Read Edward's Sister by Powered by 23 Kicks this weekend. Loved it. Though major warnings for those of you a bit more squeamish on the taboo.
The lines on his back are strong where I rub gentle circles with my palm, strength hidden beneath the beige uniform. He's small for a man. Nothing overly masculine. He doesn't have the high cheekbones or the strong nose that are preferred. He's tall but lacks the muscular build. And his eyes are openly kind toward women. He would be considered weak outside of these walls. Maybe that's why he came here in the first place, whether he knows it or not.
Either way, he fits perfectly in my arms. For a moment, I think he's fallen asleep. His sobs slowly taper off until it's only his breath warming the cotton on the flat of my shoulder. He says nothing for the longest time, his arms casually thrown around my waist, his fingers gripping and releasing the edges of my shirt.
I jump slightly when he speaks. "Thank you, Wendy. Thank you for listening."
"I'm sorry for everything you've had to go through." I pause, cherishing the contented sigh he breezes across my neck. I ignore the goose bumps spreading across my arm, but he's found them. His finger strokes the patterns they create. "Edward?"
"Yes?"
"How did he do it? Why hasn't anyone stopped Dr. Black?"
He hesitates, freezing before he lets the reluctance out with a breath. "Carlisle was married to his work. He was dedicated to helping women who needed psychiatric help. Society would never send a man here, even if they needed to be sent here."
"It's hard to imagine this place doing good."
"Some didn't agree. They hated how money was being spent on something they deemed so worthless. Most didn't care."
Women were useless in this society if they couldn't give healthy babies. Particularly healthy baby boys.
"But the orderlies…they rape the patients. No one thinks that's wrong?"
"Have you noticed the type of women in this place? Either they really do need psychiatric help or have no purpose in society. Either way, no one cares about them. No one cares if they're abused. No one cares if they're hurt."
I pull away, avoiding his grappling fingers and panicked expression, and quickly cup his face with within my palms. I sweep my thumbs across his brows, his lips, his nose, his cheek, drawing lines between the tiny freckles.
"But you do," I say. "You care."
He smiles, that tiny hesitant one where he lifts just one corner of his lips. It's not too rich. It's far from perfect. And it's only bright to me. I love it.
"Maybe I care too much."
"Or maybe you care just enough."
The tips of his fingers are rough as he slides them down my cheeks, feeling his way across the slope of my neck, kneading while passing my shoulders, and surrounding my waist until he can cross them behind me.
"I care about you."
I wait until his breath hitches with uncertainty and then smooth his worries away with my words. "I care about you too."
This time when he kisses me, it's on my lips. He leans forward slowly, our eyes level and watching each other's movements, each other's reactions. He stalls, just inches from touching, his lips blowing soft breaths across my own, waiting for my rejection. But he must see it. How my eyes beckon. How my lips ache to be touched. How my heart races, my breath increases, my lashes flutter in anticipation.
When he finally presses our lips together, I sigh in delight, falling into his embrace, trusting his arms to catch me. It's soft at first. Short little brushes, his plump flesh against my own, until I grow too impatient, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing our lips harder together, opening up until I can suck his flesh in.
I've always been a good kisser. That was one lesson in my schooling I passed with flying colors, but I've never derived pleasure from it. Never enjoyed the carnal act. Always taught that it was our job to make the man satisfied. Until now at least. I push at my green savior, devouring him when he fails to go further, falling onto his lap when his hands insist.
"Wendy," he sighs, looking down at me, his eyes sweeping across my flushed cheeks glowing by the firelight.
I reach up, running the tips of my fingers across his swollen lips. I can't get enough. "Edward…Peter…won't you kiss me again."
His smile warns me because neither can he.