Author's note: Thanks to those still reading! I can't express how much it means to me. Thanks to ms. ambrosia, the fantastic hand-holder and beta that she is.

The characters, I don't own.

Also, you guys, this story has some religious themes and such, because I always figured Carlisle had to be a pretty religious guy and all. This chapter has a lot of thoughts on religion that might not necessarily be mine, so don't get offended, okay? Okay. I don't think there's anything horribly offensive, but just in case… : ) Thanks!

Edward read the words on the page over and over, but they were too blurry to see. He wanted to weep; he had never felt so shamed, utterly rejected and unwanted.

"Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination."

Could that really be how Carlisle felt about him? Part of Edward thrilled for a moment, thinking maybe Carlisle wanted to "lie" with him, whatever that might entail, before he realized he might simply be the abomination part of the scripture.

Carlisle had desired Edward to come closer; the older vampire's thoughts had never been so unguarded, clear and direct. Practically begging, Carlisle had prayed for it. And no sooner had Edward indulged him, pressed his mouth against Carlisle's unyielding lips, he found himself pushed away. Hands on his shoulders shoving so hard, he was propelled backwards, left watching Carlisle rise and retreat, a disheveled blur.

But the second—less than a second, in actuality—Carlisle had allowed that touch of lips, Edward knew what he was meant to do with eternity.

It had been a few days since the not-quite-kiss and Carlisle had done his best to avoid Edward. When Edward attempted to speak with Carlisle about what had happened, the older man simply advised the younger to read the Bible and pray about it, the word sodomy echoing in his head.

Sodomy? Who had said anything about sodomy? Edward was certain he had heard the word before, but had no clue when or where or what it meant.

So Edward spent days poring over the pages of Carlisle's worn book, careful not to rip the brittle paper. Since becoming immortal, he discovered he could read almost as fast as he could run, comprehend just as swiftly, but he wanted to be sure he understood it all, every bit, as surely as Carlisle did.

Instead of finding answers, Edward found the text more confusing than clarifying. There was much he encountered he had never heard of previously. Although the memories of his human life were blurry, countless moments forgotten, he was certain he had been taught a more edited version of things. There were so many sins he might unknowingly commit, he thought it easier to find a nice corner to curl up in and gather dust for eternity so that he might avoid doing them.

The more he read, the more his shame turned to anger at Carlisle or maybe just the men who wrote the book. Edward struggled to remember the sermons he had endured as a human, tried to recall how he had felt. All he knew was he had unquestioningly followed the example of his parents, had taken the word of God delivered by the minister as law. Never had he had a reason to read the entire Bible, and there was never a time he felt the need to address any conflicts.

He grew exceedingly satisfied he no longer had a soul to save. Edward did not know if it was because he was soulless, or because he no longer had parents leading him, but he felt naive, callow, when it came to his human life.

Edward waited for an overcast day to make a trip to the library. Carlisle asked him where he was going, but Edward declined responding. Once there, he filled his head with as many theological books he could find, ignoring his bloodlust and drowning out internal voices. There were not many variations, considering the small conservative town in which he resided. He grew disheartened, all the texts seeming to say the same thing, offer the same viewpoint.

The word 'homosexual' was mentioned in a few books, and he came to realize that meant men liking men. Confused in the beginning, it took further reading to understand the text meant like liking, which led Edward to wondering if he was homosexual. He knew he felt terribly fond of Carlisle and wanted to put his lips against Carlisle's again. Sometimes, when he looked at Carlisle he got a funny feeling in his stomach and thought he might be sick, although Carlisle said he should never get sick again. There were even some nights Carlisle would go to work, and Edward would think about him for hours: his hair, his shoulders, his eyes, the little dip at the base of his throat and under his nose, the sound of his voice, his fingers. One night, Edward pondered the shape of Carlisle's knees-which he saw so infrequently-for ninety-seven minutes.

Edward still had uncertainty about whether or not he was homosexual. It had seemed strange to him before, of that he was certain, but he had never given it much thought as a human, something he would never have to worry about. He decided to worry about it another day.

He found the word 'sodomy' several times, but was no closer to finding out what that meant other than that it was something sexual and it happened to be illegal in Wisconsin, something a man and a man or a woman and a man could do. So, whatever it was, had to be terrible and violent for it to be against the law. The more he thought on it, the more he remembered the word. Attempting to look it up in the dictionary, Edward huffed when he noticed that entire page of the book had been ripped out. Edward walked up to ask the librarian and, at the last minute, thought better of it, although he did make sure to mention the dictionary had been vandalized.

More frustrated than when he entered the library, he left, walking leisurely home. Edward decided to take his time, stop to hunt, therefore avoid seeing Carlisle who would leave for work soon. Also, Carlisle had a dictionary, and Edward wanted to look at it without questions. Why he had not ventured to Carlisle's book collection sooner, he could not decide.

Carlisle was intelligent; Edward could not comprehend why he so thoroughly bought into the dogma set forth for him. The way Carlisle unquestioningly followed the rules was admirable, if not ignorant. The way the Bible said it, there were things even married men and women should not do together, lest they be sinful. It said intercourse was to procreate. Did that mean if Carlisle found a woman, married her, he would not take her to bed? Surely, he would.

Edward knew all about that kind of sex. He had been a human male, after all, and his best friend Tommy had explained it to him in crude four letter words when they were fourteen, a memory that would be difficult to purge.

All these questions had Edward missing his mother. Elizabeth had constantly answered Edward's questions with understanding and patience. Edward wondered if these sort of inquiries would have been any different. How he longed for her arms to straighten his jacket, smooth his hair and wrap around him, straightening and squeezing out any worries he might have. Edward never knew he could experience so many different types of heartaches.

A long ago memory began to surface at the thoughts of his mother, and Edward stopped walking, covering and closing his eyes so he could will it into the forefront of his mind by dulling his senses. He was in church, a guest minister standing at the pulpit.

"...brazenly flaunted...incest...sodomy...greed..."

bright lights. sweat on the minister's brow. Mother. pale.

nods in the congregation. a fan with pretty roses. Tommy snickers.

"Mother, what is 'sodomy'?"

"Shhh, Edward."

"Edward," Tommy whispers.

"What?"

Tommy motions. come closer.

"It's when a man puts his pecker in another man's asshole."

wide eyes. stifled giggles.

"...cast down judgement...Hell's fire...eternity..."

roses. white roses. perfume.

It made sense, and Edward could not comprehend why the connection was not made sooner. Edward pinched the bridge of his nose, thought of Carlisle as he did so.

Well, he had not been thinking of sodomy before Carlisle let the word slip, but he certainly was now.

~oOo~

Edward decided to follow Carlisle's lead and not voice whatever feelings he was having. He ached to know how Carlisle truly felt, without the supposed stigma. Feeling lonesome, Edward went about his days spending all the time with Carlisle he could, while keeping a distance large enough to keep the man comfortable.

There did not seem to be a minute in which Carlisle let his guard down. His mind thrummed with inane, harmless thoughts on the weather, current affairs; he hummed and quoted medical books and thought of gangrene and puss and lungs full of fluid and wounds so deep the bone was exposed. From this practice, Edward also learned how to truly tune thoughts out.

Edward's thoughts continually went back to the new words he had learned, and he could not help but wonder how it would feel to have Carlisle inside him. Would it hurt? Could he still feel pain? Would it feel good?

The curiosity had gone so far as to have Edward put a venom-slickened finger inside himself, and he found wiggling it around just right made his toes curl. The sensation was so nice, Edward tried it many times, and attempted not to ponder how all those books and all the people who wrote the book—and evidently Carlisle—said what he was doing was wrong and unclean. Maybe when he was human, those rules would have applied, but not now that he was damned anyway.

Sometimes, when he touched himself in the way that felt so nice, he thought of Carlisle. Carlisle as he read a book, his brow furrowing and smoothing, his nimble fingers turning the pages so quietly they did not even rustle. Carlisle resting his face on his right hand, nibbling on the tip of his pinky finger, puckering his lips as though kissing a phantom lover. Edward visioned those lips, those hands on him, Carlisle's brow furrowed for an altogether different reason. Edward remembered the moan escaping Carlisle on Christmas Eve, just before Edward had kissed him. He remembered it and wanted to hear it again, wanted Carlisle to feel good with him, feel good about being inside him.

Could it really be wrong to love someone enough to want to let them in? If Edward ever thought so, he could not remember.

As more time passed, the snow melted and warmer days began presenting themselves. The sun had been shining for days and Carlisle suggested they start wearing a path with their bicycles. Edward thoroughly agreed.

The bright, baby green peeked through everywhere and the air already smelled of flowers. The day was lovely and Edward was happy to be enjoying it with Carlisle. The two found a large, sloped clearing, grass still short enough to be ridden through easily.

"Race you?" Carlisle suggested to Edward's surprise.

"It's not much of a race when one of the competitors is ancient!" Edward joked and took off. He heard Carlisle let out a boisterous laugh before following, the sound of the spokes hastily catching up to him.

Edward pushed the pedals until he smelled heated metal, then he pushed harder. The trees flew by in blotches of green and brown, the wind ferociously yelling in his ears. Yes, he wanted to win, but Edward had discovered he was somewhat addicted to speed. Just when the joy of flying made him laugh, Edward's bicycle fell apart under him. He was promptly propelled across the ground and collided with a tree, a crack rivaling thunder rending the air.

Carlisle stopped, ahead of where Edward's bicycle crumbled, leaving a deep rivet in the ground. In a flash, he was at Edward's side, helping him up and dusting him off. Chuckling, Carlisle said, "I win."

Although he hated to admit it, Edward had been a bit frightened by the fall, but Carlisle's smirk aided in calming yet added to the adrenaline pumping through him.

"I think it was a forfeit," Edward managed to reply.

Carlisle put a hand over his heart, laughed and smiled wider. "I almost forgot you were immortal for a moment."

"Me too," Edward replied. "You were worried?"

"Of course, Edward." Carlisle's thoughts flashed to human Edward in a hospital bed, eyes watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, distress prevalent in the memories. Carlisle cleared his throat. "I am a doctor, after all. It's, uh, my job to worry."

Edward sighed. "That is true," he conceded.

"You are an absolute mess," Carlisle laughed. "There's a stream close by." Edward looked down at his ripped clothing, grass stains and dirt all over his arms. "You should see your face. If you were human you would not have one anymore."

They found the small stream, and Edward pulled his tattered shirt over his head. Carlisle turned away and Edward felt like rolling his eyes. He began busying himself with rinsing most of the dirt from his top and using it to clean his face.

"Carlisle?"

The older man did not turn around, hummed in response. "Hmm?"

"Why, um, wouldn't you, uh, kiss me back?" Edward concentrated on what his hands were doing, counting rocks in the creek bed, anything to keep from getting too involved in Carlisle's answer.

"Edward." Carlisle paused, took a deep breath. "The way you think you feel about me. It's unnatural."

"The way I think I feel?"

"Yes. This," Edward looked over his shoulder at Carlisle's back and saw him gesturing towards himself, "is not who we are. This flesh, this parasite within us, is weak."

"I read the Bible," Edward replied.

"And?"

"It doesn't say anything about vampires."

Carlisle stifled a laugh and put a hand over his face, turned around. "We're still His children and should try our best to follow His rules."

"You think so?" Somehow, Carlisle had not noticed Edward's sarcasm, or chose to ignore it.

"I do."

"So you think it's no problem for a husband to beat his wife and children if they disobey? Slavery should be fine? And maybe when you have a problem with someone, kill them? Sacrifice children and animals and whatever else you feel led by 'Him' to do?"

Carlisle removed his hand, looked at Edward with slanted eyes. He took a few steps closer to Edward, who had turned around fully and crouched by the stream. Edward almost wished he could take his words back; Carlisle was angry and the scent rolling off of him so unfamiliar that Edward shuddered.

But, God, he was stunning in his anger, nostrils flared, the sunshine lighting him up like a beacon, and Edward felt himself drawn to him even more, an insect willingly throwing itself into a fire.

"Those situations are taken out of context. You are smart enough to know that," Carlisle said, seething, an enraged quiet surrounding him like the eye of a tornado.

Edward stood to match Carlisle and said, "And you are smart enough not to believe everything you read."

Carlisle's anger seemed to fade as quickly as it had come on. "Edward, I want you to look to me as a father. I want to guide you. I want you to live and be happy—"

"You make me happy. You could make me completely happy by—"

"Not like that, Edward." Carlisle contemplated his feet for long moments before looking at Edward again. His expression went sad, the lines next to his down-turned mouth making him look older than his twenty-three human years.

"This is ridiculous. What if it's all wrong, Carlisle?" Edward said, his heart crumpling like a piece of discarded paper.

Carlisle said nothing more, but brought the knuckle of his index finger to Edward's jaw, tracing the line of it so lightly, Edward might have mistaken it for the flutter of insect wings, the wind. He froze, closed his eyes, desperate not to frighten the skittish creature Carlisle was. Edward waited with the patience of stone, willing to stand forever if it meant being touched, molded in even the tiniest way.

Hesitantly, Carlisle extended his fingers and brushed them across Edward's nose and cheeks. He whispered, "You used to have freckles here."

Then, he was gone.

~oOo~

When Edward got home, Carlisle was shut in his office, reading. As he entered, he barely caught the image of himself, bare-chested and shining in the woods, everything about him glowing, including small patches of pink on his cheeks. He could not believe in reality he was that striking.

"Blessed is the man that endureth temptation: for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord hath promised to them that love him."

Why do I want Heaven so much?

Edward heard the pages flipping, so unlike Carlisle.

"Flee fornication. Every sin that a man doeth is without the body; but he that committeth fornication sinneth against his own body."

I can live forever on Earth, can I not?

More pages were turned, a book being slammed shut, opened again.

"Don't lust for their beauty. Don't let their coyness seduce you. For a prostitute will bring a man to poverty, and an adulteress may cost him his very life."

But that's not Edward. Is that Edward? Is this simply lust? Why do I crave his company, his voice, his thoughts, his music? All of it. All of him.

"Oh, God," Carlisle murmurs.

"Let no man say when he is tempted, I am tempted of God: for God cannot be tempted with evil, neither tempteth he any man: But every man is tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed."

"I cannot. I cannot. I cannot."

Edward wondered what Carlisle could not do and, as quietly as possible, went to his room upstairs.

Is he right? What if he's right? God, help me, if he's right.

The breaths Carlisle took were quick and loud; Edward heard them even through the floor separating them. Feeling guilty, Edward thought about going back downstairs, knocking on Carlisle's door and apologizing. He could not make himself take his words back though.

In that moment, the one Edward contemplated asking forgiveness, asking Carlisle to forget what he said, the images in Carlisle's head changed back to the way Edward looked by the stream, his chest, his skin, his taut abdomen and pert nipples. Edward watched, enthralled, as Carlisle imagined reaching out and, instead of touching Edward's face, he ran his fingertips down Edward's exposed torso before grabbing his hips and pulling him close.

Edward glanced to his left and right, wondering if somehow Carlisle had missed him coming inside and did not know Edward saw every bit of what was going on in his sire's head. He had to. Pondering leaving, allowing Carlisle his private thoughts, Edward witnessed Carlisle's meanderings turning even more interesting as one hand disappeared into Edward's copper hair and held tight.

Closing his eyes, Edward saw Carlisle use a handful of his hair to bend his head back, lustfully gaze at the column of his throat before devouring it like he could swallow Edward whole. The imagined-Carlisle groaned as the flavor of Edward's sweetened skin filled his mouth; the real Carlisle made a quiet mewling sound, a defeated sound.

Edward heard a shifting from the floor below, the rattle of a buckle. He opened his eyes wide, desire flooding him when he understood what Carlisle was doing. Without thought, he found himself in the floor, flat on his stomach, an ear and hand on the wood as though he could touch the man underneath.

The thought-Carlisle moved his sinful lips to Edward's ear. "How could I not want you?" he whispered, the heat of his words warming Edward's face even in imaginings. Then his mouth moved to Edward's, hesitating, lips open, brushing against Edward's trembling lips. Several moments he stayed there, until Edward took the initiative.

The kiss Edward delivered in Carlisle's musings was profane and beautiful, shattering and completing. Carlisle returned it whole-heartedly, taking the younger man's lower lip between his. When Carlisle's tongue found its way into Edward's mouth, he heard a quartet of satisfied moans, echoing in his head and in his ears.

Edward had yet to realize he was moving his hips against the cold floor, moving in time with Carlisle's hand mere feet below him. Maybe he could melt himself to liquid and sneak through the cracks in the floor, turn himself into seven notes of music and be in Carlisle's presence unnoticed. Closer, he needed to be closer. His true desire would be to get up, go downstairs and aid Carlisle along, but something about the moment made him fearful there was a spell which would be broken did he physically leave his room.

Below him, Carlisle writhed in his desk chair, his hand full of himself as the thoughts of Edward, now removing Carlisle's trousers, spurred him forward. He pulled Edward to the ground, eagerly wrapped his arms around the younger man, making sure he felt every inch of the boy crushing him to the forest floor in his mind. Carlisle, trousers sloppily pushed to his thighs, shoved Edward's down as well and cried out with satisfaction as he thrust his length against Edward's. The heat was everywhere, not a bit of his flesh left untouched by it.

The sound of skin on skin from downstairs had Edward so thoroughly in the moment, he was sure it was real; the cold, hard floor beneath him could be Carlisle, the soft static of Carlisle's movements could be the sound of his flesh against the other man's flesh.

The sensation coiled in his groin, an infusion of images and words and noises so fair, they brought Edward to a higher point than he had ever known. Something was happening, and Edward feared it as much as he welcomed it. He was falling apart and coming together and falling apart again.

Carlisle uttering his name out loud was what flung him from the precipice he teetered upon, and everything he had ever been was blurred out by what he felt.

Then he was coming, for ages, he was coming as Carlisle whispered his name over and over and over again.

As the elation ebbed away, Edward heard Carlisle begging for forgiveness, and Edward's heartache doubled, because he had seen fragments of a passion that would never be realized.