Dr. Carlisle Cullen (
ofthefamily) wrote2010-05-11 11:34 am
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Golden: 1819.
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.
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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A small, slightly immature Tasty! happens, and Carlisle laughs at himself.
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Which may be the topic of choice. Or the flavor of choice.
Either way Edward settles for rolling up to sitting, kissing Carlisle's hairline.
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"...this room is starting to be rather off-putting. Who would enjoy this?"
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He was only looking steadily at Carlisle.
"I don't see a room at all."
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"Or I'm saving you from thinking about what you did to me, and what I still want to do to you, in the very small, very beloved children's nursery."
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I hope they clean well?
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Carlisle starts humming something terribly appropriate for the room they are currently occupying, reaching for Edward's hips again --
"Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques, Dormez-vous?
Dormez-vous?"
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"As though there were a second to waste on that."
Beat. "Or on your have too much clothing still."
Which is what Edward's hands turned to taking care of. Button by button, perhaps, nearly in beat to the humming.
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As though this could not be so bad a thing.
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