Ohio, 1920

[themidnightson]

There are many differences to the lifestyle in Ohio.

Chiefly among them is the inflated necessity of keeping face.



They have to appear in the right circles and the right places casually and consistently.

They have to circulate and interact, both the new private care doctor and his first year med school brother.



Tonight that is the Sesame Club, where Jazz music, frivolity, dancing and food flow freely.

Comments

[ofthefamily]

Just go --

Hands fly up to wrists, pulling them back and away, giving Carlisle all the access he might need to Edward. Carlisle catches Edward's mouth with his own.

The blond man still thinks Edward exaggerates.

[themidnightson]

It's the doubt (rippling through Carlisle into him) that drives him.

To take the hands pushed down and away, to grasp them onto lapels, that are crushed into granite fingers, as he's pulled forward into the harder kiss. Except no, it's not--and then pushed backward stumbling toward the wall.

Words are so trivial, so meaningless, so shallow and empty and devoid of what he's trying to say, what would make sense if Carlisle could just hear him. Why can't he just--

It's supposed to be a battle of faith and frustration, but the wall rebounds, possibly cracks slightly against the sudden slam of their bodies, without breaking the contact of their mouths and Edwards not sure he's wants to be thinking about it anything anymore except that.

[ofthefamily]

Why can't I just hear him?

The names of the bones under Carlisle's wandering hands accelerate when Edward crushes into him Ilium Sacrum Iliac Crest Iliac Fossa and Carlisle finally switches off when he accidentally untucks Edward's pocket chain from his vest.

Carlisle doesn't pay attention to it.

[themidnightson]

Edward can't help but pay attention to it.

Things he's newly learning in classrooms and books and Carlisle's memories, the voice he's attuned to skipping through his head analytically even against he fury, the hands that he can't stop following the path of.

There's a groan against Carlisle's lips, turning into quickly put words, even though he doesn't pull away. "Why do you do that?"

[ofthefamily]

It takes a second for Carlisle to realize he's talking about the doctor's recitation of the bones of Edward's hip and not Carlisle pulling Edward's shirttails out and anchoring him by his belt buckle.

Habit, Carlisle struggles with an answer. It'll take me forever to know you. Have to start somewhere.

[themidnightson]

There's an interesting pause in Edward for the second answer, not interesting enough that he moves away or even goes still. He shivers even though the night air has no temperature, and moves his arms to go about placing his hands palms down on the wall on either side of Carlisle's head.

"You could tire of me befor--"

Except he's not looking where his hands go.

Not thinking except to step in, to press closer.

And that means his hand doesn't hit the wall but the edge of a high stack of pallets for transporting large, back door, cargo with the careless strong ease that few human things ever are.

[ofthefamily]

Cazzo --

The pallets crash to the ground. Someone will be out to see what happened in a moment.

Oh, Edward, he thinks and his tone is so light with laughter it nearly sounds like a different man altogether, I've lived through the rise and fall of centuries. More lifetimes than I usually care to think about or remember.

I can't imagine a world where I don't want you with me, however I can keep you.

[themidnightson]

"That one-" he says, jerking his glance to a window one floor up and right above them, but he's grinning crookedly, as he grabs one of Carlisle's hands. The one still tangled in his shirt. The one that makes his skin colder once its moved away.

They could be gone before the man even manages to stumble over, pull back the curtain and throw up the window.

[ofthefamily]

They are.

Carlisle's laugh echoes in the alley.