I know there has quite a delay in getting this chapter out to you. I will make a start on Ch9 while they keep talking. I also intend to try & finish a couple of half-written pieces in my folder & maybe even write a new one-shot for a contest. Wish me inspiration & plot bunnies!
Thanks as always go to my beta, mxpi1970, for her friendship and support.
As always, I own nothing. Stephenie Meyer owns all.
All I Want to Hear
Chapter 8
It is no surprise to either of them when, after Edward's shift finishes a few days' later, he comments on how much calmer Carlisle seems to be. He is becoming more familiar with Maine, discovering the small cafes and bookshops to while away the hours while Edward sleeps. He likes the friendly locals, the smiles, feeling part of something. His confidence is starting to grow.
He has visited Monroe on a couple of rainy afternoons, the old man and he striking up a friendship over their shared passion for literature. Edward is saddened that, when he and Carlisle go to Kate's, they find her friendly and polite, yet still on the fence. Carlisle understands it is because of her concern for Edward, but, deep down, he hopes to prove himself a worthy recipient of his love and, in turn, win her respect and friendship.
Edward is revelling in the joy of having his man in his life and in his bed. Since returning to Maine, neither has mentioned Carlisle leaving nor set a date for him to return to New York. The two of them are settled into a routine that has happened organically – they have both adapted to the new status quo as if it were always this way.
Days pass, Edward working, Carlisle writing. His new book is ready and Hale Publishing want a meeting in New York, assuming him to be there.
Edward comes home on the Thursday morning, sneaking in to wake Carlisle with his morning coffee. He wafts the mug in front of his face, seeing Carlisle react, a contented, sleepy grin on his face before his eyes open.
"Morning." Edward sets the mug down on the nightstand and crawls onto the bed. "So – I'm off now 'til Monday night. What shall we do this weekend?" He crooks a suggestive eyebrow at the thought of uninterrupted time with his lover.
Carlisle's face drops, discomfort evident. Edward frowns.
"What's wrong?"
"My publishers messaged me – I have a meeting with them tomorrow afternoon."
Edward sits back on his heels.
"Can't you Skype?"
"No – they prefer face to face."
"And I don't suppose it occurred to you to say you were out of state?" He sees the haunted look flash across Carlisle's face and guesses the answer. "When's your flight? Will you be gone the whole weekend?" He can't hide the dismay in his tone.
"I was going to book it this morning."
Edward's face brightens.
"Well you better book two seats then." Edward isn't fazed at all; this makes perfect sense. Carlisle on the other hand is a rabbit frozen in the headlights.
"You don't need to come. I won't be gone more than one night and I can fly back the next day."
He is startled into defensive action, the old Carlisle resurfacing in utter panic. Edward's hand grips the duvet.
"You don't want me to come." His voice is flat – hurt.
Carlisle pushes himself up the bed, distancing himself.
"You have to understand that..."
"You don't want to be seen with me where you live?"
"No... No! That's not it. How can I make you see...?" He flusters, running scared, old insecurities taking control. "I live in two different worlds. Back there, I'm someone else, someone I don't want to be; someone I don't want you to see."
His face is contorted, his two worlds colliding with a crash loud enough to scare the birds from the trees. His fears are coming to pass.
Edward leans into him, his voice taking a cajoling edge.
"Maybe you're not that person anymore. Did you stop to think about that?" Carlisle cannot answer, the words he wishes to speak merely echo around inside his head. "Have you stopped to consider that maybe I want to come with you? That I want to see your life and be a part of it with you?" His voice drops in defeat. "But then I guess you don't want to be seen with me. You'd rather hide here and pretend we have a life together – pretend that we have a future when you won't share anything with me. You block me out of your life when all I want is to share mine with you." He is choked, rejection a hard sting to bear.
Carlisle is drowning. Edward's words are all too true, and he sees a flash of his life back in New York, how lost he felt there, how hopeless it had all seemed before Edward entered his life and turned it upside down. For the first time he has seen there is an escape from that cold, austere existence and now, seeing Edward's dismay at his flat refusal, he sees what he risks losing and is struck with paralysing fear – he has no idea which way to turn. He blunders on, trying to articulate how he feels.
"You must understand, Edward, that you don't belong there. You and ... that... part of my life just don't mesh. The world I inhabit there is organised, cold, efficient. It suited me, helped me become who I am. I was safe there." His voice shakes, reduced to a mere whisper. "I could hide there."
Edward's head rises, his stormy gaze darkening.
"Hide? From whom?"
Carlisle crumples under the forceful stare. His voice cracks.
"From myself."
"And now?" Edward's words drop to a rough croak. "What about now? Carlisle, you tell people I'm your friend – never boyfriend or partner, but friend. You back away from social intimacy. It's not that I need public displays of affection, but you have no idea just how badly I want to hold your hand and show the world how lucky I've gotten."
Carlisle flinches.
"We can't, there would be gossip and I can't... I just... can't."
"No! You have it backwards!" Edward's hands are in his hair, threatening to rip clumps out by the root. "No one would care! I mean, they'd care, but in a good way! Me being gay – it isn't big news around here. My friends know, my work colleagues know – at least I think they do. Carlisle, I've done nothing but work and sleep for so long. I've been lonely and thought that I just had to deal with it, but then you come along..." He scrunches up his eyes, embarrassed, but unable to stop the words tumbling out. "We don't have to skip through the tulips hand in hand – this isn't a movie. I just want to touch you when you're close, to feel pride in being the one who gets to be with you and know that others can't have you. I want us to be real. Is this making any kind of sense to you because I'm pouring my heart out here?"
He chokes, almost too afraid to meet Carlisle's eyes. A warm hand touches his, and soft, heartfelt words wash over his bruised heart.
"I never meant to shut you out. Intimacy for me is new and difficult, but with you I'm working on it, breaking down the barriers I've built up. I'm sorry that it's taking me time because I swear to you I'm trying and I'm making progress. I really am. I even went and spoke to Kate so she knows that I'm serious."
Edward fingers clasp onto Carlisle's, finding strength in his physical presence as he has from that first night.
"You went and saw Kate alone? Did she kick your ass?"
"She made it perfectly clear that she would always back you no matter what. I don't think she trusts me yet. I hope that I can change that."
"But if you can't even show me your home then how are we going to move forward? You shut me out of so much and I get why, I do. I know you've had a bad past – I have too. One day I hope you can talk to me about it, but..." he breathes deep. "Carlisle, we get so little time together – why would you deliberately cut me out of the time we could be sharing?" His free hand rakes his already dishevelled hair. "I hate it when you leave – there, I said it. I dread you leaving me; there's always that fear that you might never come back, that this is it. I don't know what I'd do now if that happened."
Carlisle's mind reels in horror. He has all but broken the man he loves, his own insecurities eating away at the only thing in his existence that he truly values. Without another word, Edward slides off of the bed and leaves the room, his leaden footfalls on the stairs jarring Carlisle's heart.
Love.
Is this how it was meant to go? He has no frame of reference to compare. He loves his family, the dog he had while growing up; he has never loved another as an equal. He doesn't know the way to act, nor has he the words to express it. It is all too much – he is unprepared for the torrent of emotions flooding his brain. For the first time since they met, he wants to run back to New York where his sterile, structured life makes sense, to where emotion plays no part in his sequestered, solitary existence.
And yet the thought of Edward ever leaving him eclipses the light from his soul, the inevitable agony a punishment he could never atone for. His hands shake, fight or flight adrenalin burning through his system.
I can't lose him.
I'll only hurt him.
He might stay.
He might hate me.
He might pity me.
That last thought is searing – he knows that pity would be the worst thing. He wants...
I want him to love me.
The idea seems preposterous – Carlisle's self esteem still too low to accept that love could ever be possible. Surely he is unworthy.
While he is processing this thought, he hears Edward return, quick footfalls on the stairs until he is standing in the doorway, fists pressed against the doorposts. His face is twisted with frustration.
"Has it ever crossed your mind that I might want to see the view from the top of the Empire State Building? That I might want to see a show or walk around Central Park? And that I might actually want to experience those things with you?"
His hands slide down the wooden posts. His posture, for a moment so proud and defiant, sags, the brief, flaring spark of light in his eyes burning out in a sputter.
Without waiting for an answer, he turns and leaves.
Carlisle scrambles out of bed only to hear the front door close. He isn't dressed, he can't follow. Grabbing a robe, he carries his coffee downstairs and boots up the laptop. Finding the familiar airline site, he books the flight, not allowing himself to change his mind. When he presses 'confirm payment', he takes a deep breath before releasing it in a sigh.
His hands are shaking.
~o.O.o~
Edward walks down the path, his hands balling into frustrated fists.
Why does he hold me at arm's length? Why can't he let me in?
The words circle his brain, finding no answer yet refusing to cease. He doesn't want to push, in fact he feels guilty at his outburst, yet he knows it was unavoidable.
I think about him all the time. How can I love someone so much when they offer me so little?
His mind gently reminds him of the progress Carlisle has made in their time together. It feels wrong to want so much more when he is watching him make progress every day. He is prepared to wait, but fears frustration and longing may eat him up from the inside before they can ever reach the same page in this story they are writing together. He has circled the block and calmed down enough to go home. His steps hasten, needing to apologise and to hold his man.
I have more than so many others. He wants me – only me – and he is trying to move heaven and earth to make us work. And I don't want anybody else – he is everything I could ever need.
He relaxes, his hands open and loose as he walks. Stepping inside the house, he sees his coffee on the counter, still warm enough to drink; he has been gone less than ten minutes. Carlisle's laptop sits open at the page showing the airline booking. He glances at the screen before taking a mouthful of coffee. His eyes snap back to the screen, unable to be sure of what he sees.
Two tickets.
Elation and joy, tempered with apprehension, flood his consciousness.
Does Carlisle feel coerced into this? I have to know – this has to be what he wants, else I will pay him for the ticket and stay here.
Hearing movement, he heads upstairs. He pauses at the bathroom door before pushing it open, steam billowing out onto the landing. Shedding his clothes, he opens the curtain and steps into the pulsing spray. His arms snake around Carlisle's waist while his lips press kisses to the smooth skin between his shoulders. He feels resistance for a second before the warm, wet body relaxes into the caress, slumping against the tiles and allowing full access to his body.
He moans Edward's name.
"I hope you weren't expecting someone else." Edward's voice is teasing.
"Just trying to remember if I told my other lover not to come over today while you're home." Carlisle's voice is deadpan and Edward stills. Carlisle turns in the confined space and cups Edward's face with one hand, his thumb tracing his full lips. Carlisle's hair is dark under the water, droplets falling from his eyelashes. His gaze is intense, studying Edward's for reassurance. "I'm joking."
"I saw the tickets." Edward leans in to be heard over the water. "What made you change your mind?"
Carlisle's head drops. "I hurt you. I seem to keep doing it yet I never wanted to. If you need to do this, to see my other life, then I accept that. I want what you want, Edward." He wipes water from his eyes, pushing his wet hair back before he looks up. There is a second's pause when their eyes lock. Carlisle finds his nerve, forcing down the lump rising in his tight throat.
"I love you, Edward. No matter what, whether we can get past everything or not, I need you to know that."
This is the first time in years that he has something to lose and, at that moment, Carlisle is a terrified man balanced on a narrow ledge over a yawning chasm. He can barely breathe; tremulous is he, awaiting Edward's reaction.
Silence echoes off the walls, the pounding water a concerto of love to Edward's ears. His face glows with the realisation that his dream is fast materialising. It may be flawed, but even imperfect diamonds shine when the light is right, and in that precise moment, Edward is basking in Carlisle's presence. Unable to speak, he pulls Carlisle in close for a kiss that escalates in seconds. He falls into him, his hand finding purchase in his wet hair, crushing their lips together. In that moment, he feels a deep-seated physical ache, all previous thoughts forgotten. It is enough that Carlisle has taken this monumental step; it is enough that he has made this choice, and for now, Edward will not ask for more.
Clasped together, their bodies heat up from within; passion coils and writhes, driving them ever onward. Hands grasp and stroke, soap froths and streams down wet skin, slippery and enticing. Reddened flesh strains upward, jutting forward in impatient yearning. Edward's hand glides down Carlisle's taut stomach, grazing the rosy head with the pad of his thumb. He hears the hissed response, feels the answering jump of stomach muscles under his questing hand. Rolling his own hips inward, he touches their shafts with his hand, grasping them together before beginning a slow thrust along the length of Carlisle's rigid flesh. The need is immediate and intense, their breathing catching, eyes darkening to feral black in an instant.
Edward runs his nose up the curve of Carlisle's neck to nuzzle his jaw, hot breath blasting against damp skin. He feels a hand on his buttock, a thumb rubbing his hipbone before pulling him in tight. They writhe and groan, Edward's tongue running up and under his lover's throat, over his Adam's apple, lightly sucking his chin. Water is in his eyes, his hair flat to his head, face flushed with arousal, yet he has never looked more beautiful to Carlisle, with his panting mouth and parted, swollen lips. He allows himself a moment to drink him in before claiming his mouth in a greedy kiss; a starving man offered a buffet of exotic delights. Their kisses are rougher now, their movements erratic and powered by base need. Carlisle feels the cold tile at his back when he is pressed against the wall by his eager lover. He leans down to nip at Edward's shoulder and neck, somehow needing to mark him, claim him as owned property – such an un-Carlisle-like gesture. He doesn't question his actions, hearing Edward's purr of ecstasy when his teeth make purchase with his wet, succulent form. They are grinding with abandon now, dark, ruddy flesh threatening to erupt at any moment. Edward's hand grips tighter, pumping hard, pulling the pleasure from their bodies in loud, triumphant cries. Carlisle sags, able to stay upright throughout the powerful orgasm ripping through him only because of Edward's weight pinning him to the wall, the water cascading down their heaving, gasping bodies.
Edward presses kisses to his lover's neck and cheek, finally reaching his lips with a drawn out sigh of satisfaction. Staring deep into Carlisle's sleepy, unguarded eyes, he smiles.
"Did I mention that I love you too?"
~o.O.o~
They pack overnight necessities for Edward, bare essentials for Carlisle who has most of his belongings at his own apartment.
Carlisle keenly feels the shift in their relationship. Together they are more than he ever hoped to have, and now he has to return to New York and tell him everything, risking losing him one way or the other. While they pack, he makes the decision to broach the subject of moving to Edward when they return from New York. Is it too soon? It's not that he is asking to move in, he could not be so bold, but to relocate to be near Edward, to be able to see him whenever they chose.
A small part of Carlisle realises that the transitioning, both of his location and his mindset, is a very positive step. He just has to get through the weekend.
It's crunch time.
~o.O.o~
This next step will be a hurdle for Carlisle, but with Edward at his side and in his arms, he may just make it through. What he doesn't yet know is how instrumental Edward will prove to be in smashing those longstanding, self-made barriers.
They are quiet in the cab to the airport, the departure lounge busier than Carlisle is comfortable with. That morning, he had booked the first available flight with two seats next to each other rather than his usual late night, quiet flight.
Edward sees him pale, his face taking on a haunted look. He brushes his fingers over his Carlisle's tense hand to distract him.
"If it gets too much, just look at me. Forget about them - they're not important."
This draws a grateful smile, and a deep, calming breath. Their flight is called on time and they make their way to the gate, Edward as close to Carlisle as possible, not willing to leave his side. They cross the jet way and take their seats, stowing their carry-on in the overhead lockers. Carlisle looks alarmed.
"I usually hold mine."
"Why?"
Then he sees Carlisle's hands twisting and understands – he needs to touch something familiar, to feel safe and grounded. With a smile, he slips his hand into his lover's and is rewarded with a squeeze of gratitude.
"You're fine - you're with me."
That simple promise is enough, and when the plane takes to the air, Carlisle is reassured by his lover's touch.
~o.O.o~
A/N
A side note for any readers of Rescue Me that are wondering where it went - this story was removed & is now only available on my blog (see my profile) and on the Writer's Coffee Shop. Same author name. See you there. ~KC