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Cold air seeped through the crevices left by the slightly opened window, the smell of petrichor and dew wafting in from the rain. Nobody seemed to notice. It mingled with the overwhelming warmth emanating from so many people packed in one room like sardines in a tin. It made a muscle in Edward’s face twitch.
He was a wallflower. Painfully, pitifully. He wasn’t sure which was worse. His long body leaned against the wall, his shoulders slightly hunched, as though he could make himself merge into the wall if he simply kept still enough. He wasn’t so much of a drinker. The glass in his hand had remained almost entirely untouched, serving more as an excuse for his hands to be occupied than anything else.
The party was supposed to be a celebration. Someone from accounting had exceeded their quarterly target, and apparently that was reason enough for half the office to get drunk in a rented room above a bar. Edward had spent the better part of an hour observing the room and mentally calculating how much longer he needed to stay before leaving would no longer be considered rude.
Twenty minutes, perhaps. Ten, if he could find a convincing excuse.
His gaze drifted toward the window again. Rain crawled down the glass, turning Gotham’s lights outside into warped streaks of red, yellow, and white. It was considerably more interesting than the people around him.
God, why would you even come, Edward?
Edward groaned internally. With each blink, his coworkers metamorphosized into monstrous forms, the manifestation of his self hatred directed right back at him. Grotesque amalgamations, slandering his integrity with their mere existence. His breathing came heavier.
“Why are you sweating?”
Your voice broke the illusion. Edward blinked hard, looking around as if something was expected to return. You had no idea what could possibly be culminating in his mind. The sheer horrors he dealt with.
“I’m simply—”
He hesitated.
“Observing.”
You didn‘t buy that. You weren‘t stupid, he would come to realize.
“Observing?”
“Yes.”
You looked around the room.
“You look miserable.”
Edwards thumbnail dug into the skin of his index finger. A nasty gut feeling telling him that you were being condescending, irking his very being.
You smiled wider despite himself.
“What have you observed?”
Edward glanced toward the crowd. It took him a minute to get any words to come out of his mouth.
“..Gary’s had too much to drink.”
You looked over at Gary, who was currently attempting to convince someone to dance with him. A laugh came in broken phrases. Your gaze came back to meet his, an uncomfortable feeling of being perceived crawling under his skin—immortalized in the slightest of red flushing on his cheeks.
He glanced away like it burned.
You repulsive fool.
“Edward?”
Your voice rang out. He only managed a nod of acknowledgement, but he didn‘t look into your eyes. You went on anyway.
“Would you maybe want to, I don‘t know, go somewhere else? Somewhere other than here.”
“What?”
A smile twitched at the side of your mouth, a gentle upward curve that Edward certainly didn’t miss.
“Would you want to go somewhere else?”
You repeat, a little bit more confident.
“Oh, I.. I don’t know..”
Edward looked off to the side, to the ceiling, anywhere but you. He took a sip of his drink to subside any thoughts that would come up. Or things he would notice.
Like the way the dim, warm lighting gave your hair an ethereal glow, illuminating individual strands that were caught in their own beams. He took another sip.
“Well I suppose,”
Edward finally said.
The words came out too quickly, as though he were afraid that if he waited another second, you might reconsider asking. He hated himself for that. Not the fact that he wanted to leave. That was reasonable. Sensible even. He hated the eagerness. The pathetic little spark of relief that had appeared in his chest at the possibility of being somewhere quieter with you. Like he was someone worth offering something to.
“Okay,”
You didn’t make a fuss about it. You simply reached for his hand. Edward watched you for half a second too long, mentally smacking himself for the way his hand twitched, itching to pull back. He looked away.
Don’t stare.
His eyes dropped to the floor.
Everybody noticed a stare. Maybe not immediately. Maybe they were polite enough to pretend they hadn’t. But eventually, everyone noticed the strange things about him. The way he stood. The way he spoke. The way his eyes lingered too long on details other people didn’t consider worth noticing.
The way he seemed permanently uncomfortable inside his own skin. You jerked your head to the side, a cue of “follow me.” He straightened so abruptly that his shoulder struck the wall.
“Of course.”
He mumbled. You hid a smile. He noticed, making his stomach twist. Brilliant. He followed you through the room, keeping several steps behind. He didn’t trust himself to walk beside you without doing something embarrassing. The room seemed louder now that he was leaving it. Laughter rose and crashed around him. Someone shouted something incomprehensible near the bar. A chair scraped violently against the floor, making him turn his head for a moment.
Edward’s gaze flickered toward the people around him. For a moment, the room changed.
Teeth became too large. Eyes became dark hollows. Their bodies seemed swollen and distorted beneath their clothes, their laughter becoming something animalistic and cruel. He caught his reflection in the black glass of a framed picture hanging near the door.
He saw himself in his awkward glory, all pale limbs masquerading as something more. A ridiculous, elongated thing attempting to pass as a person.
His shoulders were too narrow. His posture was atrocious. His hair looked as though he’d cut it himself in the dark.
Look at you.
He looked away.
You opened a door, a gentle click with a faint creak as it was pushed open. He looked at you for a second, confusion written all across his face. You just closed the door. He heard it lock.
The bathroom was as fancy as it could be. Which is, to say, not at all. A paper towel dispenser, cheap white toilet with a silver trigger that likely didn’t work, and white sinks with plaster caked on the corners and dried paint bubbles. Edward avoided the mirrors, absentmindedly turning his back to them.
“You were real quiet back there,”
you began.
“Quieter than usual.”
Edward didn’t answer, you just got closer. His throat felt constricted in the way he leaned back in the slightest manner, the sweat beading on his temples and weighing his hair down.
“Have you always been this quiet?”
The question rang in his ears. Deft fingertips trailed down his side, making his breath come lighter in soft puffs. He looked at you, but couldn’t meet your eyes.
He had always been quiet. There was never much to say, not to him at least. They had always tried to coax words out of him. Try to grasp his reactions after they told him—no more than a baby—that his mother had abandoned him. Voices lackadaisical and devoid of any real sympathy, moreso holding a quiet hope that he would magically say a word and they could run with the credit of making the nonverbal verbal. He communicated in cries that bounced off the crumbling walls of an orphanage that held children long forgotten inside.
“..I guess so, yeah.”
He swallowed, a gentle bob of his Adam's apple following the motion. You watched eyes that fought to avoid yours, hand moving lower with the lightest of touches. Eventually, your thumb rested on the side of his belt, a thin trim of leather biting the pad. Edward could feel the edge of the sink pressing into his lower back.
His mouth lay agape, and for the first time he was finally able to look at you. His hands were balled in tight fists, before unfurling with aimless digits that didn’t know what to do with themselves.
“It’s a shame. I’ve always wondered what brews through that head of yours.”
An inner thought laughed bitterly.
As if anybody could understand the reality of it.
The cold bite of your knuckles on his warm skin snapped him out of it, and he gasped. For a moment, you looked up. He was silent.
“Did I overstep?”
“No, no.. I just—”
He looked for the words that could phrase his lack of experience in a way that didn’t emasculate or embarrass him. You seemed to know by now.
“You haven’t done this before, I’m guessing.”
A beat passed before he slowly nodded, dread numbing his fingertips like pins and needles with the sheer gravity of his embarrassment.
“You’ll do just fine.”
Edward’s mouth was still slightly open, but he closed it for a moment when he felt the warmth of your skin on the nape of his neck, embracing brown locks of hair while simultaneously urging him closer. He did, bending forward to accommodate for his height.
Your lips met his, and he froze up before awkwardly allowing himself to be slightly more malleable to your advances. Despite his definitely embarrassing and subpar performance, you took the lead.
It was enjoyable, in a sense. His hands grasped your waist, and he lowered himself as best as he could to ease how far back your neck was craned because of how tall he was. His lungs burned from the denial of air, just to allow a mere few more seconds between your interlocked lips. His skills were juvenile in their underdeveloped manner, with the occasional smash of his teeth or a rigid tongue when he seemed to forget the motion. But he was learning, and you would teach him one way or another.
Eventually, he was forced to pull away, panting. His pale lips bruised with an atypical color they usually lacked. You smiled against his neck, peppering a few light pecks that traveled up to his jaw, and eventually the corner of his mouth. He looked at you with upturned brows, sucking in one more breath before he delved back down into your warm embrace with ardent enthusiasm. Fingers dug into the fabric of your clothing, grasping them with a needy desperation that outmatched any form of suppression. He was far beyond that at this point.
He was fervent and fast, in the way he managed to get you against the beige popcorn wall. Yet he lacked any real dominance, all the missing space brimming with an almost greedy hunger for anything that merely resembled tenderness.
You worked at the buttons of your blouse, and it fell onto the scummy floor unceremoniously. Your fingers found the buckle of his belt, fumbling for a minute. Once again, he stilled. Everything suddenly becoming much, much more real. His hand curled into a ball, then his fingers stretched out in a silent attempt to recuperate his scattered thoughts, all papers strewn in the office of his mind. He saw you look up at him through your lashes, and he averted his gaze sheepishly.
“We don’t have to,”
Don’t be stupid, Edward.
“No, no I want to, believe me.”
“You nervous?”
“Yeah.. yeah. I am.”
That got a grin out of you, one that couldn’t be wiped off of your face. Eventually, you undid his belt. His eyes watched the adroit movement of your fingers, the worn leather springing free after the buckled side slid off. His jeans slid down his thighs in the slightest, simple grey boxers revealed as the prize underneath.
A familiar rosiness reappeared across his face, and his chest quivered with the rise of a deep breath. His head tilted back when your warm palm made contact with his clammy skin, a feather light caress on his mid section that made a fire burn underneath his skin and his head pound. He watched your hand first, then looked up at you when your touch made its descent.
You felt up the length of him. He bit back a groan; and the urge to put his hands god knows where when your hand cupped him. You watched his face, observing the clear restraint, an amusing performance to say the least.
Then, you tugged his boxers down, just enough to work with. You spat in your hand, offering some kind of glide. Edward gasped when your fingers touched his flush skin, the contact making him jerk. He couldn’t help but let a groan slip out as you fisted his cock entirely now, wrapped around the girth of him and allowing your thumb along the slit of the head. His body was reactive, shaking with the effort of not pumping his hips when you found a steady rhythm to jerk him off. Your hand glided smoother as dribbles of precome leaked from his tip, coming down the side. His hand flew up to your shoulder, the other bracing himself on the cold porcelain sink.
His mouth opened, then his jaw clenched. His head came to rest atop of the hand on your shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut in a painful bliss. Tremors ran through his entire body, sparks firing on each nerve. His hips ached, with the slightest grind forward into each pump of your fist. Your thumb swiped over the weeping head, which elicited a higher pitched moan of surprise, and earning a twitch from his cockhead, with a few more spurts coming down along his shaft.
It was angelic; the noises that spilled out of him. They wouldn‘t come out until he was completely full of pleasure, unable to hold back any more like an overfilled glass spilling from the edges. Sweet noises of a once overworking brain going idle for just a minute.
It was obvious when he was going to reach his climax. His rhythm now frantic as he closed his eyes, nose pressed to the crook of your neck. His chest rose with a quiver, and every exhale dragged a noise along with it. Your pace quickened, less focused on the base but rather the more sensitive tip. It worked, in the way he contorted and panted. His fists were clenched into solid fists, before rising up behind his neck when he threw his head back and finally came. Ropes of white painted his belly, the waves crashing down on him as he knitted his brows together and his tensed up—then sagged. You kept eyes trained on him, letting him ride out his climax until it had subsided somewhat.
Edward‘s mind was a fuzzy static, unable to form comprehensible thoughts in that moment of unregulated ecstasy. In that small period where he couldn‘t form a thought, it scared him. Edward had never had a single moment in time where there wasn‘t something going on in his head.
No inner voice belittling him, or making assumptions about those around him—wondering how long it would take before they directed their hatred and disdain for the world to him. He opened his eyes only after the last few pearlescent beads became nothing more than a smear, and the final twitches reminiscent of his short-lived euphoria had stilled. A hard blink—then a long, drawn out inhale.
His nose nudged your cheek, hesitant in the way his lips ghost over yours for a mere second before eventually indulging in the flavor of your lips.
You had to step out of your pants, which you now realized were still on when you felt an uncomfortable lack of stimulation. The space between your legs was by this point more than ready, slicked up with your arousal pooling above your thighs and dampened panties. Edward was no more than pliable, post-orgasm yet willing. Unclear if it was for more closeness to another human, or something along the lines.
Slowly, agonizingly, you grinded over him with a subtle rotation of your hips. Edward was surprised he didn’t implode right then and there. The fabric of your underwear offered a delicious friction, especially when you rocked your hips and had your clit bump the head of his cock.
“Take my underwear off, Edward.”
He paused at the command.
“Y..yeah?”
You nod, which makes Edward shift in place. Slowly, his hands hesitantly weigh on either side of your hips, hooking the corners and guiding your underwear down. He gulped when you stepped out, tossing the garment who knows where.
It’s awkward, for a moment. At least to him, in his inexperience. Despite his undeniable intelligence, Edward had little exploration in this field—evident in his hesitance and need for reassurance. His hands make their way on either side of your hips, thumbs hooking into the soft fabric and rolling them down. You stepped out, and he looked up at you with such unreadable emotion. It was a cocktail, a mixture of colors indistinguishable to the normal eye.
The cotton was warm with the heat of your body, a warmth Edward wanted to soak up and absorb—for it to become one with him. Maybe he’d absorb your ability to get along with people like it was as easy as breathing.
With your careful guidance, Edward backs you up onto the toilet bowl. If you were sober, maybe you’d consider the possible risks that come with this situation. But you weren’t, so the thoughts melted right out of you.
“You’ve never eaten a girl out either, huh?”
Edward meekly shook his head.
“You know where the clit is though?”
This time, he nodded.
“Right. That’s all you need to know, really. As long as you give it special attention you’ll make a girl happy.”
Your shoulders were pressed against cold porcelain, your bare frame exposed to the chill of the bathroom. A soft hum emanated from above, which would’ve taken you out of the mood if you didn’t have front row tickets to seeing Edward’s face buried in your thighs.
He was slow and sloppy at first. His tongue was incredibly warm, licking a trail of saliva up the middle. It took him a second and a nudge or two, but eventually he found the clit. His fingers wrapped around the backs of your thighs, pushing them up against your belly in the slightest as an attempt to reach all of you. His attention didn’t falter, and his eagerness was to be admired in the way he was actually managing to make you shiver.
His tongue swirled around the bud, and you let out a shaky inhale, digits burrowing into the loose brunette locks of his hair to stabilize yourself. The stimulation makes you squirm, the heel of your foot digging into his shoulder and flexing with a newfound energy. His knees clad on a cold tiled floor, hard once again with a weeping tip.
It’s almost cruel—the way you urge him to continue by eagerly pushing his head, so close to pulling his hair. His lips close around it, a light suction on your already sensitive clit that made you moan with intensity. His nose perched atop the hood, and his eyes that were mostly closed, looking up at you, could’ve made you come right then and there.
It was like he was communicating with just his eyes, a question; ”am I doing good?” Edward, ever so anxious about his ability,—or inability,—to please. Such a tender look that made you feel fire in your loins. Your back arched, your breath coming faster and the blood rushing to your cheeks. Your legs tensed, then unfurled and coiled right back up again.
“Edward,”
You pant through a groan.
“Edward, can you hear me?”
He nodded, looking up yet keeping his previous motion up.
“I want you to do something for me, yeah? Just a few more seconds and I want you to put it inside. You think you can do that?”
Your muscles contracted, and moans spilled out of you like heavenly prayers. Edward keenly lapped up everything that you had to offer, and you knew it would be moments before you would climax, judging by the way your toes curled and your hips seeked friction, practically grinding yourself on his face.
It’d be a heartbeat before you would come that Edward pulled away, the cold air nipping at your core in the absence of his warm mouth. You couldn’t manage a whimper in the seconds it took for him to align the head of his cock with your entrance, bracing his arms on either side of you. A moan ripped out of him when he bottomed out for the first time, feeling the feverish warmth of being inside of you. It was overwhelmingly perfect—the way he fit inside of you like a key to a lock.
Your head lolled back, pleasantly surprised. Edward had to take a second to recuperate himself, fully bottomed out. A slow thrust back with a smooth glide, and it made the both of you make noise in unison.
“Just follow your instinct.”
You urged him, and he nodded.
Edward’s eyes were glued to the sight of him inside of you, watching the gentle resistance your body gave whenever he would pull back out. It was a torturously slow process, before he eventually scraped up the confidence to go a little bit faster.
It was a tender rhythm, and the intimacy wasn’t lost between you two. You urged his head lower, and his lips reunited with yours in a breathless exchange. Passionate and delicate. His teeth didn’t catch on your skin, allowing himself to be vulnerable enough and to be guided by your touch.
It was a feeling unlike any other—the revelation notable in the way his fingers dug into your skin just a little firmer, keeping you close to him.
Edward was never allowed to get this close with anybody, not in such an intimate manner. This was the closest two bodies could ever be with one another, and he intended to get as close as humanly possible. He would crawl under your skin and cocoon there if he absolutely had to. He would reemerge in a beautiful metamorphosis, a complete transformation. No longer would he be Edward Nashton. He would be something purer.
He rocked his hips at a manageable pace, hitting that spongy spot that made you whine against his lips, silenced by the reconnection. Saliva dribbled down your chin, and a sheen of sweat made your skin look as if it were glowing. You were, to him at least. You were the embodiment of divinity.
“Edward, Edward—”
You gasped, pulling him closer by the shoulder blades, your palm in between them and scrabbling to bring him closer to you. He said nothing in response, allowing the silence to be filled by his sounds of exertion.
One leg wrapped around his waist, and your body curved to meet his at just the right angle to guarantee he would hit the spot you needed him the most. It made your mouth gape, your lips searching for his skin and pressing light kisses to the constellations of freckles and moles on milky skin.
You held on to him for dear life, feeling his pace get erratic yet sloppier with each second. He could feel his whole body tense, loud moans the warnings before he would come—and your body uncontrollably spasming to be the warning before you would.
You came first, your body contracting and your grip around him getting tighter. Your mind blanked, reaching such a high that drowned everything out with a ring. The sudden tightness threw him off, and he, as well, reached his peak.
Edward fucked into you for just a while longer, holding your legs down through the entire climax where he shot rope after rope into you, an essence that seeped through the corners. His body collapsed, and he shuddered above you, his weight coming down.
Yet he didn’t pull out. He couldn’t—not yet. Edward kept you plugged up with him, getting as close as he possibly could to you with him at the hilt inside. His face nuzzled into the junction of your neck, and his breath grazed your skin, coming in heavy bursts.
You were boneless beneath him, and your nails scratched his back gently, absentmindedly. Domestic, even, ignoring the setting.
Eventually, as he would soften, he had to pull away. Edward got up with a grunt, a hand braced on the back of your thigh as he pulled out for the final time. You hissed, sensitive and aching and clenching around nothing in the absence of him. He was marveled by the sight of his release dripping out of you. Lighting a match that would stay unnamed.
You sighed, looking up at the ceiling. An old, dusty fluorescent light stared back at you. You could hear the frequency of the light. Surprisingly still behind you, Edward’s voice makes you freeze.
“Was that good?”