On The Outskirts: Chapter One

"Get an old panel truck for $95 and be your own Monastery in it, parking in the open desert and on wild seacoasts like Nags Head and Gaviota and in the mountains and on the outskirts of Mexican Villages and in the great woods north and south-carrying mattress, food, books, typewriter, camping equipment, brakeman's lantern and the determination to keep rolling and keep on the path of purity."

~Jack Kerouac, Some of the Dharma

CPOV

Spring semester was finally over; the past two months had been hell and I would have been happy to never see another pre-vet student again. Something about warm weather turned them all into brainless four-year-olds and I had more than one who didn't end up passing one of my classes. If I was stuck inside teaching, they sure as hell were going to be stuck in there with me, not skipping class to enjoy the sunshine and girls in short skirts.

But all that was behind me now. I'd submitted my last grade this afternoon, and I was a free man until the end of August. I wasn't planning on returning to Chapel Hill until the day my classes started in the fall. I just hoped that my host for the summer, who was unaware of my impending arrival, wouldn't mind a house guest for a few months.

I threw what little luggage I was taking with me into the back of my Thunderbird and cranked the top down before I got in and headed out of town, towards the salty air and sandy feet of my past. It was one of those rare, late May days in North Carolina where the humidity was low, the sky was crystal clear, and it wasn't uncomfortably hot yet. I flipped the radio on and found a station out of Durham that was playing decent music, interspersed with NASCAR news and college basketball commentary. I smiled to myself; only in North Carolina would you hear basketball talk on the radio in May.

I had unintentionally timed my drive perfectly. I would be getting to the island right at the same time as it got dark enough for the lights to go down and the music to go up. He would be starting his first set when I got there and I would be able to sit back and watch him for at least a few songs before he noticed me. I drove through Elizabeth City just as the sun was starting to dip into the Pasquotank River. Fishing skiffs were coming in for the night and gulls swooped lazily around the harbor as I drove down Main Street. I had very deep rooted memories of this place; coming into town for dentist appointments and Veteran's Day parades, going to the mercantile and being allowed to pick two pieces of candy from the jar on the counter, and that one time that he and I almost got caught behind the theater on Pointdexter Street.

I smiled at that memory, remembering our frantic groping and rough kisses, full of need and desire and lust, but also filled with confusion. I was home from my freshman year at college and he was getting ready to start his senior year in high school. We ran into each other in town for the first time since I'd been home and we were drawn to each other in ways that were unimaginable to either of us. It was the mid-'40s in rural North Carolina. Boys just weren't supposed to feel that way about each other, but we sure as hell did and rather than try and explain it, we just went for it with all the passion and awkwardness that goes along with young lust. That was the first summer we spent together; there had been many after that, but none recently. I missed him with a dull ache that never went away, like the way I longed for my carefree childhood, spent barefoot on the beach surrounded by familiarity and comfort.

He was home and I wanted to be home again. I just hoped he felt the same way.

The moon was full and round, its beams dancing off the small waves of the Pamilco Sound as I crossed the two lane bridge and onto the barrier islands that hugged the coast of Northeastern North Carolina. Scrub oaks and sandy dunes dotted the side of the road and the smell of blooming Russian olives permeated the air. Taking a deep breath, I filled my lungs with the salty air.

I knew the lack of cars in the parking lot was deceiving. Most people could walk to The Casino from the cedar shingle lined cottages that had been in most families for generations. Plus, the sand was deep and the chances of your car getting stuck on the side of the one paved road that ran the length of the island were great. I could hear the music thumping and throbbing as I stepped out of my car and headed towards the front door. Ras Wescott, The Casino's owner, was standing just outside the entrance, keeping a quiet eye on things. He wasn't above tossing someone out himself, even though he employed several bouncers for that very purpose. The fact that he was standing there told me it had already been a wild night, and I was honestly looking forward to the crowd. I flicked my Lucky Strike into the sand and walked up to Ras, smiling as he looked up at me from his newspaper.

"Well goddamn if it isn't Carlisle Cullen," he boomed as he smacked his giant hand across my back. "Finally decide to come home for a spell, did ya?"

"Hi Ras," I smiled, grasping his other hand and shaking it heartily. "For the summer, anyway. Spring semester ended today and I drove right down."

"Well lemme tell ya these kids are all kindsa crazy tonight. The band is hoppin' and the beer is flowin' and them girls' skirts is gettin' shorter and shorter. Get on in there and enjoy yourself. Drinks on me tonight, son. Just be sure to take your shoes off when you get on the dance floor," he said, winking.

I laughed. "You know I will. Is Edward playing with the house band tonight?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Yessir he is. Been here every night this week without fail. He know you're comin'?"

"No, I don't think he does. Hey, thanks for the drinks, Ras. I'm gonna go on in," I replied.

The bottom level of the dance hall had duck pin bowling, pool tables, and a snack bar, but the real party happened up on the second story. There was a huge wooden dance floor that Ras kept shiny with bowling alley wax and you had to check your shoes at the top of the stairs before you were allowed in. I had left my shoes in the car, knowing that I probably wouldn't put them back on again until August. I headed over to the bar and got a PBR from the girl working the till, ignoring her flirtatious advances. I still hadn't turned towards the stage; the band was taking a break but I could hear a trumpet being softly played, so I knew they were getting ready to start a new set. I settled into a table in the corner of the room and looked up towards the bandstand for the first time.

He was sitting at the piano, hunched over and scribbling something on a piece of sheet music, his bare foot tapping out a melody that was probably taking root in his mind. He paused for a second, pulled a cigarette out of the pocket of his madras shirt and manged to strike a match and light it with one hand, the other still scribbling. He then ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in a hundred different directions as he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

Suddenly he stopped, taking a long pull from the cigarette and raising his head to survey the room. His green eyes locked onto mine and narrowed for a moment before his mouth turned up into the slightest grin. I tipped my can of beer to him just as the trumpet player made his horn wail, signaling the start of the set. Couples hurried out onto the dance floor and began dancing to the big band music. A sticky breeze rolled in off the ocean and the hypnotic thumping of bare feet matched with the banging of piano keys lulled me into a trance. I watched as his fingers danced over the keys and his foot tapped in time to the music. I noticed when he nodded to the trombone to kick up the tempo a notch and when he signaled to the drummer to go easy on the bass for a few bars.

The whole thing was orchestrated chaos and he was the conductor.

He had complete control over the crowd; he slowed down their gyrations at will and then catapulted them back into a frenzied mass of sweating, throbbing bodies at his leisure. It was a beautiful thing to watch and I found myself growing hard at the thought of him conducting me like that. One song ran into the next and the dancers started to drop off the floor a few at a time. I could tell the rest of the band was getting tired too, but Edward was keyed up and frantic and was still banging away at the poor upright when the trombone player finally inched his way over and shouted something into his ear. Edward seemed to snap out of it and brought the song back down, spiraling into a dirty, brassy finish that seemed more appropriate for a Delta juke joint than a dance hall in eastern North Carolina.

I'll be the first to admit that I was really damn anxious to see how this was all going to play out. Edward had a tendency to be at either one or extreme or the other. I figured he'd either drag me out of the bar and we wouldn't make it as far as the car before one of us was half naked, or he'd punch me in the jaw and not speak to me for a week. I was honestly kind of hoping for a little bit of both. Judging from the way he was banging on the piano, I had a pretty good chance of getting naked and roughed up later tonight.

I downed the rest of my beer as Edward turned slowly away from the trombone player and narrowed his eyes at me again. I knew I was in for it. I stood up and grabbed my jacket off the back of the chair and headed toward the exit without a second glance at him, but I knew he was following me. I high‐tailed my ass down the stairs and was almost to the car when he caught up with me. I turned around just as he shoved me up against the fender, knocking the breath out of me and making my dick spring to life once again.

"What the fuck, Carlisle," he breathed angrily into my ear, biting at it and shoving against me with his hips.

"Hey," I groaned back. This was looking good for me. He was speaking, at least. And biting. I could dig the biting. "Don't dent my car," I said, grinning. Of course he immediately slammed into me again, but I was ready for it that time and slammed right back. He pushed away from me and took a deep breath, his green eyes glowing with lust and frustration.

"I'm walking home," he growled.

"Fine. See you there," I replied, still grinning like a lunatic.

He made me feel drunk and invincible. I got off on his temper and he knew it. Sometimes he acted mad just because he knew it made me crazy. This was not one of those times, though. He really was pissed. I lit up a cigarette and then tossed the pack at him. He caught it with one hand and turned and started walking, grumbling under his breath and raking his fingers through his already disheveled hair. I hopped into the car and gunned the engine, spinning the wheels in the sand before I was able to get out of the lot and back onto the road. I was damn determined to get to the house before him, hoping that would give me the upper hand.

Edward lived in a saltbox that was originally the servant's quarters next to his parents' house. The days of anyone in Northeastern North Carolina having servants were long gone and I had honestly never understood why Edward just didn't move into the main house. His parents rarely made the trip down to Nags Head any more so the old cedar‐shingled house was really his for the taking. But he insisted on holing up in the little outbuilding, surrounded by his papers and music and cats.

The porch light was on when I pulled into the sand‐covered cement driveway and there were at least four cats lazing about, tails flicking at the gnats that swarmed around. The front door was wide open and giant cicadas peppered the screen. Sheets were hanging out on the line in the side yard, flapping in the subtle breeze coming off the ocean. I killed the headlights and just sat in the car for a minute, taking in the scene before me, trying to steady my heartbeat. I was home. Finally, finally home.

I eventually got out of the car and made my way up the steps; the cats flicked their ears at me but didn't bother moving off the stairs as I stepped over them. The inside of the house didn't look much different from the last time I was here. Walking in, I was immediately surrounded by Edward. Scraps of paper and sheet music were stacked, tossed, and pinned to every surface. On top of the piano were three ripening tomatoes and a full ashtray, along with another sleeping cat. Clothes, towels, blankets, and other various textiles were draped across the couch and chairs. You could see the progression of his day; drying swim trunks right by the front door next to a surfboard, slices of hoop cheese and pieces of bread still laying on the kitchen counter next to a jar of mustard, a fishing pole propped up against the icebox, an inkwell sitting precariously on top of the stove, and a clear jar filled with an amber liquid that I was quite sure came from one of the Camden County Jennings.

Edward would drive down to the swamp every so often when he was feeling particularly dry and for some reason that still eluded me, the old moonshiners trusted him implicitly. There were Red and White grocery bags filled with newspapers and old editions of National Geographic, posters from The Casino rolled up and stacked in the corners, and old photographs occupying nearly every space of available wall. I wandered over to a wall and glanced over the frames he had hanging there. Some pictures were of dogs and horses he had loved, there were a few of his parents, but most of them were of us. From when we were in school, summers spent on the beach, get‐togethers in town.

One in particular stood out. I remembered our friend Bella taking it several summers ago, back when things were far less complicated. Edward and I were standing on the beach right behind the house, the dunes and pelicans the back drop. We were both windblown and freckled; he had his arm draped over my shoulders and even though we were facing the camera, the sides of our heads were just barely touching.

I wanted that again. I wanted him to be happy, simple. I wanted his overactive brain to shut off and just be here with me, even if it was only for the summer. I knew that was asking a lot from him; a sincere smile from Edward was enough to make me feel high for days. I hoped he would give that feeling to me again. I hoped he would let me ask for it.

I jumped as the screen door smacked against the wood frame, startled out of my reflective state of mind and brought right back into the present. The present, which consisted solely of Edward and his angry sex eyes, standing just inside the door, holding a big orange cat. He shuffled the cat to the kitchen counter and started stalking towards me. I instinctively took a step backwards; it was a toss‐up as to whether his walk home had cooled him down or simply served to infuriate him even more. But then he grinned crookedly at me and every ounce of tension and worry and months of longing melted away from me.

"I'm still mad at you," he said, smiling.

"I know. I probably deserve it. It's really good to see you," I responded.

"You definitely deserve it, Carlisle. I'll probably leave a mark or ten on your annoying ass."

"Promise?" I teased him, leaning in and grabbing his bottom lip between my teeth. He answered me with an annoyed groan, but at the same time reached up and ran his hand up the back of my head, pulling me closer to him. He kissed me proper, finally, our tongues and teeth clashing and biting and sucking.

"Fuck, Carlisle. Fuck, fuck, fuck," Edward chanted as I pulled away and started nipping at his ear and down to his jawline. If I could have crawled inside of him right then and there I would have. Actually, I would have rather had him buried deep, deep inside of me. I told him so and he growled and sharply shoved me backwards onto the sofa. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back so he had better access to my neck, where he bit me, hard, right at my collarbone.

"You're fucking mine, Carlisle. Mine. No more of this bullshit, you got it?"

"Prove it, Edward," I said, looking straight into his dark eyes and grinning.

He was on top of me in a second, ripping at my shirt and clawing at the button on my pants. He was so frantic; I finally pushed his hands off of me and took my pants off myself. He had managed to step out of his shorts and as soon as my dick sprang free from the confines of my khakis he had his hand around it, pumping furiously as he spun us around so that my back was facing him. My knees hit the couch and buckled, but his one arm was around my waist immediately, holding me up and against him. He reached into the drawer of an end table and pulled out lube and a condom.

I wondered briefly why he would have that shit so available, but as his cool, slick finger started to circle my entrance I decided I didn't really give a fuck. He slipped one finger in, and then another, the burn ripping through me and settling somewhere deep inside my stomach. He added another finger as he pumped in and out and I had to stifle a cry that came from a place somewhere between pleasure and pain.

"Now, Edward. Please, please now," I whined. I certainly wasn't beneath begging at that point as I rocked back onto his hand and reached behind me, wrapping my hand around his neck.

He didn't say a word, but I felt him position himself and push into me, his dick filling me in ways that were deeper than I ever could have imagined. It hurt like a motherfucker; it had been a long time since we'd been together (and there had been no one else for me in between), but I relished the pain. I deserved the pain much more than I deserved him.

"Stop thinking, Carlisle," he said, as if he could read my mind. "Stop thinking and just pay attention to what it feels like when I fuck you." With that, he pulled nearly all of the way out and then slammed back into me. He reached around and took my dick in his hand and started to jack me off again, frantically and without any kind of rhythm. I twisted and clenched around him every time he thrust back into me, trying to get more friction, more tightness, closer. I wasn't going to last long and I knew he wasn't either. I reached down and wrapped my hand around his as I started to come, the sight of our hands together overwhelming me.

He came right after me, slowly and quietly, in stark contrast to the activity that had led us up to that point. When he was finished, he turned me around and fell onto the couch, pulling me with him. We sat with our arms wrapped around each other, softly kissing, him whispering sweet, ridiculous things into my ear as I just sighed and remained at a loss for words. Eventually he peeled away from me and stood up, silently reaching out for my hand and leading me into the bedroom. We collapsed into his sandy sheets and he curled around me and let me hold him as we both fell asleep.

I woke an hour or so later to the sound of the ceiling fan clicking slowly and Edward snoring slightly. The sound of his gentle, satiated breathing made me feel pretty rotten for a minute. I knew he didn't sleep regularly, and I knew a big part of that was my fault. I rolled over and softly kissed his shoulder; he tasted like salt and sunshine. Like Edward. He began to stir and I buried my face into his shoulder and wrapped myself around him. He needed holding, even if he refused to admit it.

"I'm glad you came home," he said, leaning into my embrace even further and letting out a shaky breath.

"Me too. I worry about you, you know? You get so lost in yourself. But I thought giving you time to get yourself sorted was a good idea. I guess I was wrong."

"Don't make decisions for me, Carlisle. I'm fully capable of taking care of myself. But when you go back to Chapel Hill and don't call or write for months at a time it makes me think that I'm nothing to you. You show up for a day here and a weekend there and then leave me again. It pisses me off," he said, his voice hardening in a heartbeat.

"I'm sorry, Edward. Don't do this again. Don't get angry. I know we have a lot to talk about, but can you please just be here with me right now? Stop thinking and just be. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, I promise," I pleaded, tightening my hold and burying my face in the crook of his neck.

"I love you so fucking much it infuriates me," he muttered.

"I know, baby. Let's get it right this time, okay? We have all summer." My deep and undying sentiments were brought to a crashing halt as the lamp on the bedside table fell to the floor and shattered. Edward had his back to it and didn't flinch. I looked up over his shoulder and while I wanted to be surprised at the sight before me, I just couldn't be.

"Um, Edward…" I began, "Why is there a horse with his head through the window right now?"

He laughed silently into my chest and then matter‐of‐factly said, "That's Ripper. Darlene Midgette gave him to me after he dumped her kids for the hundredth time and broke the little one's arm."

I sat up and looked more closely at the brown and white horse who now had my shirt in his mouth and was ripping it apart at the seams.

"Where the hell do you keep him?"

"He just wanders. He stays in the yard for the most part. The other day he started off across the Sound, though. Haven't got a clue where he was going, but he turned around after I stood out there and yelled at him for a while. I believe Darlene has another stallion that Bobby brought home that she's about ready to kill. I could go get him and we could take off into the sunset. Like Roy Rogers."

"You're such a shit," I said as I flipped him onto his back and pinned his hands over his head. I slid down his torso, on my way to licking his hipbones, when there was another loud crash.

"Goddammit Edward," I growled.

"Riptide, get the hell out of here," he shouted as he threw a pillow at the stallion, who snorted and squealed, but backed out of the window.

I bit down hard on his pelvic bone, causing him to grunt out a string of words that weren't even
intelligible. He tried to flip us so that I was the one on my back, but I held him down. Edward had control issues and rarely liked to be pinned underneath anything, but short stints of being held against his will were good for him. Or at least in my mind they were. Mostly because it made him struggle and in turn get frustrated, and usually he took those frustrations out on me. Which was even better than being on top. The easiest way to keep him on his back was to put his dick in my mouth, which is exactly what I did.

I took his shaft in my hand and flattened my tongue as I licked from bottom to top, swirling around the tip as I twisted my hand. He arched up towards me and I used my free hand to push his hips back down onto the bed. He started to protest, but I moved my hands from his hips to his balls, which shut him up pretty quickly. I took his whole length into my mouth and grazed him with my teeth on the way back up. He groaned and lifted his hips again, thrusting into the back of my throat. I let him that time, wrapping my hand around the base of his cock and pumping him as my tongue went up and down, up and down. His cock twitched in my hand and he started to warn me that he was close, but then decided against it and just pushed up into my mouth again as he came. I smiled against him and took it from him, finally giving him some control.

When he was done, I crawled back up to the pillows and Edward immediately flipped over on his stomach.

"I think you've killed me, Carlisle. Thanks. Life was getting rather exhausting."

"Don't talk like that, Edward," I said as I slapped his ass, hard, and bolted from the bed before he could catch me. I picked up the first pair of shorts I found laying on the floor and wandered into the kitchen. I knew Edward kept grass in the house and I really, really needed to roll a joint. I guess he heard me rummaging around in the cabinets because he yelled out "over the stove" and I found a pickle jar filled with the greenest weed I'd seen a long time. There were papers laying right next to it, so I rolled two joints and shuffled back into the bedroom with them and the jar of liquor. He was pulling up his shorts as I walked through the doorway.

"Can we go sit on the beach?" he asked, almost shyly.

"Of course, baby," I said, smiling. He grinned at me and threw his arm over my shoulder, kissing my neck as he led me back out of the bedroom.

We headed out the back door, the screen slamming with a satisfying thwack, and walked over the grassy dune onto the beach below. The moon was full and shimmering off the calm ocean. Edward collapsed onto the sand, laughing and pulling me with him. I lit one the joints as he unscrewed the top of the jar and we took turns passing them back and forth to each other. We sat there for hours, sometimes talking quietly about unimportant stuff, but mostly just in silence, the only noise coming from the waves lapping at the shoreline and Ripper chewing salt grass on the dune behind us. The sky started to turn blue, and then pink, and then a brilliant orange and Edward finally stood up and offered out his hand to me again. I took it and stood, and we went back into the house and collapsed back into bed, curling around each other, both of us holding on for dear life.

A/N

This story is based on a real place and on very real people. The landscape has changed, but the sand and the salt air are still very much there.

Many, many thanks to my dear friend suzspetals for beta'ing at the eleventh hour. She keeps me sane...not an easy task. Plus she's really not a fan of the slash, so she had to insert "suzspetals" every time there was a "Carlisle." That there is love, let me tell ya. ;-) Also special thanks and inappropriate ass grabs to sadtomatoFF and TheRainGirl4 for pre-reading, cheerleading, and occasionally threatening bodily harm if I didn't hurry up and finish the damn thing. You guys are the bestest.

And lastly, thank you, thank you, thank you to my Rachie for making the awesome banner for this story and helping me come up with the title. *smooches*

Chapter 2 coming soon...reviews are much appreciated.