The reviews everybody has sent me have been extra lovely. I'm so thankful to all of you all and as a thank-you. I've uploaded this chapter up early. Please R&R- I'm so grateful when you do- and it helps me to be nicer to the characters :P

Haha, thank you so much for your comments! I really appreciate them and in return- I hope you enjoy this chapter- I know I did. Mwa ha ha ha.

Without even questioning why I do it, I hurriedly pull my pale positioning off of Carlisle and up onto the balls of my feet. That heavy, thoughtful chuckling is rumbling in his throat and though he takes a few seconds to enjoy his own ridiculous laughter, he eventually pulls himself from the floor to look at himself. Head to toe, coated in the whitest shine I may have ever seen. Unlike Carlisle I haven't turned to Edward once, I went from staring at Cullen's face, and now to his feet. Any part of him my eyes can absorb, they do.

Edward is gawking at us. Or hopefully not us but more like the space around us. Which is lost under a cloud of dust. I can see it in his expression, he's utterly and emphatically bemused.

'I'm making waffles?' I try to sing, sweetly. It makes Carlisle laugh harder but for now I just busy my dry hands in patting off the non-existent colour from my clothes.

'Where? On the floor?!'

'No.' Murmurs my saint.

'Because that's not how you make them. Regardless of what you've been told.' This might be one of Emmett's funny jokes that has passed along but it falls out of Edward's mouth in the same manner that the shock of his face has; angrily.

'Did you want some?'

'After you've been rolling in it?' He asks, grumpily.

Okay, so I get he wasn't expecting to have the kitchen all covered in this mess but what's with the attitude?

'We only dropped the flour, Edward. Chill out.' Carlisle murmurs, returning the disapproving stare but looking far more successful with it.

'All over somebody's clothes…' I whisper to my socks.

'Me?!' He asks. 'Me 'chill out'? Have you seen the state of-' He shuts-up. Immediately shuts up, like he's suddenly remembered how hypocritical it is to be voicing his own complaints after the state of the house for the last four weeks.

I don't need to question the sudden change of heart. I simply need to turn to the side where I'll see that perfect smirk complimented by the roman arch of his eyebrow.

'Yeah- waffles sound good.'

'Thought they might.' I say, knowingly.

Edward leaves the room then. He claims that's he'll come back down when he can smell cooking and similarly Carlisle is eager to make his own exit in order to tidy up his face.

'Thanks to you, I've got to have a shower again!' I complain, finally able to speak when we're alone. Which is weird…very weird. I don't get nervous and I don't get shy. So what's with the sudden burden of both?

'What about me? I know I'm pale but this is ridiculous. It'll be my third shower in twenty hours. Think of the water-bill!' Trust him to be sarcastic now.

'Would the fine Doctor Cullen prefer a sponge bath? I hear they're popular with the patients?'

His soft features curl up as he tries to abandon such horrors. He's wrinkling his nose and shaking his head.

'No I would not,' he announces haughtily before changing his tone to a mocking one '…perhaps a cloth should be fine. Just enough that I can see what mess you made.'

I scowl at him though it hurts my eyes.

'My mess?! You threw the flour!' Though it's not strictly true, he is the one who threw it over the kitchen. The side of his face brightens a little and he busies himself in shaking his hair out on the floor.

'Besides, since when did you care what you look like?' I ask him, folding my arms over my chest just to see if it catches his attention. He plays a fair game and doesn't inch his sight from my face.

'Believe it or not, Miss Platt, I am sooted in flour?' He brushes the back of his hand down the side of his torso in such an antagonising way that it draws all my attention to how good he looks in a tight shirt.

How is he so good at resisting my flirting when I'm so bad at it?!

'At least it's not irritating your nipples!'

He stays unblinking, threatening to roll his eyes while simultaneously wanting to question whether Edward is still in the room. He might be blushing under his disguise of flour, I can't tell. Though, it takes a while for his mouth to open and sound to come out.

'Fine. Go on then, hop it.' He points towards the door, absently grabbing the broom from the side of the fridge and pushing it against my floured feet.

So I poke my tongue out at him but do as he asks despite my showering this morning.

Once in the bathroom, I take a regretful look at my face. I look like I belong a horror film. The pervert roommate with the man-eating vagina - it's perfect. I can't be bothered to dry my hair this time either, so I just brush it through and squeeze the remaining water from it, hoping it'll dry straight. Besides, my one remaining hair band is buried somewhere in the flour downstairs… and someone seems to enjoy the looseness of my waves.

I'm only twenty minutes in the shower, mainly because I'm not being attacked on the state of my body, but by the time I'm done, the kitchen is sparkling. The stove is heating up, the floor is immaculate and music is playing. The only thing that isn't perfect is the flour blinding him. Though even that has it's positives.

'You've actually got the radio on?'

He's also cleaned the mess in record time- far more impressive! Cullen never plays music. Not intentionally, he's just a very focused person, he likes to give his whole attention to something. Music can distract that.

'A CD.' He corrects with a smile.

'Is it my CD?' It sounds like one of my CDs. More likely mine than his. Though it isn't what I was expecting. Soft, grounding male voices to a soulful beat. Hmm, weirdly deep.

'Surprisingly, no.'

I give him a funny look to which he laughs at and continues sweeping. Like little man Cinderella. Fine, it might not be mine but at the very least, it's Edward. He wouldn't know the first thing to listen to if he actually gave himself the choice. He's too… Saintly.

'You've got flour in your hair.' I say with a smug grin. Achievement Esme, congratulations on making the Sex-God flatmate just that little bit cuter.

'It's also in my eyes.'

So I roll mine, wash a bit of kitchen towel under some cold water and pass it to him. He does a shit job, dabbing pathetically at his mouth and under eyes, leaving every other spot pasted white. While part of me wants to leave the flour there as a permanent reminder of my success… The guy kinda needs to be able to see.

'Oh give it here!' I whine, snatching it back.

He does so, scrunching up his face when I attack it and jolts around when I wash the flour from the back of his neck. That's good, at least I'm not the only one that's ticklish. My movements slow when they near the marked cheek, dragging the cooling fabric carefully down his skin and under his jaw, revealing that timid pink next to the harsh line. The pulse in his neck presses through to my fingertips and despite his searching eyes and the slowed, careful breathing, I'm unable to look at him.

'Better?' I ask weakly, bringing my hand away to wash it under the sink.

He blinks a little, feeling along his jaw to make a judgement and nods. I don't know who breaks the intimacy first but I fucking hate them for it. One minute I'm staring at his mouth, the next he's fussing about on the kitchen hob.

He still has flour in his hair but that'll come out if he combs it. The formal jeans are tight round his legs and his shirt grips at his skin as he breathes calmly, his eyes on me as I try to find my bravery.

It never comes. Despite the absolute whining in my areas, or the way my knees seem to go weak every time I accidentally brush up against him, my courage never arrives. As the minutes tick by, I find myself more and more unable to meet his gaze for fear I will embarrass myself to the max.

That being said, it's an awkward dinner. Firstly because it's not dinner, it's dessert; the kind that would get me in trouble if I was a crazy mother feeding her children on sugar. But the boys seem to like it and to be fair, I'm no mother and no way in hell are these dumbasses my children.

I'm enjoying it too. My waffles are freaking good and the fruit is just as nice. Though in all honesty I don't think I've ever seen anyone eat pineapple with waffles. Nor had I imagined the fruit to be an aphrodisiac to the people who aren't eating it. Every time those lean fingers of his pull the fruit apart into juicy chunks and he delicately places it to his open mouth, my stomach twinges and I have to press my thighs tightly together to ensure pain stops the erotic images flooding into my head.

Shyly, I throw my damp hair over my shoulder to look down to my plate. Carlisle, beautifully colourful again, is stunted in trying determinedly to make conversation but it's not going far. By far I mean it's not going at all.

'Think everyone had a good night yesterday?' He casually asks his friend, watching him with an expectant look: the kind a director would give to an actor after missing their cue.

'Mm.' Edward grunts, still eating.

Blue eyes meet with mine before shyly looking away again. He doesn't realise it and I don't think he's going to realise it for a while but Edward looks nervous.

'Seemed to enjoy dinner?' Carlisle says gently.

Edward grunts again, shovelling the food quicker and letting his crazy hair fall into his face. Carlisle's fighting the urge to look at me. He wants to question the same thing as me. But I've got a better plan.

'Heard you had fun in your sex education class, ey, Edward?'

There's a loud clattering of his fork dropping noisily to the breakfast table. It suddenly feels very foreign around here as if we're trying to impress him or something which is just weird in itself. This is Edward for God's sake. And just as expected, he's blushing harder than Carlisle.

'You told her?!' He asks, staring horrified at Carlisle's face

A flicker of amusement passes our Saint but he numbs it quickly. He's biting the very corner of his lip. Nor for any particular reason, he does it sometimes when he's thinking but it's super-hot.

'Huh? Oh? Yeah. Obviously, Edward. I was late picking everyone up?'

'But-.' His Adams apple bobs and with a face of dread he turns towards me. 'Alright, before you even start yelling at me it was Emmett's idea-'

'Edward-'

'In fact! It wasn't Emmett's! It was Jasper's! They'd planned everything. I was totally innocent in this whole ordeal-'

'Edward-?'

'I didn't even know what was going to happen- I was not a part of this?!'

'Edward- I'm not going to tell Bella?'

At his expressions of panic, he's made himself go all red and flustered. More so than earlier. He's not looking particularly impressed with me and I really don't know why. We had a cool conversation yesterday. Why does he look like he wants to kill me?

He's trying not to, really trying but Carlisle gently chuckles and nudges Edward's shoulder.

'Got a bit of a crush, ey, Kid?'

'Drop it, Carlisle.' He warns, closing his eyes as if it might stop the already excited chatter from our mouths.

I've pushed my plate aside now and have jumped to the middle of the table, closer to them. The grin on our landlord's face is so sweet and so charming, I'm almost surprised that it's being made at Edward's expense.

'Did she sleep well last night?'

'Es!' He groans. 'We're not having this conversation!'

'Did you find the condoms?' The way this falls out of his mouth, so effortless, so without suggestion- I have to do a double take.

I think it's fair to say Edward and I reflect each other well in that moment. Both our jaws drop open as we look in shock to Carlisle, laughing outrageously because he physically can't contain it, and then we look to one another.

'Oh my fuck! So you were looking for condoms!'

'No!' He yells sheepishly, cringing under our teasing. He's worse than Carlisle. Yeah he's blushing and acting grumpy but he's also laughing a lot. Or in this case, trying not to. Boys are so strange?

'Edward! I thought you were trying to comfort me, you ass!'

'I was- you'd already told me where they were-'

I throw some sort of napkin at him still laughing while Carlisle receives a playful punch in the arm and guffaws breathily from it.

'You really kept that secret well, didn't you?!' Edward sneers, returning once more to the last of his food. Carlisle is still humming, taking a hold of his glass with one hand before draining it. His beautiful cheek is still stained with the effects of a wooden spoon and it kills me.

'You were looking for advice, Edward.' He looks to me via example. 'I told you not to ask me.'

The remark catches my attention. Not due to the blatancy of it but the casual way Carlisle pulls me into the conversation. Like he does it on purpose, like he wants me to be included. The glare of dark green eyes are enough to silence Carlisle's showing off. The kid turns to me in a forced huff, eyes burning but fighting hard not to look too immature.

'When I said to Carlisle I didn't know how to approach you, this isn't how I imagined it coming out…' The way he refers to Carlisle in this sentence almost sounds like a curse. But it's nowhere near the damage of his words.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

'Don't ask me anything weird?' I plead, miserably. Don't ask me anything- I don't know and I don't care. And if he dare questions me on what to do with an erection- I'll puke.

'No it's nothing- its fine it's just-. Eurgh, I really hate you sometimes, you know that?' He's talking to Carlisle now whose hiding his face in his drink. With an overly deep breath, he starts again. 'I need you to… talk with Bella.'

'No! Edward! Fuck off! Do your own flirting. If she's not sleeping with you- It's not my responsibility!'

For just a second, I wonder if Edward's going to be pissed off but he seems to have anticipated my reaction and continues calmly.

'Es! Listen to me!'

With a groan, I look to Carlisle whose very expression is encouraging me to help. Eurgh. Fucking prepubescent children.

'What?!' I say sourly.

'I want you to talk to Bella about...' he looks to Cullen in silent panic.'Contraception?'

Is this even a question?! He doesn't even know?

'Don't be a prick, Edward. She's not an idiot.' She can't be? Surely?! How could you be that blind?! Especially if he was looking for them yesterday?!

'Esme! I'm asking for her! I told her to talk to Alice about it and she didn't want that so I suggested you and she said she'd never be able to bring it up.'

'Fuck off.' No. Please no. I don't want to do this. No. No. No. No. No.

'Es?' Cullen says softly, his eyebrows furrowed where he's trying really hard not to laugh. It's almost like he does it deliberately, like he manipulates his voice into teasing my heartbeat. I'm gunna go nuts I swear.

'Can't she Google it or something?!' Look in a women's magazine or something?! Anything?!

'Listen! She just wants a… conversation?'

Blue crystal eyes seem to be cautioning Edward.

'No.'

'Just a small one?'

Carlisle laughs loudly and then returns to avoiding looking at me.

'I'm not giving your girlfriend The Talk, Edward! Fucking hell- if she hasn't had it yet then you're both too young!'

Far too young. Isn't this common knowledge now? Just look it up?! There's plenty of porn out there!

'She only wants to know how to put a condom on!'

'She's got a dick?!'

At this, Cullen falls off his chair, gasping noisily for breath in between cries of laughter as Edward becomes bitter by my response, frowning hard.

'No! On me!'

'Fuck. Off I'm not going anywhere near you!' Ew!

I've leapt from the table now away from him, my hands raised. I'm going to be honest, I'm making a bit of a fuss because Carlisle's laughter is incredibly sweet, and Edward's response is hilarious. I know what he's asking. And I still don't want to do it.

'On a replica!' He cries.

Yuck. Just looking at Bella, I should've known this conversation was going to come up eventually. I am surprised it's come up with me though and not Alice. I don't know whether to be pleased or not. I am still a little pissed at Alice for getting me in trouble earlier- even if it's not her fault- but not enough that I'd wanna upset her.

Similarly though, if I help Bella with this then maybe she can replace me in this little clique and I won't need to discuss my vagina habits every two weeks… This is better than I thought? Besides it's just Bella? Bella is far easier to talk to than the others. She won't even want a conversation- its brilliant.

'You want me to talk to your girlfriend about contraception?' I summarise, sighing regretfully.

He's struggling to say yes. He keeps opening his mouth before hesitating and closing it again. Eventually, he nods, encouraged by a reassuring nod from our landlord.

'Fine, I'll talk to her. But don't you dare tell any of the others.' I don't need Rosalie getting jealous that Bella came to me and not her. 'Or the boys!' I add. I also don't need more reasons to be seen as a slut in Emmett's books.

Exhausted, both of them- one in utter joy and the other in entertained frustration, they both reseat themselves silently. Neither needing to fill the silence with conversation but also both comfortable at the sudden impasse.

I have about forty odd questions running through my head.

One: since when did I get a reputation as some sort of teacher on this thing? Do I do lesson plans? Two: How long has Cullen known this question has been in the air? And how is he still finding it funny?!

Three: When can we stop talking about everyone else and find our own little space to get teaching?

Rather than spend time in our presence, once his plate is empty Edward thanks me and sulks off back to him room to further ignore the crippling deadlines he has while Carlisle and I stay downstairs. My aim is to finish drawing out my piece on a canvas, maybe see if I can get the outline done but I surprise myself in going even further than that and before I know it, I'm painting down a base coat.

Which is normally something I wouldn't do in clothes that don't belong to me on one of the world's most soft carpets, but I'm not being discouraged against it and at the very least, I have put some paper down.

This time the CD is changed for the radio. It's mainly just background noise, giving the news highlights of the past week. Carlisle is studying at the table behind me, enraptured thoroughly in his own hard work but when I come to look back on him, I find he's frowning at a spot on the wall, thinking hard.

'What?' I ask. He focuses a little harder, laying the tip of his pen on his bottom lip to politely hush me. The frown become fiercer.

I follow his line of vision and then focus on the audio announcement. It's some local advert for some kind of charity ball thing. They've just mentioned the hospital's name. It's some kind of fundraiser, I think and it's- uh oh.

'Carlisle?'

He's facing his work again, glaring hard, his jaw tight.

'Of course he'd be hosting the event. I forgot how invested he is in the Neonatal unit. How generous!' He's mumbling under his breath but not doing a good enough job.

'Carlisle?'

'Why would he leave it alone when it's a chance to make a profit, huh? Self-invested Bastard!'

He catches my eye and softens a little, looking slightly guilty at his sudden outburst. I don't really know what it means. It's just some ball or something, right?

'Sorry.' He murmurs guiltily, rubbing his forehead as though his hand is a scourer and his forehead bears a mark of shame. My heart bleeds for him.

'How's studying?'

This pulls him out of his thinking state, he hears the word studying and cringes slightly, eyeing his paper miserably.

'I'm pissing myself off. I keep misreading the cases.'

His tone is still a little short, even if his expression is better so I gently wash off my brush and lay it down before properly facing him. He's looking tired, even if it is early evening, and probably a little worked up, too.

'You just need to relax, you know you've got this.'

'I know.' He whines gently, rubbing his face and stopping just at his jaw where he finds a patch of flour. He fingers it slightly before pulling his hand away to stare fondly at the powder. I'm by the dining table and ripping off his notes to leave him with a blank sheet, I sit on the chair closest to him, staring.

'Es- I would love to- but I should really study-'

I have no idea what on earth he's referring to but nevertheless, I settle myself comfortably and clear my throat.

'I've got back ache.'

'What? Where?' He instinctively reaches out for me to turn despite the fact aches are not things that can be detected by the human eye. As he goes to stand up, I slap his hands away and fold my arms across my chest.

'I've got back ache. What can you do for me?'

His fair eyebrows lower just then and that beautiful smirk crosses his face. The amusement in his eyes is a flighty look but even from here, it pleases me.

'Is this a symptom or an effect?'

'You tell me.' I reply. He stays silent for a long time, collecting his thoughts together before finally raising his finger to alert his questioning.

'Well, how long have you had it?'

'A few days?' I guess, shrugging. I really have to concentrate to remember some of the other signs because I'm confusing myself with whatever I'm meant to be suffering from and we haven't even started.

'Temperature?' He asks, doodling on his pad.

'Err. High?'

He pouts slightly, biting the inside of his lip before pressing the back of his hand to my forehead and sighing.

'Hmm. Just as I expected.' He surmises carefully, shaking his head so that his fringe moves. 'Very hot.'

He's chuckling softly, but I have to look away. I fight the urge to smile and roll my eyes instead. Even if it was cute it was also incredibly pathetic.

'So you have back ache and a high temperature?'

'I don't feel good.' I confirm.

He thinks harder, head tilted like he's watching me when I know for a fact he's running through the index in his head. His fingertips gently tap against the cover of his nearest medical journal but I refuse to let temptation sink its hooks and pull the book into my reach.

'How have you been sleeping?' He poses, still thinking.

'I'm cold.' I interrupt. 'I'm really tired and keep shivering.' For effect, I give in to the shiver that's been running along my shoulders for the past hour. Is this overselling it? Maybe I'm not being subtle enough?

'Do I do a pregnancy test?' He wonders, lifting his chin.

'No!' I snap, glaring. Far too subtle apparently. 'Ooooh actually! Yes! Yes, do a pregnancy test.' Ey, this isn't so difficult after all!

'Alright. And the results?'

'Well I'm not pregnant?' Obviously.

'Is there something about this hypothetical urine that's meant to be telling me something?' He guesses, judging my reaction. I nod carefully.

'You're dehydrated?'

'Very. I've been sick for days.'

His teeth graze his lip and with a smile, he gently poses his theory.

'Might you have a bladder infection?'

'I must do, Doctor Cullen.' At this, he looks exceptionally pleased with himself, leaning his head to his closed fist. 'But go on then, how do I get rid of it?'

'Plenty of rest and water and over the counter antibiotics. I would avoid bubble baths and sex for a while and return if the symptoms persist.'

That diagnosis is far too easy, I need to think of something better. Though his grin catches me off guard and I can't help but just tease him again. Even if it pains my bitter heart.

'That's a joke, right? Avoid sex again?!'

'If you have an infection then yes. You don't want to make it worse.'

I shake my head at him, raising at eyebrow playfully. 'So is that what you're going to specialise in then? Celibacy and all things A-sexual.'

The only change in him is that at my comment, a little more air flows out his nose.

'I highly doubt it. But the patient needs what the patient needs…'

He still has a sombre look about him. Not one that's necessarily sleepy but one that's tired. Like he could do with a bubble bath and a glass of wine and a blow job and a book. Not together of course. Maybe I should rearrange the list to start with wine first, blow-job second-

'Must I go tomorrow?' He sighs eventually, his knuckles fidgeting against a warm cheek. I look up from the textbook to briefly catch his eyes. I had no idea he was still looking at me- I thought he was reading.

I swallow the hesitation into my gut.

'Yes.'

'You don't sound convinced?' He suggests, attempting a smile but his eyes are heavy and it wouldn't surprise me if he ended up closing them both and settling on the sofa.

'We're not arguing about this again, Carlisle.' I'm meant to be saying this with such force that he doesn't question it. Instead it comes out like a whisper, falling to the words on the page and blending in with the various Latin phrases.

'What about your painting? At this rate you'll have it done by Wednesday and I won't get a chance to see it?'

To be truthful, I was hoping that for once painting wouldn't come so easily. Just so I have an excuse to stare harder at his features, spreading the work along for the week in order to keep me occupied. The comment almost goes unnoticed but as I look to the canvas behind me I suddenly realise he's wanting to see the finished product.

'I could always send a photo if you'd like?'

'I would like.' He confirms. 'I'd like that very much. I'm interested to see what you make of it... What you see of me…'

Though I smile foolishly, he catches my humiliation and for reasons that don't flatter me, I let my hair hide the brief concern in my face. I'd never thought about him wanting to see the finished product before. I'd never considered I'd model it exactly on him, either…

'Must I go tomorrow?' He repeats, softening his voice even more than before.

'Carlisle.' I warn, toughly. He chuckles lightly and pulls himself to his seat so that he's forced to sit up straight. I do look at him now, hard, despite the laughter in his face. 'Did you even cancel your ticket?'

'Hmm?'

That means no.

'When you decided to stay- did you cancel your ticket?'

'If I say yes then-'

'See? You want to go. You know you want to go! Stop resisting.'

'I know I want to be at home far more?'

With a groan, I push myself from the table, letting the chair struggle against the carpet as I distance us and stand by my painting. It's not a fair trade. I feel even more miserable at a foot away than I did from this morning.

'I haven't upset you, have I?'

'What time is your flight tomorrow?' I ask instead, rubbing a hand along what should be the dark of the trees to see if it's still wet. No paint burdens my skin.

'Four in the afternoon.'

'Have you got everything packed?'

He waits for me to look at him before answering and then he slowly lets his head fall in a nod, fingertips pressing softly into his lips, knuckles resting against his nose thoughtfully. 'Yes, thank you.'

'I'll drive you to the airport if you'd like?' I try to say this casually but with our time passing by so quickly, a nervousness has crept into my tone. There's a gentle sound of scratching as he doodles with his pen onto a blank sheet of paper.

'Thank you, Esme.'

It's been six and a half minutes of me completely avoiding catching his eye or too much of his face and it's killing me but I can't bear to share his silence. I look up. I look up and almost wish I hadn't.

'You look tired, Carlisle.'

He raises his face to acknowledge me and nods blankly. 'Yes, I suppose I do.'

Listening out to the radio again, I wait for the hourly announcement of the time. It's later than I thought. Its early evening. But then we all got up late and we've all been rushing around since.

'Why don't w-you get an early night?' The temptation to say we burns so painfully against my lips that I decide to drop it.

He checks his watch and shakes his head. 'It's too early. If I sleep now, I won't sleep later.'

He's clearly misunderstood me. I'm partial to a casual nap throughout the day, as he presumes I'm encouraging, whereas he's fully against it. Sleep for him is the same time, the same place, every night. The only things to interrupt this being work and emergencies. And as of late, me.

'You could watch a film? Or read?' I'm glad I added the last one, he never watches films, he's always got too much work to do.

'If I read, I'll sleep.'

I'm tempted to roll my eyes and chastise him. Instead, I pull the three paint brushes from the jar and dry them with a cloth, committing their detail to memory for a excuse to avoid his face. I can feel his hot gaze on the back of my neck.

'I'd watch a film with you?' I say this weakly, far weakly than I would've liked and I'm furious at myself for not being able to make the suggestion more suggestive. He smiles softly, and shrugs, open to the suggestion but completely naive.

'That would be nice?'

Either he doesn't know where I'm going or he doesn't want to know. It's giving me anxiety and all of a sudden I feel like I should be breathing into a paper bag.

We leave our stationary on the side, we leave the books open and the canvas drying and decide to watch a film in his room because it's…comfier. And warmer. And it means we can lay down?

He's still not catching my drift.

But I'm hoping that's down to how tired he is. He puts the TV on with a careless hand, flinging the remote into my hand before collapsing his whole weight into his bed and letting the duvet engulf him.

'Carlisle?'

'You choose, Hon. I'll watch anything.'

The careless way he manages to slip a casual flirt into his phrasing makes me shiver. Even with his back to me, I'm throwing myself into an excessive panic at how gorgeous he is. My vulnerable heart thrums deeply in my throat, my hands damp with sweat, wringing out the wrists as my legs fail to hold me up. He's so unbelievably sweet. So sweet and so beautiful.

'Carlisle?'

Eurgh, grow a pair, you baby!

He's buried in his pillows, hiding his expression and breathing so smoothly, I can see his back rising. At the call of his name, he stirs, lifting his face up begrudgingly but seeming to forget his frustration when he looks at me. He almost smiles. He almost frowns.

I don't know how they do it, without command I'm guessing, but my feet lead me to the edge of his bed, the very bottom side with my shins pushing up against the leather. I push myself up on my tiptoes and slowly let myself down again. My face is pathetically shy, my mouth unexpectedly quiet.

'Yes?'

…Here goes…

'Did you want to-?' My mouth stops but rather than alleviate my stress, he pushes himself up the headboard, fingers wrenched in his hair to wait for me to find the words. At his positioning, I'm even more without words than I was before.

'Hmm?' There's a moment when his face looks so confused that I'm sure this is the least of his desires. But he arcs his back, cocking his head to the side, his lips smirking. I say nothing, I wouldn't be able to hear myself anyway. My heartbeat in my ears is far too loud.

'Is this why we're in my room?'

My heart beats faster from distress. His blue eyes, their whole depth drowns me and I hate how voiceless I've become in the last two-hours. Just when I think I'm going to cave at his denial. When I think my legs are going to give out beneath me or I'm going to run off in embarrassment, he raises a hand and uses an index finger to beckon me forward, watching me with amusement.

My stomach turns to knots. Maybe because I'm facing him, because the chance is so close, because I know it's going to happen. I want to claw his face off with excitement.

His eyes flicker to the semi-open door but with little less than a look, he focuses to my slow steps and leans his forearms on his knees. It's the way he does it, so without concern that it makes me question who's the experienced one here and who's the trainee.

I sit next to him on the bed with my back towards the door. I'm angled towards him and the window, breathing shallowly. He grins, which I'm hoping is a cover up for his own shyness but it only makes me feel even more nervous.

After his remark this afternoon, I've decided that throwing myself at him is no longer an obligation. I don't need to do it. I need him to kiss me. Which is something I've never had before. I've nearly always initiated things like that- I've always been in control. And the abandonment of such control is equally as frightening as how desperate I am for his mouth on mine.

The passing of seconds while I wait for him to do something is agonisingly slow. My eyes are posed dreamily to his face, not moving. He keeps his eyes on the blanket, wetting his bottom lip with a pink tongue. It takes everything I've got not to groan.

'What are you doing that for?' There's my voice. I thought I'd actually lost it for a moment there.

'Hmm?' he says slowly, his words tripping him over in a slight shake but his smirk comes up to rescue him.

'Preparing yourself as if this is some sort of... entry exam?'

Nice. Nice choice of phrasing there…Well done, me. He swallows again, hard like he's taking down another glass of water.

'I'm nervous?' He tells me honestly, the cheeks glowing at this point and the eyes staying well away from mine.

I sigh, gently. He tries to smile back to me but it's a little too straight. Whatever he's thinking about, he's thinking on it way too hard.

'Don't be.' I say encouragingly. 'Just kiss me like you would a normal girl.' Please.

'I wouldn't kiss a normal girl.' he murmurs, briefly watching the rise of my shoulders within his thick cardigan. I did that a lot, wore his stuff, took ownership of his scent, tried to be overtly sexy by being a dream to him and not to anyone else.

Wait, what did he say?

Apparently disappointed by my lack of response, he rolls his eyes, leans ups on his knees, floured hair curving around his forehead and his chest heavy with silent breaths. He hasn't even done anything yet and I can already feel his heart pulsing against mine from a mile off.

I'm going to get bored of waiting and bloody attack him if he doesn't hurry up. He's far too nervous, so nervous that it seems to take over his logic.

And when he finally kisses me… I fucking hate him for it. If it's even possible, which I highly doubted at the time- he's worse than this morning?!

After the build-up of his body and this whole day- this had better be some joke. Cold, tight closed mouth to my full pout. It almost hurts.

'Yeah, if you could now try to kiss me like you actually want to, that'd be great?' I criticise but regret it a little when he bites his lip. It's hard- he's naturally so brilliant that to not have that brilliance, to be able to feel it's anticipation without arrival, is equally as frustrating for both of us. He should be amazing at this.

He comes forward but I stop him at the shoulders, pleased with my bravery. As sexually infuriating as it is for him to destroy my own build up- it's also somewhat reassuring. It makes him more... earth bound.

'You're too rigid.' I tell him softly. 'Don't just kiss me with your mouth, use your… body.'

Highly dangerous territory.

He adheres to my directions though they confuse him, and lowers his shoulders, attempting to relax. The grin has been replaced for a sweet smile but this time it feels more meaningful. It's not a bad effort.

'Like so?' He asks, indicating his shoulders.

'Yeah.' I nod sportingly. 'Now kind of, angle your face towards me but… that's it.'

It's always nice when your student is a quick and enthusiastic learner. Even better when just his face is enough to make your thighs feel hot.

'Did you want to try it again?'

Again, he deliberately presses a set of hard lips to mine and for the second time running, it doesn't just rain on my parade, it pours. I could cry from frustration.

'You're doing it again.' I mutter, unimpressed and trying hard not to let my irritation bleed into my tone. I'm convinced he's heard it.

'Doing what?' he asks innocently, his tone warm and his expression deceitfully naive.

'Kissing me like I'm a relative. It's weird.'

He closes his eyes again, and breathes evenly. 'Sorry.'

'Maybe I'm not the best person to learn with?' I say softly, unable but to force a little bit of slyness into my claim. It works a charm.

Finally he straightens up, his expression calculating as he gives me a bit of energy. 'Not at all. You're perfect, I swear. Let me try again?'

I don't know if I'm more flattered by the fact he referred to me as perfect or if he wants to try again, He doesn't need to ask…but I still love the fact he did.

'Just keep your mouth open- no not like that.' It's like he's trying to wind up the clogs. How did something this simple get so hard?! Ey dick joke… No, not the time.

He frowns and deflates his shoulders like I asked, keeping his teeth over that bottom lip and waiting my command. I'm going to chew it off for him if he keeps fucking tormenting me like this. Jesus, what is his problem?!

'Look, keep your lips parted-'

'But what lip do I take-'

I try not to…really… but I just have to sigh. 'Don't think about it too much, just-'

My sentence doesn't even get to finish. He's already thrown himself at me, curling a warm hand to the back of my neck and placing a heavy but still soft mouth on my own. He's closed his eyes, tightly, his eyebrows pulled in a frown as his lips take mine in a sweet captured embrace.

The gasp floats aimlessly from my mouth to his and he kneads warmth into every fibre of my body. His fingers tying himself into my hair as he does the same with his lips to mine.

You would assume it's just another type of genital based need that yearns for him at this moment...but it's not. Though there is heat in my abdomen- impossible to ignore, there's an overwhelming intoxicating desire coursing through my veins, into my fingertips and though I ache to…I keep my hands out of his hair and simply let my mouth mould to his own, taking all that I can from all that he offers and never more.

He lets go, retracting slowly from me so that we both have an edge of panted breathlessness to our voices. His cheeks are still pink but he's smiling. He knows he's done well. More than well- I can still feel the excitement bubbling away in my blood.

'Sorry, I couldn't wait any longer,' he tells me, eyeing my apparently bewildered expression and looking away for a second. 'I was losing my patience.'

Oh….God. How the fuck am I meant to snog the guy if I'm this fucking pent up from a kiss?! A kiss?! This has got to be a joke?! Why was he fucking about when he can clearly kiss me just fine?!

'You did well.' I say with a delicate smile feeling suddenly as if he's poisoned me with his own nervous energy. I'm so surprised by the sudden turn of events, I'm very nearly shaking. He's grinning. Grinning so proudly that my realisation doesn't want to take place.

'Yeah?'

'Yeah. Just…maybe warn me next time.' Before I keel over and die from fucking excitement. How the fuck do you calm a heart rate?! Or how do you cool down from a fire?

'Ah, but where's the fun in that?'

The glint in his eyes, the mischievous smirk lights up a little more at my confusion- oh. Oh God. You are kidding?!

He was teasing me?

I guess I agree because I don't say anything, I'm too amazed. My chest moves in silent but heavy pants, lifting so that I can feel the cardigan move with gravity. He was teasing me?!

Oh, he did it so well.

'Esme?'

I try hard to hold his look but I'm almost ashamed to admit his success to myself. I want more, I need it and the desire is making my head dizzy.

'You fooled me?' I utter, watching his expression carefully in case it makes him into an overconfident prick. I'm not that lucky, he's as beautiful and as charming as ever before with not a hint of malice of deception to his act of deception. He must be able to see my chest moving so hungrily for him.

'Forgive me?' He asks sincerely.

Forgive him? He's essentially taken the oxygen from the suffocating and restored them at the last moment. Taken the food from the starved, the water from the thirsty... Urgh.

'Carlisle- you did that on purpose! I thought you were- I thought- I. Err?' I don't know what to say, so instead I lift my hands into my thick hair and give some air to the roots in hope it'll give me thinking space. He watches me curiously for a second and I have to wonder, if the only things different were the angle I'm facing him and the clothes on my body, would he be turned on?

That loving image seems to tie itself into the very places his touch caressed and with a murmur of resentment, I let my hands fall from the depths of my waves, down my throat to rest at my collar bone.

'I apologise. I just wanted to ensure that your preconceptions didn't outweigh your judgement.' While he's still defending himself, the padding of my middle finger presses against the pulse in my neck. It's wild, beating fiercely, hungry for every inch of him.

Where in the sane hell did he learn to kiss like that?!

My skin is pulsing for him.

'Besides, I adhered to your suggestions?' This is a softer claim on his part but it still makes my inner self groan.

'I can't be sure about that now…' I say teasingly. The heavy flow of oxygen from my mouth is making this comment harder to believe.

He smirks, fingers my straighter hair before curling it down the side of my face and under my chin, he lifts my face to him, smiles with his eyes and leans slowly towards me. Despite the fact I asked for this and I'm still itching to pull him towards me, my voice catches in my throat. The smile widens, eyes cast down to my mouth as I desperately stutter a breath or two.

I want him so badly that my own self-survival is trying to sabotage me.

'May I try again?'

'Try what?' I can't tell if this is meant to be me playing with him or whether I'm so turned on that I've actually forgotten the point of sharing the air from one set of lungs. Either way, those dark eyes glimmer slightly, the smirk curling peacefully into his face and his words eating me up from the inside.

'Might I kiss you, Esme?'

My taste buds water at the texture of his words, like sweetened ice. Delightfully, pleasing on my tongue as it soothes and satisfies but also burns. I nod back, stretching myself closer to him, closer to his smirk, all the while the heat between us taking over.

He's so sweet and patient, brushing the air around him until his mouth lays against mine.

The thought of his deliberate teasing sends sparks along my skin and my needy hands search for his neck to connect myself to him. He leans more so that his soft pout moves harder into mine, suggestive against my posture as he guides my spine to lay comfortably flat along his mattress. The hand from my face very briefly weaves itself into my hair. Just where my hands were, recreating the movement and holding me tightly towards him before letting his fingertips gently pass down my arm to my side, resting painfully subtly at my clothed hip. I shiver under his touch, eyes squeezed shut and my hands unrestrainable as they grip fiercely to the ends of his hair.

My shivers become stronger, taking a hold of my whole focus as I try and not to let him infiltrate my teaching- but he just feels so inhumanely good.

He parts my mouth with the tense movement of his lips, bearing the threat of his weight into me while staying extraordinarily gentle. I murmur just slightly, a weak sound as I move myself into him, taking the air from his lungs and waiting, greedily anticipating the slick feel of his tongue on mine, the excitement flooding my mouth as his lips move-.

He pulls away, up out of my grasp so that his hair slips through my fingers, breathing stiffly.

'W-why did you stop?' I gasp worriedly, pulling myself onto my elbows to look at him. Part of me is gasping for air, the other part gasping for him to let my fingers burn over his skin, screaming for release.

'Because I had to.' He answers simply. His lets his thumb stroke my hand nearest to him before standing up abruptly and walking towards his desk, away from me.

Every inch of my skin is flushed with heat, an uncomfortable ache. If this is him teasing-.

'Carlisle?' I plead weakly and for the fourth time this week I feel my eyes glaze over, warming with the suggestion of embarrassment as the threat of moisture moves from one bodily extreme to the other.

'Hey, Carlisle?' Edward pushes the door open roughly, the case of a DVD raised in his hand and an eyebrow looking expectedly at the two of us. I wrap the cardigan around myself tightly.

'Yes, Edward?' While his back is still turned from our visitor, he slyly winks at me, making my heart stop as he turns to him with a reserved smile.

The kid taps the film case with a knock and grins, looking from the both of us questionably. I hate Edward so much in this moment that I feel like I'm going to lose my temper but it's nothing compared to the words that fall out of Carlisle's mouth.

'Sure. We were just looking for a film to watch anyway.'

Part of me is mortified. In fact probably a good three quarters is mortified because my face is still hot and my stomach is buzzing. But that's what we do. I can't even remember what film it is, some sci-fi drama or something but I shuffle to my end of the bed, Carlisle sits in his side and Edward takes up the middle.

Considering I wasn't even that tired, my eyes close pretty quickly and feeling personally victimised, I force myself to sleep.