who like it when their masters break their skin and leave them black and blue. It's no stranger than other things. People scale mountains, jump off cliffs, etc, looking for a rush. They get scraped up and bones broken, all that. So you like to get your ass beat instead. Six of one, half a dozen of another to me. As long as it's all consensual, I'm not prone to judge anyone doing what they need or want to do.
"Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is it could be nothing. Maybe he really doesn't need to cry." Esme tilted her head, studying Carlisle. "But if he's keeping that bit of control, then it is your job to investigate that, help him give over that burden. If he's keeping that much control during his punishment, he's not in the moment, and isn't that the whole point?"
Carlisle hummed, turning the thoughts over in his head. He reached across the table to pick up the tea pot, pouring another cup for Esme, then himself.
"Carlisle?"
"What?"
Esme grinned wickedly at him. "All business aside, if you like him-"
The disgruntled noise he made had her breaking off with a smile. "Oh, what. Let me have my fun. I've been worried about you for a solid decade now," she said.
"I'm fine."
"You're lonely, and you're too good a man to be alone."
"I'm fine," he repeated. It had been a long, long time since he'd thought about a romantic relationship with anyone, let alone a man over sixteen years younger than he was. "Even if I was interested, and I'm not saying I am, it's not a good idea."
Esme rolled her eyes, waving a hand. "That's an excuse. Sometimes couples have to work to be together. Where there's a will, there's a way. All I'm saying is don't be so afraid that you let silly reasons get in the way of what could be a really great thing."
"I'll keep that in mind," he promised.
~0~
"Hey, I have a question."
Carlisle dragged his eyes open and blinked owlishly. He'd been late getting home from the hospital, and Edward had been waiting when he got there. Rather than wanting to play, as had been the plan, without being prompted, Edward had drawn him a bath and helped him strip his clothes off. Now Carlisle was luxuriating while Edward, perched outside the tub, slowly and thoroughly cleaned him from head to toe. "Hmm?" Carlisle, drowsing.
Edward reached over him to the far lip of the tub and picked up a bathbrush. It was a heavy instrument with a long handle and a flat, wooden back. "Do you buy crap like this on purpose?"
Raising an eyebrow, Carlisle took the brush from him. "Yes, you see, the purpose of this is to clean the center of my back."
"Hey. Sassiness is my thing. Cut it out. You know what I mean."
Carlisle laughed, rotating his wrist and the brush. "Sweetheart, believe me. This is only for bad little boys in really big trouble. This thing hurts like crazy."
"How big trouble?"
Craning his neck back so he could look up at Edward, Carlisle put on his sternest expression. "I'm not kidding. I would only think about using this for sincere and severe discipline."
"After that set up, are you going to make me beg for the story?" Edward asked, scratching his fingers through Carlisle's hair, wetting it.
"Ah, well." Carlisle sighed, setting the brush down again. "It was Aro. Of course it was Aro. I told you he was heavy-handed. Well, my most severe punishment was a week's worth of spanking."
"Jesus Christ. What the hell did you do?"
Carlisle snorted. "I'd picked up smoking, and Aro thought he'd cured me of that habit. He found a pack of cigarettes I'd purchased that day along with the receipt, so there wasn't any hiding it. When he found it, he dragged me right out of the shower, bent me over the counter, and, well, you get the idea."
"Damn. A bath brush paddling on wet skin. That must have been fun. And for a week?"
"No." Carlisle shuddered. "A week of that?" He nodded his head at the bath brush. "No one is that sadistic. No, that was just the beginning. After that, every morning and every evening for a week, he'd make me ask him for a spanking. Just his hand, but that was bad enough over the bruises from this thing. Kept me aching to my tailbone all week long. Effective, though. I could hardly look at a cigarette after that."
Edward hummed in acknowledgement.
Carlisle caught his hand and twisted to look at him. His lips curled up in amusement. "You're curious, aren't you?"
Edward's cheeks went pink and he gave a sheepish shrug. "One or two swats can't possibly hurt that badly."
"Oh, little boy. You'll rue the day. Just remember you literally asked for it."
"One or two swats," Edward emphasized. "I feel like that's the important part of the conversation." He dipped a cup in the water, pouring it over Carlisle's head and picked up the shampoo. "I have another question."
"Why am I not surprised." Carlisle tried not to moan at the scalp massage he was getting as Edward worked the shampoo through his hair.
Edward leaned in close to his ear, whispering in a slightly falsetto, southern-belle accent, "Where on earth did you get this darling lavender-scented bath oil?"
Carlisle didn't answer for one, two, three seconds. Then, too quickly for Edward to react, Carlisle made his move. There was a yelp, a splash, some wrestling, and a few moments later, the sloshing water had made a mess of his bathroom floor and Edward, still fully clothed, was in the tub with him, sputtering. It was a big tub made, like most of the furniture in the house, to accommodate two grown men.
"Listen, if you think this is the best way to get me all wet, I have news for you, old man," Edward said, wiping the water from his eyes.
"I have news for you. You are all wet." Carlisle grabbed him around the waist, half squeezing and half tickling so Edward flailed, getting more water everywhere. "Didn't anyone teach you to respect your elders, little boy?"
"Really depends on the elder, don't you think?"
Carlisle kissed his neck. It was a rough kiss. With teeth. "You know," he said, pulling at Edward's sodden t-shirt. "You're making me reconsider this whole one to two smacks of the bathbrush thing. I'm thinking maybe a solid dozen would do you a world of good."
"Oh, god," Edward groaned, but anything else he might have said was cut off as Carlisle turned his head toward him and kissed him.
A/N: Heheheh Songster is coming around to our boys. She's good to me. So are my endlessly patient girls.
How we doing out there?
