Honey, Kiss and Sweet

By: VivaViva

Prompts: honey, kiss, sweet

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, that's all Stephenie Meyer's deal. I just enjoy playing in her world.

For Nina
Happy birthday!
Thank you for all that you are and all that you do.
You are very much appreciated and loved.

*****

Honey, Kiss, and Sweet

"Honey?"

"Honey," I repeated the term of endearment.

She made a face, her brows furrowing and lips pursing. I could tell she was displeased, but was unwilling to voice why.

"Do you not like it?" I asked.

She shrugged and tugged on the sleeve of her dress, a carefully-crafted avoidance tactic. When she was upset, she twirled an errant curl around her left index finger. When she was sad, she grew still and silent. When she was irritated, she breathed heavier than normal, her chest rapidly rising and falling with each unnecessary gasp.

She could nearly pass for human.

I knew her habits and her hobbies, her quirks and her ticks, but I had yet to delve deep into her heart. I knew I owned it as surely as she owned mine, an irrevocable gift I would treasure with my every word and action for as long as she would allow, but it was still an unfamiliar gift to me, an only partially-revealed stranger living by my side. Even after a month, we had yet to embrace, let alone fully acknowledge the loving feelings between us. We were so hesitant and formal with one another, we had never even dared to disagree, though the opportunity had surely arisen.

I approached her carefully, gauging her reaction. Her eyes met mine as I took my place in the loveseat beside her. After a pause, she stretched out her hand and entwined her fingers with mine, running her thumb over the ridges of my knuckles, stroking the small valleys between each one. It sent shivers of heat through every nerve, muscle, and venom-filled vein. I had daily reminders of what I was, all it took was a cursory glance in the mirror at my alien eyes, but one touch from her was all it took to remind me I was a man as well.

She brought my hand to her face and pressed her lips to it, lingering over the patches of exposed skin with her mouth slightly parted as if to take the taste of it onto her tongue, bringing me inside of her the only way an unwed couple could. I felt her eyelashes flutter against my fingers, her breath whooshing over my hand as she flipped it open to trace the lines of my palm, a gesture I recognized as one of comfort before she revealed something painful.

I bent my head to hers and rested my forehead against her temple, relishing the contact and even more delightful sparks of heat.

"Esme, what is it?" I whispered and trailed the tip of my nose along her cheek. "'Honey' is merely word."

She took a shuddering sigh to hold back a deluge of tears that would never fall. She pulled away to allow me a look at her expression now tightened in her fierce attempt not to cry.

"It was what I called him." She nodded her head toward her lap as she spoke.

"Him?"

"Him," she stressed, tilting her head once more towards her lower body.

Oh, God… him.

I watched as she took her free hand and covered her empty womb, bunching the fabric of her dress at her stomach as if to cling onto something which was no longer there.

The loss of her child was so palpable, I could nearly taste its bitterness in the air. During one of our many conversations to introduce ourselves to each other, she had described at length all the details she could recall of her son, fearful of forgetting a single one: the wispy patch of hair atop his head, the purity of his scent, the warmth of his fist encasing her fingertip as tightly as he could manage.

The word "honey" belonged to him; she had given it to him. Even while still growing inside her abdomen, she must have been thinking of him as "Honey," perhaps even mumbling it to him aloud as she felt him kick, his pulse beating in tandem with her own. I could not assign that name to her for it was not mine to give. It would be stealing to take the term away from an infant who was in no position to return it. I had to let him keep his name.

This time, I was the one who pulled our joined hands to my lips.

"I understand," I told her. "Please forgive me."

She chuckled with little humor and shook her head at me, dismissing my apology.

"There is nothing to be sorry for, Carlisle. As you said, it's just a word."

"No—it means him. It means you and him together. I will not touch it, it's yours."

She looked shocked for a moment, and sat frozen in a haze of what I assumed was confusion.

"Esme, I—"

She abruptly broke out her trance, leaned forward, and pressed her lips to mine.

After 281 years of life, I finally received my first kiss.

I could have sworn my heart was on the verge of beating again.

All at once there were stars, the sun, the moon, and planets within my grasp—the entire universe held in one kiss, one set of lips moving against another.

My mind went spinning with uncertainty, mingling in with my euphoria. I was unsure of what to think or what to do, where to place my hands, how much pressure to apply, or if it was even appropriate to kiss her back in the first place. I decided to continue, but kept my hands clenched in fists at my sides. I was determined to be a gentleman and avoid accidentally touching her in an untoward manner, no matter how sorely I was tempted to pull her closer and rest as much of her body against my own, feeling our torsos align for the first time in a display of shocking intimacy.

I was unfamiliar with the dance, but I trusted her to lead me through it, teaching me how to demonstrate love with physical acts.

Her hands cupped my chin to hold me to her, loose strands of her hair brushed my jaw, and a sweetness, an ambrosia coated the inside of my mouth when her tongue reached out to briefly meet my own.

Heaven.

"Thank you," she murmured, our lips still touching.

"Anything, sweetheart."

***

"The decision to kiss for the first time is the most crucial in any love story. It changes the relationship of two people much more strongly than even the final surrender, because this kiss already has within it that surrender."
-Emil Ludwig

*****

Enjoy your day, Nina!
We love you.