Thanks to my beta mxpi1970. All characters owned and created by Stephenie Meyer, but the plot is all my own.
All I Want to Hear
Chapter 3
The note sits accusingly on the keys.
Carlisle struggles for breath before reaching out with a shaky hand.
He doesn't recognise the writing, but then how could he? The note was written in haste – that much is apparent – and he forces himself to read, fear of what he will discover sitting heavy on his chest.
'Carlisle,
I don't want this to be goodbye, but I guess I understand if it is. I will never forget what we shared – I hope you believe that. I've enclosed my number so, if you'd like to talk, I'll be waiting.
Call me – please?
Edward.'
His fingers twitch and start to reach for his phone before pulling back as if stung.
What would it achieve?
Despite his earlier wonderings of whether he would ever see Edward again, faced with the actual opportunity, Carlisle finds himself paralysed with indecision. Whilst the time they had spent together was wonderful, priceless beyond imagining, he tells himself that trying to repeat the hedonistic experience would be foolhardy. He convinces himself that there can be no realistic future for them because, after all, they live a plane ride apart and Carlisle is a workaholic with little time to spare for distractions.
His own mind refuses to admit that he is bordering on agoraphobic and crippled with fear at the thought of change.
The bubble has burst; reality has seeped in and smeared the once bright colours of passion into an ill-defined blur.
Making his way to his bedroom, he undresses and attempts to sleep for a while.
~o.O.o~
Edward wakes, his hand straying to his hardened flesh as the final ghosts of his dream flee his conscious mind. His body reacts to the stimuli from both the dream and his experienced hand, but the resulting climax leaves him feeling unfulfilled and empty.
He knows the reason and knows there is nothing more he can do. He has tentatively put his feelings out there and can now only wait for a sign that one day they may be reciprocated. He has no way of contacting him, save for the address of his agent held on file at the Dragonfly. He realises that taking that road may lead to him being cast aside as a delusional fan, his letter never actually reaching Carlisle's hand.
Leaving the note had been a split second decision. Carlisle had been showering and Edward had taken a piece of hotel stationery from the desk and scribbled down a note with his number, stashing it in the one place he knew Carlisle would see it, possibly even on the plane ride home. Disappointment had been hard to ignore when, hours later, there had been no call. Carlisle held all the cards; he could contact the hotel directly, or ring his private number.
Edward refuses to accept the nagging thought that Carlisle may never call.
Despite having seen the walls go up, despite having felt the intimacy of their connection dissipate when Carlisle prepared to leave, Edward refuses to give up.
He believes in Carlisle.
If only he could tell him.
~o.O.o~
Dreams, both vivid and unsettling, command his subconscious. Carlisle's sleep is both fitful and frenetic, his mind overcrowded with sensory input, the eroticism of colour and sound.
He wakes feeling groggy and disoriented, reaching confusedly for the warm body he believes to be in his bed. When his hand encounters only cold sheets and an untouched pillow, he mentally chastises himself for such a foolish notion; it is a simple mistake after the previous night's endeavours.
Soon forgotten, or so he thinks.
The phone rings, startling his mind into reality. For now, the memories of Edward's cries of passion recede into shadow, all too ready to be summoned when slumber beckons once again. The caller is his agent asking for an update on the trip and the lecture. Carlisle breathes deep and gives him the information requested, tells of the success of the lecture and the positive response from the students and the Dean.
His body betrays him when he is asked if the hotel was satisfactory. His agent informs him that the Dragonfly Inn is a popular choice for travellers, highly recommended by other writers he has sent to Maine. Carlisle can only make non committal noises, can only confirm the food was excellent, the service exemplary.
'Is it wrong that I want you again?'
His own words echoing in his ears have his hand shaking, his memory unspooling; glimpses of green eyes lost to pleasure beneath him flood his senses and it is all he can do to finish the call. Fumbling with his robe, his hand finds his flesh hard and aching, needing relief, needing pleasure...
Needing Edward.
He handles himself forcefully, punishing himself for this weakness. He tells himself that this is the only time he will consciously allow his mind to hear the soft honeyed tones of his voice, feel Edward's hands on his skin, his warm, wet mouth caressing his eager shaft.
It isn't until he climaxes, gasping Edward's name, his flesh continuing to throb long after his ejaculation is over, that he realises he is crying.
~o.O.o~
Edward drags himself into the shower and prepares for his shift. The hotel is full for a symposium and he is kept busy with customer orders and staff rotas throughout the night.
But he cannot deny how his heart leaps every time the phone rings, cannot deny how he wishes he could go up to that room and just breathe in the scent of them together. But he knows that the room has already been cleaned and aired out, all traces of Carlisle gone except for lingering memories of a fantasy that became so much more.
For the first time in his career he is subdued at work, finding it hard to concentrate. Always the picture of professionalism, outwardly he is the same efficient man, but inside he is a hollow shell. Try as he might, he cannot simply accept their encounter is over and move on; finding, and subsequently losing the one thing he has dreamed of has left him empty and bereft.
On his break he checks his cell, hoping against hope there will be a message or a missed call.
There is nothing.
And his heart dies a little more.
~o.O.o~
Carlisle sits working deep into the night, struggling with the words that usually come to him so easily. His mind is dulled and he finds that he has lost time staring into space, unfocused and unproductive.
Looking at the clock he sees it is almost 4am and forces his somewhat weary body to go to the kitchen for coffee.
No room service here.
No seductive voice to take his order.
No late night rendezvous...
Elbows on the counter, his hands delve into his hair as he tries to claw back some semblance of self control, to once again retreat into the safety of his own world. But, try as he might, he can't concentrate, can't think of anything other than the man who has opened his eyes to the possibility of more.
He barely tastes his coffee, aware only of the jolt of caffeine that for once has no positive effect; instead it induces a nervous, edgy feeling that is alien to him. All reason has left him and as he sits in the pool of lamp light his fingers find the keyboard, typing in the address for the Dragonfly. The website opens, displaying the inn and sample rooms for booking. He knows it's wrong, dangerous even, but he sees his fingers move toward the phone as if they are no longer under his control. The phone on loudspeaker, he dials.
"Dragonfly Inn. How may I help you today?"
Edward's seductive yet professional tones fill the room and Carlisle gasps aloud before hitting the button to disconnect the call, internally berating himself.
His breathing loud and discordant in the quiet room, he slides the note across the desktop and stands to read it once again, pacing around the small space, torturing himself with the simple message.
Unwillingly, his memory replays the harrowing moment when he had turned to leave the hotel room. The need to touch Edward one last time had been too strong to resist; one perfect moment to etch his beautiful face into memory. It was only afterwards on the flight home that he had succumbed to a moment of mental self flagellation at the hopelessness of it all.
At the time he hadn't seen, or perhaps he hadn't wanted to, but now he understands that Edward wants more, more than Carlisle himself is able to give.
I am not capable of a relationship.
He wouldn't understand. He deserves better.
But despite his best intentions, despite his staunch belief that what they experienced was a never to be repeated night of passion, Carlisle feels the razor sharp agony of loss and remembers again why he chooses to live his life alone.
A solitary individual even as a child, Carlisle's mother had thought of him as The Cat Who Walked by Himself. He had refused to play with other children, preferring his company to come in the form of books. He knows she despaired of him, never mixing, never joining in, just sitting quietly in his room with a large chunk of the local library balanced precariously by his bed, but she never fully understood the happiness he derived from learning.
He himself never understood the need to be around others, and once he arrived at college he ensured he had a single room. No invasion of personal space could be tolerated in his quest for knowledge.
However, his ordered, solo traverse through college matriculation encountered a roadblock in his senior year; one that was to irrevocably change his life.
~o.O.o~
Edward answers the phone with the usual customary greeting and is rewarded with what sounds like a sharp intake of breath before the line goes dead.
Not the first hang up he's ever had; most likely a wrong number.
Checking his cell at 6am, he is despondent when he sees that Carlisle hasn't called.
He makes his way home and takes to his bed early with Carlisle's book for company, the words consoling his aching heart.
When his cell phone rings he jumps, rolling over to reach it, but it barely manages two rings before falling silent. The number on the display is withheld and he sighs, knowing full well it was a telemarketer. Placing both book and phone on the bedside table, he sets his alarm and settles down to sleep.
Perhaps tomorrow he'll call.
~o.O.o~
Circling the room, Carlisle dials the number on the paper before immediately hanging up and throwing the phone at the armchair, appalled at his own weakness.
Turning off his laptop, he heads to the shower and finally to bed.
Sleep eludes him and he resorts to meditation to calm his whirring mind and ease his tormented thoughts.
Finally he succumbs, his soul finding solace in slumber.
But pain will not be denied, for when Carlisle dreams, he weeps.
~o.O.o~
The following day lasts the regulation 24 hours, but to Edward it seems much longer.
To Carlisle, it is interminable.
After four hours Carlisle wakes with a headache, unbeknownst to him caused by his mental anguish.
He prepares a light breakfast, but has no appetite, eating mechanically with no interest in the food.
He spends the day researching, making inroads into his new book. What he doesn't realise is that the only reason he can concentrate is because subconsciously he knows that Edward is sleeping and cannot be reached.
As the day wears on, his coffee intake increases.
As evening falls again, he gazes out of his apartment window at the city lights; lights that speak of people and families and busy lives - the antithesis of his own cloistered world. In spite of everything he has endured and everything that he believes, Carlisle feels an unfamiliar pang of loneliness.
He feels poised on the cusp of change.
And it terrifies him.
~o.O.o~
The night is quiet at the Dragonfly leaving Edward with too much time to think. He feels embarrassment at Carlisle's apparent rejection of him, and some measure of regret over the note.
He must have thought me needy.
He resolves to stop thinking about him and write off the whole encounter as the one night stand it clearly was. His mood on the walk home is subdued; once the door is closed he watches some mindless television before heading off to bed.
The phone rings as he sinks into the fresh linen and he groans, reaching across the pillow. Upon answering the phone there is only silence. Concentrating, he realises he hears breathing and swallows before tentatively speaking.
"Carlisle? Is that you? Don't hang up; please... don't."
The caller remains silent, but the line is still open and Edward grows more confident that this is indeed the man he desires. The tension grows as the silence stretches out until finally, finally, there is contact.
"Edward?" The softly spoken voice sends shivers through Edward who breathes out suddenly, his hand shaking as he grips the handset. "Edward, I'm sorry..."
He hears the anguish in Carlisle's voice and wants to comfort him, to tell him that apologies aren't necessary, but Carlisle isn't done.
"I thought it would be for the best if I didn't call you. I don't want to lead you on. But the truth is I can't... I can't go the rest of my life never hearing your voice again; it's held me prisoner since we first spoke."
Edward's yearning for Carlisle overcomes any coherent thought. He takes a chance, perhaps the only one he will get.
"You like my voice too? I find yours so erotic. You – you have such power over me. You turn me on, Carlisle." He pauses, taking a steadying breath for courage. "You could ask me to do anything and I would be compelled to obey you."
"Edward, I..." His words cut off, his breathing deepening. "Edward, I can't offer you anything. I'm not that person. I can't explain, just believe me."
"Carlisle, tell me what you want me to do." His voice is low, respectful, and Carlisle has to stop for a moment to interpret the meaning behind those words. He breathes in sharply, wondering if he has understood correctly.
"What are you saying?"
Edward's words are soft, but spoken with very clear intent.
"I want you. You want me. Tell me what you want me to do."
Carlisle's breathing is erratic now, his shaft already swollen at the sound of that expectant, provocative voice.
God help me, I want him so badly.
In his mind he pictures Edward sprawled across a bed and lets his desires run free at last.
"Are you naked, Edward?"
"No, I'm wearing underwear."
"Make yourself naked for me. I want to see every inch of you."
He hears the rustle of movement, the creak of a mattress, and knows his instructions are being carried out. The rush of power is intoxicating.
"I'm naked, Carlisle." The words are breathy in his ear and he grips his own hardness without thought.
"Good. Now tell me – are you hard?"
He hears the sharp breath, can see the green eyes darken in his mind, and already knows the answer.
"Yes, so hard."
"Touch yourself, just a little. Keep it slow."
He can hear the sounds Edward makes over the open line and it arouses him beyond belief. He has to force himself to keep going.
"Edward, I want to glide your foreskin up and down, and on each down stroke I want to run my tongue under it, circling the tip."
The helpless whimper of compliance he hears is delicious and Carlisle's eyes close as he pictures his lover, hard and eager.
"You taste so good, Edward, and I want more. I'm going to take every inch of you into my throat – would you like that? Tell me, Edward, are you very wet?"
The affirmation is little more than a groan, slick sounds of pleasure now filling his ear.
"Gather some of that sweet fluid and pull up your knees for me."
The sound of movement comes through the speaker loud and clear.
"When you're ready, I want you to circle your wet finger around your beautiful little hole. Do it slowly at first, as that's how I'm going to lick you."
He can hear the soft, desperate moans as Edward wantonly touches himself, waiting obediently for the next instruction. Carlisle feels as if he is having an out of body experience.
"Do you like me licking you there, Edward? Does my tongue feel good?"
"Yesss..."
"Are you ready for more? Are you ready to have me inside you?"
The urgent moan makes Carlisle's own balls tighten dangerously.
"One finger first, Edward, I want you nice and open for me."
He bites his lip, eyes still closed at the image of his lover fingering himself. His own stiff length is aching and wet, and he knows not to touch it at all now, the time for self pleasure is long past. His orgasm will come through Edward, not his own hand. Hearing the click of a bottle, he knows Edward is preparing to carry out his instruction. The sudden held breath and subsequent languorous groan tell him when Edward is inside.
"Are you very tight, Edward? Will I fit?"
"So tight... ahhh..." He can hear when the wave of pleasure washes over him and pushes onward, wanting to take him to the very edge.
"When you're ready, I'm adding a second finger so I need you to be nice and relaxed for me. Breathe deeply and feel my fingers stretching you. Tell me how it feels, Edward."
"Oh god..."
Carlisle hears his breathing falter and then even out when his body accepts the second digit.
"That's good, Edward, that's so good. Now I'm going to slide them in and out while you touch yourself." His moan carries straight to Edward's groin. "It's no good, I can't resist sucking you, Edward; you taste too good."
His voice, low and husky, is pure sex seeping into Edward's ear. Edward wishes he had more hands so that he could pinch his nipples; his orgasm is so close but he wants to wait until Carlisle asks for it before he lets go. He wants so badly to please him.
"I'm about to fuck you, Edward. You need to be ready for me - can you take another finger?"
The only sounds he hears now are sticky and rhythmic, interlaced with rough, erratic breaths.
"Oh... oh... Carlisle I feel you," his lungs sound under strain, "I'm so full... I can hardly... take it... ohhh god..."
"You're gripping me so tight, Edward; you feel incredible."
Carlisle's voice flows down the phone and into his ear, finally giving Edward the instruction he so badly needs.
"Come for me, Edward; I want to feel your body tighten around me. Make me come too..."
The sounds of harsh breathing increase over the speaker as Edward works his body. Carlisle's head falls back in ecstasy at the sounds he is hearing; Edward's cries have a luscious rawness to them as he obeys each instruction without question.
"Carlisle... I need... I need..." He sounds as if he is gasping for air.
For Edward, Carlisle's voice is a whispered caress dancing across his erogenous zones.
"Tell me what you need."
"Bite my nipple, bite it hard... please..."
"Oh, those nipples of yours are so swollen. Do you like it when my teeth graze them, Edward? I want to hear you scream when I bite..."
Edward's fingers release his throbbing length and pinch one turgid peak sharply. His helpless wail of pleasure carries down the open line as he climaxes with such force that his own ejaculate lands on his neck and chest. Carlisle has merely to squeeze his tightened balls and his own body convulses into a long delayed orgasm, his groan travelling straight into Edward's ear, a sound so wonderful that he can almost feel warm breath fanning his face, soft lips against his neck.
There is only panting as both men ride out their pleasure; coming down they are finally able to speak, albeit in somewhat unsteady voices.
"Carlisle?"
"Yes, Edward?"
"I swear I get hard just hearing you say my name. I really wish I could kiss you right now." He half laughs, embarrassed that, after everything they have just done, the one thing he needs is the intimacy of a simple kiss. "God, I sound like a girl. I just, uhm, I really hope we get to do that for real sometime. I want to feel you deep inside me when I come - I fantasise about how good it will be."
Carlisle is floored. Now that his arousal has somewhat abated, he struggles for an appropriate response.
"I can't promise anything, I..."
Edward hears the apprehensiveness in his voice and doesn't fully understand why. He fervently hopes that they can spend some time together and then perhaps Carlisle will let him into his world. He so badly wants to get close to him.
"I have some holiday time due and I thought that I could maybe drive to you. I mean, only if you want me to, of course. It's not like I know where to find you; New York's pretty big."
Carlisle flounders. Their time together had been on neutral ground, in an impersonal (albeit very comfortable) hotel room. Let Edward into his home, his private space? The thought alone is enough to cause panic in his brain. It's too intimate, too private.
It's too much too soon.
Then it hits him.
You could go to him.
Before he can change his mind, he haltingly asks the question.
"Could I stay with you?"
Edward is surprised.
"Don't you have to work? I have time off so I can easily-"
"No... No. I can research anywhere, and besides – my deadline isn't for months yet." He stumbles over his words, feeling awkward and nervous.
Please understand. It's too soon for me to let you into my world.
"Then okay! When are you free? I can arrange some cover as soon as I know dates."
Carlisle knows his diary is empty for he has no friends or family to occupy his time. He just needs time to psych himself up to making another trip out of New York.
But just think of what's waiting for you.
He takes a calming breath and surprises himself.
"I could book a flight for next week if that's acceptable? I can call you with the details once I have them. Does that give you enough time to make your arrangements?"
He could hear the smile in Edward's voice, his happiness evident.
"Leave it to me." His voice drops to a rough whisper. "And then I get to claim my kiss. I can't wait to see you again, Carlisle. You're all I've thought about."
Carlisle exhales slowly; hearing his own thoughts mirrored back at him is making him lightheaded. The impossible urge to reach out and touch Edward's face sends a wave of longing crashing over him.
"I'll call you when I have dates, I promise. Now go get cleaned up and get some sleep."
Edward yawns hugely down the phone, his voice drowsy.
"Just... don't leave it too long, okay? You don't need a reason to call me. I just want us to get to know each other."
You might regret that.
Shame engulfs Carlisle once again as he thinks of how he will likely disappoint Edward. This is all happening so fast and he feels as if he is rushing headlong into the dark with no idea of what lies within. For someone like Carlisle who needs order and control in his life, this trip into the unknown will be an epic undertaking.
He resolves not to think about it.
~o.O.o~