All I Want to Hear - Ch2

To all of you who put this on alert – you win! As it turned out, I needed to know what happened next too.

I have submitted a Jasper/Bella piece to Fandoms 4 Autism. Go visit their blog for more info on this great cause and to find out how to sign up or donate to help them reach their target.

Thanks to my beta mxpi1970 and my pre-reader Jasper1863Hale. All characters owned and created by Stephenie Meyer, but the plot is my own.

 ~o.O.o~

Chapter 2

For the longest moment they gaze at each other, neither quite able to believe that this fragile link between them is taking on form and substance, propelling them onward into the unknown.

For Edward, the realisation that his fantasy now stands before him, openly confessing his desire, makes his psyche almost fold in on itself trying to process this unforeseen, but much yearned for, turn of events.

Carlisle pulls him into a scorching kiss that paints his world in shades of decadent desire. The combination of the early hour and the dimly lit room ensures an intimacy that neither man could have planned, yet it is completely fitting. The men grow in confidence, inhibitions slowly lessening, as each learns more about the other from every subtle gesture and moan.

Carlisle feels as if he is outside his body, watching his own lips caress the throat from which comes the maddeningly intoxicating voice. With his fingers entangled in locks of thick hair, he nuzzles the delicate skin, sucking and nipping for brief moments at a time; Edward’s neck tautens, his head tilting in total obeisance. He is acutely aware that, while he remains fully clothed, Carlisle is wearing nothing more than a robe that is coming loose at the tie. Desire making him brave, he reaches inside the soft towelling to the warm flesh within, feeling Carlisle’s body leap at the unfamiliar sensation.

When by necessity their lips part, Edward wrenches off his necktie and pulls his shirt off over his head in haste, letting both drop to the floor, forgotten. With shaky gasps he then fumbles with his belt, wrenching it open along with his pants. Carlisle can barely draw breath because Edward naked is a joy to behold, and he is in awe of this beauty offered to him so willingly. It is Edward who pulls open the tie to Carlisle’s robe, removing the final barrier between them and revealing Carlisle’s body, in its aroused state, to his view. He grows bolder, pushing the robe from Carlisle’s shoulders with both hands, letting it fall to the carpet with a soft thump. Finally they both stand naked, almost touching, poised on the verge of new discoveries, new pleasures. 

Carlisle now stands before him, trembling with a need long forgotten; his would-be lover draws in a breath, a look of wonder on his face at what he has revealed. All hesitation gone, they reach for each other once more; hands mould themselves to firm, defined planes of muscle, the strong curve of buttock and thigh. In the intimate half-light, inhibitions are shucked along with clothes.  

The back of Edward’s trembling hand caresses Carlisle’s hipline, trailing down to where his interest is apparent. Wide, tremulous eyes watch as Edward’s hand briefly encompasses hard, ardent flesh, causing both to gasp erratically. Heart rates hammer and faces draw closer; this time naked bodies touch and blend, heat into heat, arms entangling as lips rejoice in reunion.

Feeling his body turning to liquid, Carlisle all but drags Edward the short distance to the bed, pulling them both down onto the rumpled sheets. In the dim recesses of his mind, a whispered voice asks him if he is sure about this; after all, it has been some time since he indulged in any kind of sexual activity. What if he is a disappointment? Could he cope with the humiliation of failing as a lover? With a concerted effort, he slams the door shut on his subconscious, letting instinct and Edward’s responses guide him.

The hammering of his heartbeat is discernible under Carlisle’s hand, an eager accompaniment to the heated activity in which they are engaged. Their kisses are driven by a force not of their own control; tongues slide together forging a lasting connection of deep, dizzying need. Breaking apart is impossible, unthinkable. The need to possess, to consume, overrides any futile commands their minds try to issue. There is nothing but now, this moment of mutual surrender to carnal impulse.

Edward reaches forward, his hand skating across warm flesh that flutters in response to his hesitant touch, every delicate stroke creating a masterpiece of sensation. He himself silently begs to be touched and, in a perfect moment of synchronicity, Carlisle’s hand finds the warmth of his thigh, his fingertips tracing patterns of fire so enticing that Edward’s legs part without hesitation.

His moans are deep and long, feeling to Carlisle as if they emanate from his own throat. He is intoxicated by the sounds Edward makes, and desperate to elicit even more beautiful sounds, he reluctantly breaks the kiss. For a moment, his eyes gaze into forest green depths, seeing the naked trust that lies within. He knows his own eyes reflect that same intensity, the wonder of the unknown, the need to pleasure this willing, eager body or die trying.  

His hand locates a nipple, his fingers circling the nub before squeezing it to gauge the reaction. Edward’s eyes darken a fraction, his lips parting in a silent gasp. His other nipple is afforded the same courtesy before Carlisle leans in, claiming both his mouth and the resulting gasp that leaves it, with the same relish as a connoisseur savouring a fine wine.

When his mouth lowers to capture and tease a proud nub, he watches Edward’s eyes roll back, his body arching into Carlisle’s mouth for more. He rewards this response by grazing his teeth across the swollen, reddened peak, the resulting helpless cry of pleasure proving to be a powerful aphrodisiac. Carlisle shudders as he feels warm hands glide down his torso, fingers splaying to encompass his waist. When those same hands come to rest low down on his hips, he feels thumbs circling in his curls, sending goose bumps flaring across his body and down his arms. The smallest fraction inward and those thumbs will be caressing his tight sac. His aroused body is screaming for contact, for the feel of Edward’s hands on his hard flesh once more.

Edward reaches out blindly, panting for air, and scratches his nails down Carlisle’s chest before coming into contact with the proof of his desire. His hand cups the firm sac, feeling Carlisle still momentarily when he caresses the beautiful high globes. Forcing his eyes open, he looks at Carlisle then, seeing the need etched across his features, the frown of concentration that furrows his eyebrows at the delicate, maddening touch. Their eyes meet and lock in an intense connection that speaks volumes; the air around them hums with electricity in the second before their mouths crash together once again.

They writhe on the rumpled sheets, their bodies in perfect alignment to feel every inch of the other. They roll over, Edward now in control, his hand still cupping his treasure. He allows his thumb to lightly press against the base of Carlisle’s length while flicking their tongues together in a gesture that promises heavenly pleasure to follow.

Dragging himself away from those bewitching lips, he kisses his way down the trembling body to where his hand gently massages. At last he gets to taste his prize; a gentle flicker of his tongue over the proud head has Carlisle groaning unashamedly, moisture leaking freely from his shaft that Edward laps up without hesitation. When he finally succumbs to temptation and engulfs him in warm, wet heat, his fingers manipulating the sac in his hand, he hears his name in the guttural groan that ensues.

“Edward...”

Edward wants to be everywhere. He wants his hands in Carlisle’s hair, his lips pressed tight to his; he wants this swollen shaft in his mouth and he wants it in his tight opening.

This is pleasure, verging on madness. Just a couple of hours ago he had planned to go straight home after work and pleasure himself in the shower, fantasising about doing exactly this. He has been hard since the very moment their hands touched across the bed. The taste of him in that first kiss was enough to swamp his senses, obscuring all other thought. And now... now he could die knowing that he is complete, that he has found what makes him whole. His mouth sinks down on Carlisle again, relishing the cry as he takes him deeper.

Carlisle’s body jerks upward, his teeth clenched as he fights to hold back, to not disappoint his new lover by climaxing so soon. When the pleasure threatens to peak, he stills Edward’s head with this palms, meeting his open gaze as he withdraws from his talented lips, his chest heaving with the effort.

Edward whimpers at the loss, succeeding in running the flat of his tongue from Carlisle’s sac to the tip of his shaft before allowing himself to be dragged away. Pinned to the sheet, he can see the beads of sweat at Carlisle’s hairline, able to do no more than watch the blond head lower to his own stiff member; the tip of Carlisle’s tongue flutters around the spot where his foreskin has retracted, sending waves of sensation crashing over him.

Carlisle mentally begs Edward not to speak; he fears that hearing his name now would spell the end of his fragile self-control. Fortunately, Edward is able to produce only guttural gasps as he watches his torturer in action. Carlisle takes the engorged mushroom shaped head between his lips and sucks lovingly, revelling in the beauty of the harsh indrawn breath when his tongue dips into the tip, collecting the bounty that flows for him. He sinks slowly down, letting the swollen head slide across the roof of his mouth, just daring Edward to lose control.

Edward’s face is pained, striving as he is to hold off his orgasm. His eyes plead with Carlisle for permission, wanting his release, but more than that, desiring to please his lover. Releasing his length so very slowly with one last loving sweep over the tip, Carlisle pulls himself up the bed, level with the object of his obsession. Taking Edward’s hand, he places both on their shafts, holding them together so that the sensitive undersides are in full and constant contact. 

As their hands start to move, they lose themselves in a deep kiss, breathing quickening, soft cries of pleasure escaping that grow in volume when their joined hands move faster, chasing their bliss.

“Carlisle!”

When he hears Edward’s desperate cry, his name inevitably escaping those perfect lips as he had always known it would, he is lost to intense joy, their bodies pulsing and shuddering in unison, each honouring the other with their release.

  ~o.O.o~

As their bodies calm, temporarily sated, they talk.

Carlisle is intrigued in how Edward discovered his work and why he is so interested. Edward shyly explains he has read Carlisle’s first book, ‘In search of Witches’, a history of witchcraft, and found himself enthralled with the retelling of the women’s plight, often wrongly accused and punished for nothing more than mere herbalism and midwifery. Edward’s own interest into pagan and supernatural history is what originally led him to Carlisle’s work, and he found himself drawn in by the writing and the emotional attachment to the victims. Carlisle has since published a work of fiction, woven through the same era as the Salem Witch Trials. This time however, Edward was every bit as captivated by the handsome man on the flyleaf as by the story itself.

Wanting to know more, he researched the author on the internet, learning little, other than his university degree and his age: 28. Edward himself is 24, and has never seen the inside of a university, needing a job and money to survive life in the real world after finding himself alone at 18 with no real skills to fall back on. He fell into the hotel trade when he applied for part time work as a porter, working his way up to receptionist and finally to duty manager. There are few perks to his job other than the occasional chance to meet someone famous, someone he admires; those few incidents have always been a disappointment, a bubble burst, thanks to pomposity, arrogance, and over inflated egos.

Meeting Carlisle Cullen, historian and author, had never seemed a possibility. However, when his name appeared in the booking register, Edward made sure he was on duty to have the very best chance of meeting the beautiful man with the haunted eyes.

~o.O.o~

Carlisle listens to him speak, as transfixed by the tone of his voice as by the words themselves. Edward’s eyes draw him in, and he knows there is so much more he needs to learn about him.

Most importantly - whether or not he will ever see him again.

That solitary thought spurs him onward and he leans in to kiss Edward’s bitten lips, his voice a rough whisper.

“Is it wrong that I want you again?”

Edward’s face goes slack, unable to hide his hunger.

“No – not wrong at all. Please... touch me. Please.”

Their bodies blur together once more, slaves to the passion that controls us all.

~o.O.o~

They do not sleep, neither willing to waste a moment of their time together. After exhausting their bodies for a second time, they lie together, both knowing their rendezvous is coming to an end.

Carlisle is overwhelmed at the events that have occurred, never dreaming that something so wonderful could ever be offered so willingly to one such as he. It feels to him as if he made a wish on a birthday candle, the wish manifesting before him only to fade away with the early morning light.

Carlisle has to rise, shower and pack for his flight. Checking the clock, he sees he has a little over an hour to vacate the room and eat some breakfast before catching a cab to the airport.

Plenty of time to shower, pack his few items and drink some coffee.

Plenty of time to hand back the room key and hail a cab.

Plenty of time.

But looking down, seeing Edward’s eyes watching his face as if reading his thoughts, he knows that there will never be enough time to leave this room, to walk away from him.

To say goodbye.

Carlisle pushes himself to the edge of the bed, the feel of his feet hitting the floor returning him to the real world. He walks naked to the bathroom and showers quickly, closing his eyes and allowing the warm water to cascade over his face for a moment before flipping off the water and stepping out. Drying himself briskly, he ties the towel around his waist and steps back into the room. Edward is sat on the edge of the bed, dressed in his uniform, shirt open at the neck. His hands run through his hair to flatten it and hide the obvious evidence of their tryst.

Carlisle dresses, his movements jerky, uncharacteristically uncoordinated. Every button fastened takes him one step further away from the magic of their time together. He packs his clothes, zips his laptop case and realises he is done, that there is nothing more to keep him in the intimate cocoon they have created together.

Neither speaks; what is there to say? Carlisle struggles to find words to express his need for more. Edward wonders if this encounter is all there is, all there was ever meant to be.

Fear, pure and simple, holds both men captive, its oppressive presence making it impossible for either man to utter the words that could change their lives. Carlisle checks his watch and makes the decision to just leave; he can buy his coffee at the airport.

On turning, however, he sees Edward, eyes downcast, his posture awkward once again despite their recent intimacy.

On impulse he reaches out, his fingers smoothing Edward’s hair, a thumb whispering down his cheek to rest on his lips. Edward captures his hand, holding it still before placing a kiss of gratitude on the open palm. He knows it’s done, that what they had shared in those magical, stolen hours has dissipated under the scrutiny of the harsh early morning light. He sees Carlisle retreat into himself, back behind his protective walls, and assumes that any attempt he might make to infiltrate would be kindly, but firmly, rebuffed.

He looks into those eyes one last time, yearning for the openness he had seen when they were together, lost in pleasure. Now he sees guarded eyes once again and his chest aches for what he is losing.

He watches Carlisle collect his belongings and leave the snug room, his step leaden. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t see Edward’s lips soundlessly mouth the words his heart is screaming:

I’ve waited my whole life for you.

~o.O.o~

Carlisle’s mind is spinning.

He makes his way downstairs to find the young lady on the desk for the day shift. Feeling as though she can see right through his forced facade of calm, he checks out of The Dragonfly Inn, standing outside in the cool morning air to wait for a cab. The day is as bright and clear as it was when he arrived, except that now everything has changed. His world is out of kilter and he knows not how to make everything right again.

His mind shows him the image of Edward sitting on the edge of the bed, kissing his hand in a tender farewell. What they had shared had been so unexpected despite the longing he had experienced, and he feels the oddest mix of gratitude and shame.

 His sexual history is not prestigious; he has made mistakes he fervently wishes he could undo. Succumbing to desire was not always the sensible thing to do, in fact it was often downright reckless and to be regretted as soon as it was done.  With Edward however, he feels a real sense of loss and acknowledges to his own mind that he has forever left a part of himself in that intimate room that gave life to his fantasy.

But fantasies cannot survive when subjected to reality. What they did together was special because it will never be repeated, never be spoken about to anyone. As much as it hurts to leave, Carlisle knows that he would only disappoint the younger man if they attempted a real relationship, and that is the last thing he wants to do.

But it does hurt, and try as he might he cannot forget the sound of Edward’s gasps of pleasure, nor erase the memory of green eyes locked to his as they experienced their mutual release.

He needs his coffee and is grateful when the cab arrives to take him to the airport. Arriving without incident, he takes his carryon luggage to the coffee shop and orders a black coffee straight up. Sipping the scalding liquid, he finally feels able to breathe; he knows that the more distance he puts between himself and Edward the easier it will be to move on. There is no point dwelling on what might have been, and Carlisle admits to himself that what they shared was nothing more than a one night stand, no matter how strong the connection had felt at the time.

Perhaps, given time, he will forget.

Perhaps.

He sips his coffee.

The caffeine jolt does nothing for his anxiety.

~o.O.o~

Edward waits.

Waits for him to turn, to say that he cannot leave it like this.

But he finally accepts that Carlisle has gone.

Brushing himself down, he checks himself in the mirror and collects his tie from the chair. With one last look back at the bed in total disarray from their coupling, he makes his way to the door.

The staff are not expecting to see him at this hour and so, when Alice briefly leaves to pass on a telephone message, he slips down the stairs and out of the front door into the sunshine.

His walk home is pleasant enough. On the way he stops to buy a soda which he drinks as he walks. He is home before the can is drained.

Stepping into his small apartment, he closes the door and leans back against it, happy to lock the world outside. Walking to the bathroom, he surveys his reflection in the mirror. Nothing looks outwardly different; indeed, at a passing glance he looks the same as he always does. Only he can see the swollen lips, the skin still pinked from excitement and exertion.

Peeling off his shirt, he examines himself in the mirror, exalting in each slight mark, evidence to his eyes that he did not dream those too brief, hedonistic hours. His fingertips trace his lips, finding them tender to the touch. His hand slides down his body and he shudders, seeing his reflected eyes darken at the memory his body so clearly remembers. Although intent on showering, his feet take him into his lounge room, to his shelf of well read books. Plucking one from its allotted spot, he turns to the flyleaf; his fingers trace the face that will stay with him in his dreams.

He wonders if he will ever hear from him again.

~o.O.o~

His flight is delayed, and Carlisle feels restless. When they finally announce that his flight is boarding, he hurries to the gate, almost running in his desperation to return home to normality and his comfortable routine.

Settling into his seat, he stares out of the window, his own reflection partially blocking the view. Focusing in, he sees a lost, lonely man staring back, sadness in the bleak eyes. He looks away, unable to bear the sight.

The flight is uneventful, and feels shorter to Carlisle, lost as he is in his thoughts. Taking his luggage he leaves the airport and hails a cab, eager to return home.

Stepping out of the cab and into his home is a defining moment. He has returned to where life is simple and ordered, where nothing happens without his say-so. A small nagging thought reminds him that unplanned occurrences can result in something incredible, something verging on life-changing if he permits it to be.

The sound of Edward’s voice on the phone had enchanted him from the very start.

Although he doesn’t know it yet, the memory of his cries of pleasure will now haunt his dreams.

His orderly, structured life has been blown apart in one night by one extraordinary man. Try as he might, he cannot pretend that everything will just continue on as it did before.

Determined to bury himself in his work, he pulls out his laptop, opening it up to start writing.

Lying on the keyboard, contrasting starkly with the sleek machine, is a piece of white paper, bearing The Dragonfly Inn insignia.

There is writing on the paper.

And Carlisle’s heart almost beats out of his chest.

~o.O.o~