Golden: 1819.

[ofthefamily]

An old face. Calmer, older, and yet all the same unchanged.

At least he's not running for his life, now. And he knows where he is.

For Carlisle Cullen, this is always a good start.

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[themidnightson]

This is what he wants.

Though defining this is not on the line.
Any part of it, not right this second, not now.


When he tries to drown out every noise and image in the entire Bar forcing its way into him, every intimately known complication, every ounce of him that cares, with the taste of Carlisle, the way he smells, and feels under his finger tips. His last free hand releasing the arm under it, finally, to settle on pulling Carlisle even closer from settling on his back.

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle comes back to his senses in a way he wishes he could have avoided as soon as it happens --

This is the only way they will ever have each other. This Carlisle and this Edward. Only ever at the end of everything.

Edward's chest against Carlisle's own pulls a groan from him and Carlisle curls his index fingers into Edward's belt loops.

[themidnightson]

He doesn't even see the low snarl coming before it leaves his mouth. If his hands had been slightly hard seconds before, it erring into rejectingly possessive now. Perhaps, even more so, with, "Mine."

He'd been smart about this long enough today, right?




At least they weren't in the middle of the bar.

[ofthefamily]

People only belong to other people

Carlisle doesn't argue with Edward's logic on the matter.

[themidnightson]

His tone is not kind. But it is not mean. There's something of informing, as well as accusation in it. It matches the way his fingers glide down Carlisle's spine and small back, as a warning.

"I'll always-" His lips followed the line of his jaw. "-be yours." Down the juncture of his ear and neck. "I will never--" light as a feather almost, as he spoke. "-not want you."

Until he bit down against Carlisle's throat, erring down the razor's edge, his fingers bunching the cloth of his shirt and his pants where his hand was stopped.

[ofthefamily]

i don't want to belong to anyone else you may have me.

It's permission and longing and he's free to do what he wants, right? So there he is, being bitten of all things and liking it, even after Volterra and everything there.

Edward seems to want to consume him.

Carlisle has no place else better to be.

[themidnightson]

The groan against Carlisle's skin is as frustrated as moved.
He's not positive he want to be either. But no one is asking.




And he shouldn't. His eye close, eyelashes light, burying his face against Carlisle's throat. He can't. A small nip. It'd be wrong. A very, very light brush of his lips. It could be worse.

The smallest whisper, lost in the crowning dawn's wind. "Tell me what you want of me?"

[ofthefamily]

"Stay with me. Please, please stay with me. This me here."

It's immediate and pleading and Carlisle's hands fly to Edward's shoulders.

[themidnightson]

It has to have been half a century since he last felt so suddenly terrified.
He squeezed his eyes against those words and the ones that echoed.


I want to make you promise me
that you'll never leave like that again.

I am happy with you.
So I manage

Does nothing change, because the time outside
each door never moves, and then a lifetime
here still takes nothing from there?

What would you have of me?
How complicated is it to say, everything?

Very.

Edward nodded, his nose brushing up and down at Carlisle's shoulder, while his chin bumped against a collar bone and his hands had become something like a vice. He can feel this one, in every part of who he has left in him to be, when he mumbles against Carlisle's shirt, uncertain if he means Milliways or Lyon or the nineteenth century; or the coming of his insanity, booked and brooked by only one man.

Who was now two. "For now."

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle really wasn't expecting anything resembling an answer in the positive.

"Do you mean that?"

[themidnightson]

Edward is not yet left the first emotion reawakened.

The dawn of blasphemy, of disgust...of things too bright to believe in even coming with the scent of stirring warmth and morning. Light is soaking through the sky, pale purples and pinks and oranges. Everywhere but where it should be.

"Don't..." But he doesn't deserve to ask that one.

[ofthefamily]

Don't what?

[themidnightson]

He pulls away from Carlisle's shoulder, from hiding from something so large there would be no hiding from it. Away enough that then his chest isn't touching, but without taking any steps away. It's. There can't be.

This could be worse. He makes himself look at that face. Same face. Heaven. Hell. It's wrong. He's already said it. I can manage. He'll take what he can get. He knows how it broke everything. Last time.

When he didn't know even himself. When Carlisle was...

(I don't want to wait another ten years to see you.

I promise it won't ever be like that again.)

It's almost desperate: "Don't make me promise...anything."


He doesn't....

He can't.

Can.

Would.

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle feels something of Edward's loss for him, even if it's just because of the tone of the other man's voice and he can't do anything to stop it --

He can't even be sorry for causing it.

It's his first act of selfishness.

[themidnightson]

He can't. There's. Edward won't even let it be called a loss. Cringes, very extraordinarily minutely at the idea. That he - they -- He can't -- won't -- doesn't let go. Of Carlisle. Both. The concept is beyond insanity.

This is only the beginning.

[ofthefamily]

"Do you -- "

Hell if Carlisle knows what to do now.

" -- want to keep walking?"

[themidnightson]

Edward nodded. Aware he might be, also, answering a question not in that one. It's fine. It's only a small, short nod, clipped, perhaps passes two or three times only as his hands fell from Carlisle.



"Almost light." Is not a full sentence.

It's aware though. There's water in the distance still?

[ofthefamily]

"True. We could go inside."

[themidnightson]

"I don't mind." Is a better sentence, at least?

[ofthefamily]

"Alright."

Then they're staying outside. It's at least quieter out here, and Carlisle's feeling a little bit brave.

[themidnightson]

"Librettos."

Edward says toward Carlisle's clavicle.

[ofthefamily]

"What about them?"

[themidnightson]

"You'll never give them up."

That is where this started, right?

"Ascots, too."

[ofthefamily]

"Wow. I become terribly predictable then."

[themidnightson]

His lips tugged faintly at one side, more of twitch, really.

"It's makes Christmas easy." When they remember, at least.