Again, as you'll probably see there are jumps and gaps and spaces... the puzzle pieces as it were.

Please enjoy this completely impromptu idea on how such conversations might go...

And if you love it, please review.

He sighs from deep within his chest, letting it draw out breathily as if preparing to blow the dust off the floor boards.

'You're hesitating,' she notes worriedly.

'No,' he murmurs, his own eyebrows furrowing as he identifies two knots of wood on the floor. He recaptures himself and smiles sheepishly at her. 'No.'

'Something is playing on your mind?'

He considers moving over to the bed. She is sat in the middle of it, her legs curled cozily around her with the skirt of her dress covering any illustrious curves. He shivers.

'Semantics,' he decides finally and he takes another step towards the bed, perching himself awkwardly on the wooden foothead and looking carefully at her.

She seems a lot more confident than he. A lot more at ease with the impending union they had promised. In fact as she sits comfortably on his fabrics, her eyes drawing lazily to the book in her hands, her curious smile stays defiantly determined. He enjoys how she's sitting for a number of reasons.

Firstly she is so at one with what is. There is no suggestion that the bed doesn't already belong to her. Like she has expertly done with his heart, she has subsumed the sheets, made them soften to her limbs and embrace her dreamily in welcome.

Secondly, even though she is rightly endearing him to her, almost as if her breath were a rope dragging his lips forward, she is remarkably elegant in her moves. Despite the courseness of their... (even the word brought sinful elation)... affair, she looked as homely as an existent part of his life.

The church would not welcome their actions but in every way excluding literally, Carlisle felt as though she were his wife, softened on their marriage bed and ready to welcome him to her in nature.

Regardless if he hadn't already promised himself to her, he could feel his insides flicker with excitement, the thrill of nerves and heat tinging his fingertips. He lets them dance on his thigh and watches her eyes go to them.

'We ought to talk frankly.'

'Yes,' she murmurs in gentle agreement. She finally looks into his eyes. Warm browns and forest greens oozing into him. For a moment he suspects his tongue has lolled out his mouth because all he wants is her.

'We must not be shy with each other,' he warns her, trying with great steadiness to rid the blush from his cheeks.

She is not blushing. She is smirking.

'Well, I can resolve not to be intently shy with you... but I suspect...'

'Yes, yes,' he hurries in giddily, smiling through the embarrassment. 'Of course some examples are to be expected.'

'We'll grow used to each other,' she promises.

And if he weren't so sure of his promises perhaps he would take her now.

After all, she did seem to be welcoming him...

'Is something on your mind, Doctor?' She teases, her eyebrow curving beautifully. She has caught him in her fishtrap and now the suffocation in his heart is thrashing to reach his loins with determination.

He forces another breath.

'Contraception, my love.'

And at last, she blushes.

'Ah, yes...'

'There are obviously...' he swallows, touches his neck and feels the reprimanding singe from his cross. 'Obviously methods...' he mentions, frowning now at the armoire across the room.

Every purse of her lips forces her words to dance teasingly on their tip.

'No longer a man of science?'

She holds his eyes again, pulling him forward expectedly until she starts to crawl over...

And then he quickly stands up to halt her progress. With an endearing 'hmpf' she returns to sit on her knees, book now long discarded by the pillows with her fingers playing in her lap.

It's the only sign of her nerves. Otherwise she could almost be a mischievous woman of the night.

Except she is far too beautiful, far too innocent and more importantly... she will not be shared...

He thinks darkly on the thought, watching the rise of her concealed breasts for a breath.

They would be eachothers...

But he will not share.

'Man of science?' He realises weakly.

'Surely you've been keeping up with the news?'

He draws a blank, shakes his head.

'About the 'pill?''

Hardly something he'd hear on the wireless, she'll admit, but given his field, she thought this would be right up his street.

'The one for... married women...'

The realisation crosses him quickly and he smiles at his own foolishness.

'Oh, that. Yes.'

He'd heard of it.

The results of which he didn't have too much understanding with. He ought to trust the medicine. Part of him did but some of the reported side effects he personally couldn't put down to women's behaviours.

There were silly things. Such as weight gain and nausea. But then the more crippling matters of migranes, fainting, a complete dramatic display of emotions...mood swings...

He adored his Esme as she is.

And rightly, if she wanted their first night together to be... sober... he similarly wanted the same.

And yet... she had asked for autonomy.

He would be benefiting from this request for autonomy too.

Therefore he had little power to argue against.

Little but still some.

'If that is something you wish to explore, we can consider it...'

'You sound unsure,' she says with a smile. He opens his mouth, closes it and then tries again.

'I am not too familiar with the studies,' he admits. To put further problems to the wheel, he wasn't too sure it had been cleared yet. Locating such drugs could turn into a seedy investigation. Would they have to travel to Mexico and make a request with Carl Djerassi himself?

'But?' She asks, promoting his real reservations.

Oh how well she had come to know him.

He grins, wanders about the bed with her eyes following and then perches on the mattress, his hands clasping together by his knee.

They are both waiting for her to move over but she takes her time, allows him the chance to yearn for her.

'But from what I've heard, there are a number of side effects... and to put it simply, we don't yet know the consequences of such medicines...'

'Doctor Cullen,' she gasps playfully. 'A sceptic?'

'There is another matter,' he says, tilting his chin up. At last she surrenders, coming forth to sit at his leg, her light hands touching his. He takes the left in his own, secures a grip and shows her own finger.

'We are not married...' he whispers guiltily and as if apologising, he plants a delicate rosy kiss to the knuckle of her empty ring finger, as though adorning it with jewels.

She regrets that he does not use the word 'yet.' But even that would be such a foolish unachievable demand and it is beyond greedy that she wishes for it.

'We are not,' she agrees sadly. 'But not everyone has to know that...'

He looks up to the wall in thought, her right hand now drawing circles in him, awakening him to movement.

What was she saying?

Oh yes, marriage.

'You'll have to elaborate, My Dear...' he sighs apologetically. She chuckles and stops her swinging hand.

'Could we not go... out of town?'

He winces a little.

'You wish our first night to be... elsewhere?'

Silly, he knew, but since she had made her stamp on his home, he didn't like to be far from it. There was something deeply romantic on the thought that they would make love on a bed she dressed, in a room she designed, surrounded by walls she painted and perfumed with laundry she'd washed.

He had tried to help of course.

But if she so much as acted upon a chore he could do nothing else but watch her joyfully.

'My only priority is that we are together.'

She kisses his cheek with her perfectly pursed lips and then pulls back before he gets too engrossed and returns the favour.

'That might be difficult...' he explains. 'Should we drive, we're in a recognisable enough vehicle that I'm admittedly rather paranoid to us being discovered and...'

He blushes again, looks to his knees with that same regret on his face. Not deep regret. Not the kind to harm her. Just the kind to acknowledge an imbalance in his world. The exchange of some regret for complete, trusting devotion. She encourages him on with a look.

'And if we were to stay somewhere, a hotel for example, I'd worry that suspicions may be raised and we'd be found in an instant...'

It comes out in a frantic tumble, his lip poised in smile but his fine eyebrows still furrowed.

She touches the edge of one with a finger tip and watches the tickle raise his cheek.

'You do not trust your acting skills?'

'Skills might be a generous term, My Love. I have never been a good liar...' he sighs and squeezes her hands, lowering his voice significantly. 'As you well know.'

'What are our other options?' She asks, peering around to capture his eye again. He's had to look back to the wall only to recapture his focus and now it's almost lost again.

But when he thinks about how much he wants her, the reminder that he cannot have her without restraint leads his thoughts back their predicament.

'Well... there's, er... there's ideas on rhythm... for example and... and... well... female... enjoyment?' Or lack thereof.

'Meaning?' She asks sceptically.

'Ignore me,' he brushes in. 'I'm being rather ridiculous...'

'If you're suggesting that we avoid the purpose of the act while... in the act..'

'Yes,' he agrees, stupidly. 'I'm being an idiot.'

'You're overthinking,' she reassures confidently and again she kisses him on his smooth cheek. He sighs.

'Another suggestion is ovulation tracking... for example avoiding certain acts during the days you're more fertile...'

She raises her eyebrows. He nods.

'But given our time together...' he swallows again. 'It may just take a lot of study that we unfortunately...'

'We don't really have the luxuries of time on our hands,' she whispers. He chuckles nervously, puts their hands together again.

'There are... two more methods...'

'Pray, don't be shy Doctor?'

He smirks, squeezes her fingers.

'One is admittedly more promising than the other...'

He is setting such a scene that she is nervous herself.

'The first is timing...' he says quickly, his fingers reserving themselves in hers.

'Timing?' She asks.

'Mm hmm...'

'Elaborate, please?'

He wrinkles his smile, turns his posture to now take her other hand in his, pull her closer towards him and breathe confessions to her innocence.

'If you'll forgive the commentary-'

'Forgiven,' she interrupts.

He smiles widely though still cannot halt his blush.

'I suspect that... or rather I have heard... in that...'

'Deep breaths, Carlisle.'

He laughs at her flawless confidence and in a sweep of unadulterated obsession for the woman, he presses his lips to hers impulsively. She softens her smile to his, leans to him but he pulls away before he gets ahead of himself.

'I am led to believe that before the... point of no return shall we say... a man can remove himself from the situation...'

'Carlisle,' she whispers soothingly. 'No riddles.'

He goes to kiss her again but she pulls back knowingly, eyebrow raised.

'Before ...completion..'

She frowns.

'Before he ejaculates,' he enunciates, half frustratingly.

At last, the colour grows endearingly on her face, her gasp half falling with panic and then she giggles and covers her lip with her hands.

'Forgive me.'

He chuckles and tries again to kiss her but she stops him, lifts her fingertips to his lip and traces the shape thoughtfully.

'Such terminology in your world, Doctor...'

'Forgive me,' he whispers now. 'I try to avoid being crass with you and yet...'

'And yet instinct has no simpler words.'

He purses his mouth, instinctively kissing the finger she has left there and watching her with dark observation.

'I trust common sense will highlight that such a method isn't always fool-proof...'

'And yet, you are not a fool...' she reminds him.

Flattered, he meets her eyes again. Breathes deeply.

'And yet,' he corrects. 'I am inexperienced. You forget that even though I may know of the... instructions as it were, I am ignorant to the actions in place...'

'I trust you, Carlisle.'

His shoulders lower and again, he kisses her hands gratefully.

'Just as I will not unnecessarily put you at risk in a hotel suite, likewise I do not wish to put you at risk of...'

'Potential consequences.'

'Exactly,' he whispers.

'There are other ways,' she decides trustingly and it's all to clear how that she doesn't know what these options are.

'Yes,' he agrees distractedly.

'Humans have been... acting on instinct forever... and yet, it's not uncommon for man and wife to have only a few children in their many years together...'

'Likewise it's not uncommon for a brood to be birthed,' he reminds her carefully. She rolls her eyes. 'And...'

He quickly shuts his mouth, shaking his hair a little.

'And?'

'Forgive me,' he repeats, whispering hastily. 'But in such marriages as your own parents..'

She rightly cringes.

'Do not forget that for some, it is not through lack of trying that children... come about rather unexpectedly...'

She winces but reluctantly nods her head.

'It took them years to have Edward...' she whispers. 'Perhaps that might mean that... our two months will not invite such scandal?'

He seems to believe the opposite now she has voiced her thoughts.

If there was anything to persuade fate to cast a gloom it was the threat of scandal.

'And Emmett?' He asks. 'How long was it between their... wedding day and his birth?'

He regrets pointing to them as examples and she does too, but it is a necessary point.

'Two years.'

He isn't having much luck.

With a sigh, he folds his hands, dragging her left to his thigh and letting it rest there comfortably.

'There was hardly a month between Jasper's birth and Rosalie's conception. They were both born in the same year.'

'I knew they always looked like twins,' she laughs, nuzzling into him. He accepts her warmth joyfully but lets his face simmer candidly.

'We have long surpassed transgressions now...' he whispers. 'And I know you hear my heart when I tell you that I am committed to ... to this...'

'And yet?' She asks, swallowing.

'And yet I cannot ignore that the purposes of the act is to create life... and prevention of that seems...'

'A figure of evil?'

'Oh My Darling,' he seizes her hands again and kisses them. 'Trust that I do not doubt you or even... us... but that I feel I owe it to be honest to you in all ways...'

'You talk as if I haven't thought of this myself...' she is soft as ever, brushing a finger up his cheek to comfort him. He leans to the movement, brushing her with his familiar oak scent.

'You have?' He asks, more to encourage her voice than to sound in disbelief.

'Of course. I am not a complete maid,' she murmurs... 'I had a thorough biology teacher after all.'

He can't help but wince a little at the intended compliment. It simply pointed to his delineation again. His threat on her.

'Esme, when we come to make love,'

Oh how triflingly dangerous these words are to them. Equal measures could combust at the warning. It's rather lucky than both are out of sight in his hidden house above the hill. Otherwise, he fears, that the neighbours would hear his frantic heart galloping in desire.

'Yes?' Her chest expands tightly.

'When we come to make love, I request on your honour that you treat me as your equal. In your bed, in your arms, I wish only to be Carlisle... not your superior.'

He doesn't like the end of his sentence because he frowns in thought. She raises an eyebrow suspiciously, touches his cheek again.

'But you know my heart's truth,' she whispers. 'I can never see you as my equal... and as much as I too disagree with your confusions, you do not see me as your equal either.'

'Oh My Love, that is simply not true!' He squeezes her hands emphatically but she giggles and nuzzles his cheek.

'I fear, My Love, that you are right. Your deception leaves a lot to be desired.'

He sighs in defeat.

'If I do not see you as my equal, it is not through lack of trying...' he kisses her forehead, feels his lips wishing to linger. 'You are heavenly to me, Esme.'

She suspects the employment of her name is determination to encourage his truth.

'You are my angel, my heaven, my Earth, my all-'

'Exactly-' she laughs. 'And so as much as you wish me to treat you as equal, you must also treat me as yours...'

He bows his head in a mocking adolescent sulk.

'My Dear, I wish only for you to not call me Doctor Cullen during our... copulation.'

She sweetly touches the meeting of his frown, puts her dark lips to his cheek and leaves a series of dangerously sweet fluttering petals along his complexion.

'Is this your worry?' She whispers. 'You think I will seek to remind you of our... discretions during our offering to one another?'

'I do not think it will come intentionally,' he defends weakly. 'I simply fear that you have known me and fallen for me in-'

'Hush now,' she says firmly. 'Before you do us both a disservice. You know how dearly I love you and how sworn my heart is for this matter. And while I have met you and view you as someone inhumanly godly in comparison-'

He mutters something about the depth of their forthcoming sin but she ignores it.

'Doctor Cullen,' she asserts roughly. His smile turns crooked. 'I admire your qualities and your qualifications that led to our meeting. I will never dishonour that. But I similarly love you for who you are. Part of that is your fight to heal-'

'I don't regret that,' he whispers. 'Esme, My Dear, I am not ashamed that it is those skills that have led to this... It is simply that I do not wish to be-'

'Sweet, I have danced with you. I have kissed you and made love with you in our words. We have compounded in a way that is unfathomable to reason... but we have done that as ourselves. As surely as you are Doctor Cullen to me, you are equally Carlisle and you are equally my Love...'

He gulps though softens at her fingertips. She smiles warmly.

'Do you trust my heart true now? Have you really gone all this time thinking I am committing myself to just one slither of who you are?'

'No,' he whispers guiltily. 'No never, oh my Darling. I am being foolish and-'

'Shy,' she excuses, playfully. Relieved he agrees.

'We have digressed,' he muses, lightly touching her soft hands again.

'Would you like a reminder?'

He nods, eagerly, watching the swing of her loose braid from over her shoulder.

'Ejaculation.'

This time, the flinch is nothing less than the vault of pleasure seizing him with cruel, sharpened talons. He lets them sink into his flesh and smiles goofily.

'Ought to be prohibited,' he murmurs regretfully. 'If one can help it...'

She raises her eyebrow.

'We will not be foolish,' she agrees. 'We are not foolish. If others can find a way, I'm sure we will be no exception...'

'Well,' he begins, now preparing the expel of his darkest humiliation. 'There is one last option. A rather common one, too.'

'In that case my Darling Doctor Cullen, I wish you to elaborate?'

He adores her resilience to compromise, to not quite relent on her own demands but her eagerness to soothe him too.

'You may have heard of the term before...'

She waits patiently.

'Its called a prophylactic...'

And still she doesn't move.

'They're notoriously common in sailors,' he explains and part of him is unsure whether this is fact or just a joke passed from Eleazar. She looks blankly up at him.

'Why are they common in sailors...?'

'Perhaps there is another thing we ought to talk about,' he whispers quietly. 'Considering we ought to be completely open with each other anyway...'

'Yes?' She asks.

'How were your history classes?'

It is rather a strange question, but so astutely like Carlisle to ask her that she feels herself warm from the inside, her toes wiggling beneath her skirt.

'Entirely dependent on the era,' she laughs. 'Why?'

'And your understanding of the British Monarchy?'

She frowns even harder to halt the giggle. She adores how delightfully knowledgable he is. How deeply interested he is in almost every subject known to man.

'Is less than passable, I'll admit...'

'Do you know what syphilis is?'

Her eyes widen in concern but sillily, the doctor is trapped in honouring his explanation. He hasn't yet followed the threat of his own suggestion and his bemusement only leads her to laugh more.

'My love, I am being perfectly serious,' he amends with a shuffle. Still she laughs, clutching onto his skin in a frustrating lull between pleasure and joy.

He doesn't quite know why she is laughing and while he is enjoying it, he is equally eager to get his point across.

And the humour is making it rather difficult.

'Esme,' he whispers, frowning.

She chuckles again, throwing her head forward to balance on him as her shoulders shake in laughter.

She reminds him a lot of Emmett in this moment. He'd rather wish that this Emmett excerpt would go into hiding if at least till the end of his point.

'If you're quite finished,' he mutters haughtily, tilting his chin up at her but it's a play too far and now knowing she is humouring him, she lets herself laugh more. Eventually, once she has finally calmed but is gloriously flushed across both cheeks, he tries again.

'Are you familiar with it, do you understand what it is?'

'It turns one mad?'

'It is transferred via sexual behaviours,' he explains seriously.

Yes, she knew that.

'All sexual behaviours?' She asks pointedly and now he knows that she is eager to make him smile. He fights it from his cheek but submits to an eye roll.

'From my understanding, yes. During the act, there is natural lubrication which therefore spreads the...'

He pauses, looks up to her guiltily.

'Sorry... I realise now this might not be the most pleasurable of conversations.'

'Do you hear the suggestion in your tone?' She muses playfully. Lost, he shakes his head.

'What am I implying?'

'Doctor Cullen...'

He had just requested she not call him that. But now the deliberate employment, the teasing count of her tongue under the sound... he thinks he might have changed his mind.

What is he suggesting?

'You seem to know an awful lot about this?' She indicates eventually. He nods.

'Well yes, such studies are of course necessary...' he thinks deeply on a memory as he gesticulates towards his bookshelf. 'In fact, I think I also have some questionable poetry in the theme. And again history dictates-'

He pauses, rehears his own words.

'I-' he breathes in. ' Well of course I am not saying that I-'

And finally the penny drops and she giggles again.

'Which is not to say that theoretically those... inexperienced cannot accidentally inherit such unfortunate diseases but in this case-'

'Carlisle Cullen,' she laughs. 'You are mad.'

'But not with syphilis ,' he promises.

'No, not with Syphilis.' She agrees.

She sighs, half exhausted from the joys of their conversation, the throws of heat and humour and sincerity and now, nestled into his side half sleepily. He pulls his other leg on the bed, curls an arm around her comfortably.

'The point...' he whispers, reminding her that they have yet again forgotten the necessarily discussions.

'Mm?'

'Sailors often carry around prophylactics to prevent the spread of any venereal diseases...'

'And therefore,' she catches on. 'You are suggesting we revert to those?'

'It may not be unwise,' he agrees, kissing her distractedly on her hairline. She hums contentedly. 'For example, My Love, it will not be in your blood stream should you suffer any symptoms, they are easily acquired if slightly frowned upon, and their fallibility, providing they are used properly, is almost unheard of.'

'Oh?'

She is getting sleepy and he regrets that he must jostle her posture a little to ensure she is still listening. After all it is a necessary conversation. She drops her head to his chest, listening to his even breaths, her silk hair pressing his cheek.

'It has also been around for centuries.'

'Prophylactics?' She asks, testing out the sound. She feels him nod.

'Even in the 1500s, people created their own versions from-' he stops, peers his chin down.

'What?' She asks reservedly. He smiles.

'Not to worry, it is not good conversation to be had with a lady...'

'Carlisle,' she murmurs. She can hear how eager he is to tell her and regretfully, she is eager to know too.

'They were once made out of sheep intestines... And linen cloth.'

He feels her body go rigid as she pulls carefully out of his arms to glare at him.

'Excuse me?'

'They're not made of such now of course!' He amends, humouredly. 'Do not fear, my Love, I think the main component these days is latex...'

'Latex?' She repeats confused. He blushes a little, nods. 'Carlisle, what exactly is a prophylactic? How does one work?'

He is both glad and very embarrassed that she comes to ask.

For one, many a women were not to know a prophalatic and though she is young, her nativity is not ignorance. Or vice versa.

'Well,' he begins shyly.

He pulls his left hand from her warmth, fiddles around in his pocket till he locates a small tin box. She doesn't know quite what to expect so stays watching, her eyes wide in patience.

'I suspect this will be a largely embarrassing deliverance to you,' he murmurs regretfully. 'But when we come together Esme, I want it to be honest. I want you to see me and I to see you. If such things as these graciously allow for that joining, an otherwise salacious joining-' she pretends to ignore that comment but he has recognised her slight displeasure. 'Don't be afraid,' he whispers.

'I'm not,' she promises but she does frown in wonder. He unclasps the box and hands it to her, she wrinkles her nose at the peculiar smell but in all looks with thick confusion into the box.

If there are six peculiar ribbons per box, she believes one is already missing.

'Is it...?' She swallows shyly, lowers her eyes. 'Is it like a sponge?'

He smirks but shakes his head.

'No, no. But there is another unreliable option should this not work...'

He takes one rolled tube from the box, unravels the clasp and lets the slimy thing roll uncomfortably in his fingertips.

'This is not solely for you,' he murmurs. 'It is for me.'

'For you?' She asks confused. She watches the shape fall limply between his fingers, eyes now unable to tear themselves from the disgusting snake skin.

The blush is everywhere now and she feels her throat gulp.

'Please forgive the unforgivable display of grotesque.' He whispers. 'But it will... effectively... be in you...'

'In me?' She mouths ghostly.

He really has to fight against his instincts to not enjoy her wonder at such a sentence.

'But I would wear it...'

'Wear it?' She asks and then another shy laugh comes from her. 'You wear it?'

He smiles shyly, nods.

'How does one wear it?' She asks, looking at the lengthy matter in his hands with suspicion.

He reads the instructions as if he does not know. And then smiles bashfully.

'It is unrolled onto one's self... before the... union...'

She frowns.

'But does it not slip off?'

She lifts her finger to touch it from his open palm, pulls it back and then on his encouragement, comes forward to stroke it again. The shivers of her entire wrist shake with slight disgust, her lips remaining like a tough line.

'To answer, no.'

'Go on?' She whispers. She hears him gulp.

'When one is ... animated...' she loves how he playfully uses her own words against her but the entertainment is flickering in his eyes. 'The vacuum created from the design is tight enough to ensure is does not slip off...'

She wrinkles her mouth and rubs the material through her finger and thumb.

'You know this for sure?'

'I... know this with confidence.' He amends. 'Again, once friction occurs...'

He gulps hard, pulls his blushing cheeks away to shrug. Her body vaults excitingly.

'You've... tried it?'

'I wished to know how it worked prior to trusting it. I will not insult either of us by professing my innocence and dignity as to how far I was willing to test the thing-'

'How far?' She interrupts breathily. He smirks.

'I tried the thing on. Is that sufficient?'

'That is sufficient,' she agrees joyfully and again her body strikes with irrational desire at the promise that he is as pure and she is...

And yet...

'It is rather slimy...' she complains weakly. 'How do we know it will stay on if... friction occurs?'

He shrugs, smiling.

'Well, for one you are touching the outside so the additional lubrication I believe is for your own aid.'

'M-mine?' She stutters, swallowing. He nods. 'Because it... goes... in me?'

He ought to stop cruelly startling her with her dangerous words because he is weak and she is lustrous and already he is suffering with the need to restrain himself on a nightly basis.

And every time they kiss goodnight... every time she decides to spend the night in his bed...

He shifts his lap uncomfortably.

'You shouldn't feel it,' he reassures.

'No?' She asks weakly. He shakes his head. 'From what I am aware there is a degree of difference compared to... er... when one goes without attire... but-'

'From what you are aware?' She whispers. He smiles in acknowledgment but lowers his eyes to his knees.

'It is not my explanation to give,' he murmurs.

Her eyes dance curiously and he already feels himself about to profess secrets that are not his own.

'The knowledge will hurt me?' She presumes shyly.

'No, no, My Darling. It does not involve me...'

She sighs in relief.

'It does however condemn the few friends I know...'

Ah, now she understands. She touches his cheek reassuringly, planting her nose there and drawing a line. His arm around her tightens.

'I would not judge another for what we ourselves are preparing for, Carlisle...'

He is so weak... so very weak for her.

'I know you wouldn't... but I fear it will also draw me as one who is weak-willed and surrounded by sin...'

'No,' she asserts. 'What we have decided, we have decided together. Just as Mr Garcia and his fiancé have done...'

He shouldn't admit it but he likes how quickly she has picked up.

'Well... she wasn't his first but the point still stands...'

'No?' She asks, trying hard to conceal her shock. He grins and kisses her cheek.

'Far from it. I dare say his promotion of such materials are rather scandalous too. If only he knew how imminently we will be walking a similar path...'

She likes that he trusts it's inevitably. There's no hesitance anymore, it is gods will. It will come.

'And of me?'

He has this answer trustingly prepared. She is asking what she would be thought of.

'In my heart of hearts I suspect he would foolishly trust my judgment call. And if not, I doubt he would dare to tell me otherwise...'

As he trails off in wonder, his voice lowers curiously, 'Sometimes I wonder if he does know... he seems all too accommodating to my happiness at the moment. Be it musings on poetry I wish to give you, failures to turn up to events...'

She sighs dreamily. He just cited her as his happiness.

'At the very least,' he concludes. 'He must know that I am enamoured with a woman.'

'It is I who is enamoured with you, Carlisle Cullen...' she drags herself up to come to kiss him but he playfully moves out of reach to nuzzle her nose.

'Then we are enamoured with one another,' he swears and taking to slick glove from her forgetting hands, he claps the box shut and plays with the threading coolness of her now slimy fingers.

'And may we be till summer's end.'

'Till the summers end,' he amends with a promise and this time, she welcomes the gentle perseverance of his dancing lips on hers.