#caledith

“I was thinking you could take a look at this part? I’ve already got most of the research done, so we only have to comb through it.” 

Cal doesn't lift his eyes from the papers scattered on the table, a small crease between his brows, the one that appears whenever he’s focused. That’s why he doesn’t notice Edith staring at him instead of what he’s handing her, not until his arm starts to feel heavy. He misreads her expression, though. 

“It’s two pages.” An encouraging smile that is completely wasted on her.

Only two pages. He’d gotten an early start on their project as soon as the teacher paired them together— something about ‘making sure Edith had at least one graded project for the class’ and ‘being a good influence on her’. It had bothered Cal to no end, the way they had talked about her as if she wasn’t even there, but then she’d sneaked a playful smile at him and Cal had stopped worrying about it… he’d stopped thinking altogether, to be honest.

Still, it didn’t seem like she enjoyed this kind of thing, so he had tried to handle most of the work in advance. He was only now starting to think it hadn’t been enough.

Edith finally glances at the papers, only to raise an eyebrow at him. “Or, you could enjoy my two pages while I go get us something to drink.”

“We have coffee, though?”

Two steaming cups sit in front of them, a half-drunk milk tea and an abandoned americano which Edith completely discards as she leans towards Cal and flashes him a toothy smirk (Cal didn’t even know smirks could be toothy).

“Then I can sit here and look pretty. What d'you think?”

He almost splutters. I don’t think that would be much help, he thinks, because with her this close (so close he could see the faint, sparse freckles on her nose if only he dared to look) he can barely breathe, let alone focus on a detailed research project that would earn them a passing grade. He can’t say all that, of course.

“Alright,” he yields, leaning back until there are enough inches between them that he can think again. The pages are a bit crumpled in his hand. “I’ll handle it, don’t worry. You can, uh, you can leave if you have somewhere else to be.”

Of course she would. Cal is self-aware enough to know he makes for very tedious company. It’s surprising enough that Edith already spends this much time with him as it is, but homework doesn’t help his case. He gets it. He gets it, but it still stings, and he can’t look her in the eye as he dismisses her with as much gentleness as he can. 

She snatches the papers from his hands only a second later, and Cal doesn’t know which is more startling— the fact that she actually chose to stay and help, or the odd expression on her face as she grumbles. 

“You’re not supposed to be this easy.”

She’s probably scolding him, he realises, but he can’t help the wide smile that spreads across his face and makes his cheeks ache as he thanks her. 

Edith stares at him for a moment longer, a sun-like warmth in her bones that has definitely nothing to do with how luminous Cal’s smiles are, nothing at all. The sun just watches her back completely unaware. 

Swallowing a sigh, she lowers her head to the page and watches it (for real, this time). It catches her off guard, the wall of ink now in front of her. The words are printed so tiny that they almost seem jumbled into a single page-wide stain that makes Edith’s head throb in pain just looking at it.

“You got stingy with the font size, huh.” Keep your tone light and do not look at him.

“Sorry, I figured fewer pages would make it more motivating,” he chuckles, rubbing his neck a bit sheepishly, and it would be infinitely endearing had the joke not been lost on Edith. 

Cal turns back to his notebook, leaving her to that jet-black nightmare and the burn in her throat as she silently takes a deep breath and starts detangling the words. 

One word at a time, steadily, but fast enough that he doesn’t notice her struggle. She’s not sure how far she’s gotten before the frustration starts making her antsy. 

It’s only because of that that Cal loses focus on his work to glance at her, and frowns at what he sees. The disarray of her expression and the way her lips frantically take the shape of whatever word she's getting stuck on. Edith thinks she’s been still, until Cal calls her and then she freezes entirely. 

“Edith?” 

The unfinished homework gets thrown back on the table with unbridled heat, but the look she gives him is one of cold boredom. The mask is flawless enough to nearly make Cal flinch in surprise.

“This is dreary. Can’t we do something else? Watch a football game, get a lobotomy, anything works.”

Are her eyes glossy? Edith swears to herself that if she starts crying now she’ll leave town and change her name. Maybe she’ll join the circus, or a cruise line.

Cal would miss it all; the light trembling in her right hand when she pushes the papers towards him, or how she angles herself away from him even though she’s the one who sat so their thighs were near touching. He’d miss all of it, had he not been paying excruciating attention to her for the last few months. At any other moment, he might even feel embarrassed about it.

But it clicks for him now, that maybe it’s not getting stuck doing a school project with him that had Edith so on edge, and maybe she had liked that class when she’d first picked it. 

“You can’t read it?” he half-guesses, half-asks, making sure to maintain the distance she put between them.

I can! She almost yells at him for asking. She can, she could read it. It might take her a bit longer than average, but she could read it just fine. Except the text is very dense and Cal is sitting next to her, and waves of panic cross her whenever she thinks about him pitying her. Illogical fear, as all fear is, because he would never think less of her for something like this.

“I can read it,” she sneaks a glance at him, but his expression hasn’t moved from that unnerving patience. “Just, not with you hovering.”

Cal nods twice, and they both pretend she wasn’t lying about him ‘hovering’. 

“Here.” 

Edith blinks in confusion before noticing he’s handing her her own coffee cup. It’s probably lukewarm at best, now, but it feels scalding when she takes it from him out of reflex, fingers brushing together and a faint blush painting Cal’s smiling face…  

“I read and you listen? I’ve been told my reading voice is dull, so you might want to hang onto that.” 

Painstakingly gentle, that tone of his, so much so that Edith can feel some sort of fight-or-flight instinct kicking in her chest. But she finds herself nodding instead.

Whoever called Cal’s voice dull needs to be checked in at the hospital. That’s pretty much the only thing going through Edith’s mind as she listens to him read, the content of his research completely eluding her. He has a nice, deep voice, but the softness of his tone makes it sound lighter. The way breeze would sound on a sunny day, smooth and sweet and kind— Edith vaguely wonders, and not for the first time, if it would taste like honey (if he would taste like honey). 

She’s still dazed to the point where it takes her a moment to notice he’s gone quiet, that familiar dimple on his brow showing up as he pouts slightly. Cute, cute enough to eat.

“This really is hard to read...” Cal’s displeased mumble shakes Edith out of her thoughts, or lack thereof, and she doesn’t miss the fact that whatever he’s saying is entirely for her benefit. She calls him out, or well, intends to, before he smiles at her and at that point she’d rather chew her own tongue than make him stop. “Sorry, I need a break, is that alright?”

‘Is that alright?’ he asks, as if she’s worked hard enough to make her the boss of him. What a liar he is, and not a very good one, but he looks so pretty and he’s so good to her that Edith can only breathe a quick yeah as she leans forward.

Whether it all happens very fast or in slow motion, Cal can’t be sure. He barely feels the pull on the lapel of his blazer as Edith tilts him towards her, but he follows obediently. What was it that she said to him earlier? That he didn’t have to be so easy? He usually keeps her words in such high regard, but right now Cal can’t find it in him to care. Edith’s lips are warm against him and he feels malleable, like she could reshape him if she touched him a bit more, and he’d be enthusiastically compliant as she did. He likes this, likes being easy for her.

She draws back to let him breathe, her hands sliding from his neck to cup his cheeks. Her palms are a bit cold, he only now notices.

“Good break? Or bad break?”

Edith tilts her head to the side as she scrutinizes his every move. Cal doesn’t feel like he can move at all. His nervous system might be fried, after all. He might collapse, he’s not sure, but it’s fine if Edith catches him in her arms.

He swallows down the flurry of thoughts and tries to answer, but he trips on his words.

“You– this is–” How does one speak, again? Cal could swear it was easy a few minutes ago. But that was before and this is now, and now Edith has kissed him and there’s a faint static noise buzzing in his ears.

At least whatever is showing on his face seems to amuse her.

“Should I do that again? Might help clear your mind.” Oh, he chokes at that, and has to watch her expression go from teasing to horrified. “Jesus, Cal, I was joking, relax.”

“No!” He shouts it, or at least he thinks he does (it felt way too loud, especially for someone this quiet) but he has to explain to her that he liked it, he very much liked it, and the only reason why he’s not making any sense right now is that he can only think about kissing her again, “I didn’t mean– You, ah, didn’t do anything wrong!” 

“Sure, okay. Good.” Edith is looking at him as if she’s wondering whether to call an ambulance or just leave him there, and he wants to laugh, mostly in panic.

“You should.”

“What, do something wrong?” She snorts, doubt still pulling at her pretty features, “I think I’ve got that covered.”

“Do it again,” he blurts the words once again, racing to some kind of finish line as he mentally curses his inability to express himself without looking like a fool. Then he realises what he just said and he’s sure he stops breathing altogether. “If you still want to, you don’t have to. You don’t have to do anything. I– fuck!”

“Did you just curse?”

That does it. Even whispered under his breath, the word is so unexpected coming from him, a stark contrast with— well, with everything about him, really; it steals a laugh from Edith, who’s giving him a look that’s two parts lovestruck marvel and one part trying not to mock him to oblivion. 

Cal could die now, but he chooses to kiss Edith again instead. He moves slowly, giving her ample chance to pull back, and his heart does a somersault when he realises she won’t, no, she’ll kiss him back.

Ah.

Edith grins as he leans in, not pulling away but waiting for him to reach her. And when he does, she kisses him for every time she’s wanted to but couldn’t, and for every time she thought he wanted to but wouldn’t. 

Definitely honey.

She only interrupts the kiss because she’s sure Cal won’t even though they’re out of breath, and then she’d have to reanimate him— a waste of time, now that they can kiss all they want. He takes the hint, though, panting against her mouth, their foreheads resting against each other.

“You cursed.”

He did. He’d probably apologise if it were someone else, but he can hear Edith’s smile in her words and can’t bring himself to feel bad about it.

“I’m not good at this.”

Edith hums at the confession. Her thumb is tracing small circles over his pulse.

“I’m not good at school projects.”

It feels less vulnerable, saying it now, with her arms around him. His hand finds hers without missing a beat.

“I’ll help you.”

(cw soft bondage, unprotected s/ex)

“Too tight?”

She hovers above him, studying Cal’s every move as she secures the bindings on his wrists, ready to stop at even the smallest twitch in his expression. He doesn’t flinch, though. Just shakes his head lightly, deep red eyes focused on her. She ties the last knot quickly enough.

Edith’s lips find his a second later; it’s tentative at first, a feather-like peck on the corner of his mouth (it’s enough to make him shudder). Then a real kiss follows, a proper one, intent yet still gentle. It doesn’t take much to coax his mouth open. Instead he docilely allows her to deepen the kiss, drinking her in as if parched yet unwilling to take more than he’s been offered. If it were up to him, if she ever wished to, he’d let her break his skin and flow through his veins.

She’s soft, too soft as she kisses him— Cal has seen her fangs, seen just how deep her teeth can sink into flesh till bloody, but her mouth is silk and honey and smooth as whiskey whenever she kisses him. Yielding; just like the steel of her eyes whenever they rest on him. The bluntness of it still catches him off guard after all this time.

Cal’s breath hitches once more when she nibbles on his bottom lip, soothing the sting with her tongue. It’s all too intense. Her weight on him as she straddles him, and… 

He pulls on the restraints almost experimentally; like he’s trying to gauge if they’ll hold. They do. The cotton bandages (the ones usually binding Edith’s hands during training) are now expertly wrapped around Cal’s wrists and then the headboard, keeping him in place. He could probably tear himself free, if he really tried. But he only gives another weak yank while Edith kisses him more, a strangled sound escaping him helplessly when he finds himself unable to hold her. 

“Does it hurt?” She pauses, leaning back to get a better look at him. There’s an edge to her tone that he misses as his eyes flutter close in focus, a feeble attempt at calming his panting. But he senses her waiting for an answer, and when words don’t come out he shakes his head. It really doesn’t hurt. 

“I need you to use your words, Cal.” 

He thinks she’s teasing him, at first, enjoying the effect she has on him. But then he sees her, and his heart lurches. Because she’s pleading with him, he realises. 

Edith watches him expectantly, frozen in place, tense as she readies herself to put a stop to all this. She half-expects him to ask her, but would he? Worry hisses and coils in her stomach, and then it vanishes in a single moment, replaced by kindled warmth as Cal flashes a reassuring smile at her.

“I’m alright. Just feeling a bit…”

“Out of control?” She finishes for him when he hesitates, and Cal swallows.

“Mmh.”

Edith lets out a shaky huff, halfway between a sigh and a chuckle. Her head dips to rest on him, lodged between his neck and shoulder (right where his tattoo coils elegantly across his skin, as if marking her place on a map), letting her lips brush against his pulse. It’s strong. Alive.

“Tell me about it,” she murmurs, and he wishes he could look at her and see the frenzy pooling in her eyes. The same frenzy that’s making her voice shake as she admits darkly, “‘m losing my fucking mind, here.”

He thinks he gets it, now, why she looked at him so desperately just now, like she was the one unable to move and not the other way around. ‘Out of control’, she said… He does feel quite helpless, tied up as he is. But giving up that control is the whole point, and Cal doesn’t find it in him to feel uneasy. Not when it’s Edith he has to trust; that’s always been rather easy, with his life or anything more.

No, out of the two of them the one struggling the most right now isn’t him. Edith is holding back for his sake, unwilling to ruin what’s most dear to her, Cal realises. Dear. Treasured. Delicate. Never would he think of those words to describe himself, except for when she holds him. Except for when she buries her fingers in his inky hair and kisses down his throat lightly, as she’s doing now. 

That’s what he thinks of as her tongue runs along his jugular, one hand reaching over to rub his tied wrists, and the other placed on his bare chest; right above his heart. And if he is all that she believes, if he is priceless and fragile, he’d let her break him over and over again, as long as it were her hands piecing him together.

But he wouldn’t know how to say all that.

“It’s okay,” he blurts out instead, voice ragged, “You can—” 

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence, choking back the words as she descends on him. At last. It’s her hand that finds him first, touching him in a way that has Cal’s thighs tense, his muscles spasming at the warmth of her palm that so easily seeps through the fabric of his clothes. She thinks herself cold, so why does her skin always burn like this?

“Tell me what you want.” 

An order. But if he could see her face now, he’d know she’s begging.

You. What else could he want? His head feels completely empty, yet buzzing all the same. It’s taking all of his focus not to grind into her touch, a frantic need for more clouding his thoughts. He thinks she asks a second time— he can’t be sure. The dizziness only fades when Edith grasps his chin and tilts it up so he meets her gaze. She’s smiling a bit. That helps.

“Kiss me?” He finally finds his voice again; it comes out as a question, though he’s not sure if he means it that way. She laughs, then. A real laugh, bright and airy, and a fond shake of her head before she takes pity on him and complies.

Everything that happens after, Cal can barely register. He doesn’t notice the button of his pants being undone, or the cool air on his skin; he doesn’t notice his own hips shifting restlessly, or his fingers gripping and pulling at the bindings whenever she grips him in a way that has his back arch beautifully, just like a bowstring. 

All he knows is the taste of her tongue (sugar and lemon), the torment of waiting for more. The wetness of the sickly sweet lube that’s so foreign it’s almost unpleasant, until Cal reminds himself whose hands are toying with him. 

Edith’s mouth muffles the low whine pulled from him as she strokes him, her grasp firm and blissful and inescapable. My darling, my baby, so perfect… A shameless string of coos washes over him as her head moves lower, each word making the tips of his ears burn hotter. And with every praise he feels her breath inch lower, her mouth leaving a trail of bruised prints in its wake. It feels maddening, maddeningly good. He can’t cover his face like this, Cal realises suddenly; and so does Edith, smiling as she drinks in the sight.

And what a sight he is, head thrown back against the pillows, silky strands of hair splayed around him like a halo, the curve of his throat completely exposed. His chest is flushed, rising and falling so breathlessly. From where she’s nuzzling his stomach, nipping at the flesh right below his navel, Edith watches his lips part in a silent gasp. It turns into a moan when she lowers her head again.

“I love you.” 

How much time has passed? Edith’s voice sounds rougher, almost as if scorched by his heat. The way she says those words so easily while slotted in between his legs, feasting on the most sensitive parts of him… Cal would want to hide if he weren’t so lost, fumbling to chase his high.

“Please,” he twitches under her, trying to keep still, to not bury himself deeper (not that she’d mind) and drown into her.

“Please what?”

The husked taunt almost makes him want to whimper, to cry for mercy. Maybe he will.

“Edith…”

“Anything you want,” she cuts him off before he can, and even in his haze he hears the want barely concealed in her tone. A want to claim that makes her breath taut. “Anything, everything, I’ll give it to you, so just tell me.”

Her voice is nearer, now. Cal’s eyelids flutter open, pure black pupils blown wide as he takes her in, sees the gentleness in her gaze as she leans in to kiss away the tears at the corners of his eyes. He barely hears himself answer, a slurred mumble of pleas that sounds a bit like “…inside you,” but it’s enough for Edith. He only knows she’s freed his hands when he rushes to pull her closer, the force of it startling him more than it does her.

There’s a certain decisiveness to his movements, to the wanton way he kneads the back of her thighs and then yanks down her hips so she’s flush against his hardness; no blank space or hesitation when he flips her onto her back and presses against her side. So driven when he lowers his mouth to her chest, the cold metallic taste of her piercings on his tongue, so selfish when he wordlessly taps her lips until she parts them to suck on his fingers… It’s a kind of selfishness he only shows when she pushes him past his limit, something she’s been doing more and more lately. 

When he slips a hand past the elastic of her briefs Edith doesn’t make a sound, but he feels her breathing grow more ragged as he easily pushes a finger inside her, and then two barely a minute after. It’s not usually this rushed, this sloppy —Cal has always liked to take his time with her— but she seems to understand his urgency, meeting it with her own. 

For one maddening moment Cal forgets where he is; the salt of Edith’s skin is a stray thought in the back of his mind as he chases something he can’t see, his blood ringing loud in his ears. Like always, she’s the one who brings him back.

Edith wears the same expression the whole time. From when she wraps a hand around his wrist to still his movements to when she hastily discards the rest of her clothes, she smiles. It’s wide and a bit crazed, a flash of white teeth and wet lips. She watches him twitch, desperate to hold her again. The colour of his irises is a thin, barely visible ring, pupils blown wide as he fixes her with a drunk stare. Still, he waits. 

It’s admirable, how he wills himself to be patient; she’s never had much patience to begin with. His chest, which has been heaving frantically ever since she released him, stops completely when she touches him. For just a moment, he’s breathless. And it makes her smile grow sharper. 

She doesn’t need to guide him to her, with the way he pounces on her almost instantly. He thinks he hears her laugh, though the sound is lost beneath the feeling of sinking into her. He does so slowly– or at least tries to. She feels him tremble with the effort of staying still, waiting for her to adjust, but the burning ache does nothing to hinder her when she digs her heels in the back of his legs.

“Move or I will,” is the threat grumbled against the shell of his ear, a roll of her hips to show she means it, and he lets out a sound that’s one part laugh and three parts moan.

He complies, ever the soldier. Fast and loose, painstakingly patient as he carves his way into her and her nails dig into his shoulders. 

It doesn’t take her long to grow restless, but Cal expects it; she never likes feeling caged. He leans back before she has to ask him, not pulling out as he lifts her, and when her weight falls on top of him again he buries so deep inside of her that they both hiss. She presses her lips to his brow and his lashes quiver. 

When she moves again she has none of his patience. She seems to have outlasted whatever tenderness has been colouring her actions so far, hooded eyes barely concealing the hunger in them. Cal turns to kiss her wrist where it rests at the side of his face, and the next time she captures his lips it’s even rougher than before, bruising; he doesn’t mind, he thinks to himself while he writhes beneath her. His hips meet hers with just as much abandon. Chasing the friction that has her clench tight around him, the heat of it so torturous and addicting he thinks he’ll come undone without a warning. 

She reaches it first– heavy breaths and muscles convulsing, a hand at the base of his throat to steady herself (a gentle grip). He can feel her pulse around him as he rocks into her, and knows he’ll soon follow; almost as if to agree, Edith’s hips stubbornly jerk above him. Taunting and imploring. Cal sits up in a fluid motion just in time to keep her upright as she falls against him, coming to a halt after a few urgent thrusts when he finally spills into her. 

They stay like that for a while, limp against one another, Edith on Cal’s lap and Cal panting against her collarbone. There’s a few more slurred words exchanged in whispers, sweet nothings and promises and stunned praises.

Only when the stickiness between them gets too uncomfortable to ignore do they force themselves to move, both wincing when Cal pulls out; they clean up quickly, barely enough just so they can lie back down.

***

It takes them minutes to come down from their high, heady heat subsiding into something quieter, something intimate. There’s still a faint thrum at the back of Cal’s mind as he lies on her chest, both of them still gleaming with sweat, but his mind feels clearer– less wonderstruck.

“Good?” Edith rakes her fingers through his long hair as asks. Her heart pounds steadily within her ribcage, the sound lulling Cal to peace. 

There’s a dull, pleasant ache spreading through him; it feels way better than ‘good’.

A quiet hum answers her, and he shifts in her arms to caress her cheek and press a kiss to her temple. 

The contented smile on his face wavers when she catches his hand to stop him; then disappears entirely when he sees her expression.

It confuses him at first, the anger in her eyes. He almost apologises out of reflex— for what, he’s yet to find out. And then he follows her gaze to his wrist, and it clicks. 

He understands, suddenly, that it’s not anger darkening her face. Fright, maybe. Guilt, definitely. Cal curses inwardly for not having noticed just how carefully she’s been holding his hand, staring at the reddened lines on his skin and rubbing gently at them as if to try and erase the soreness.

“That was too much,” is her only comment, more to herself than him. It sounds almost dejected. He sees her eyes dart from his hand to the rest of him, examining his state in silence. He knows what she sees without having to look down, if only from the way her jaw clenches.

“I’m sorry.” I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—

His torso, covered in marks from neck to belt, large lovebites blooming dark on his beige skin while the imprint of her teeth is barely starting to fade. There’s scratches on his arms, and more on his back that she can’t see but knows are there. She takes it all in, the criss-cross patterns of old pale scars already peppered on his body, and then the new swollen marks she dared to leave on him. 

Do they sting? She can’t help but wonder. Forgive me.

Cal says something. It takes her a moment to even realise he did, but he patiently waits for her to focus back and look at him before repeating it.

“It doesn’t hurt.” 

He gathers her in his arms, embracing her as tightly as he did earlier.  Dozens of kisses peppered from her jawline to her collarbone, unhurried. She sighs, a bit shakily. 

“You could never hurt me,” he whispers it softly into her hair, firmly enough that she has to believe it. She clings to him, gripping his shoulders.

What a liar. She could hurt him in so many ways, this beautiful man in her arms who can only ever smile at her so brightly; the problem is he’d let her. Probably smile even brighter as she did.

He senses the stillness in her, guesses the train of her thoughts, and it fills him with such sudden grief that he shudders. 

He doesn’t know, exactly, what possesses him to act next. But he grabs her hand and pushes it down between their bodies where it’s still slick, so she can feel him. Feel the growing hardness against her fingertips, searing and eager to be hers again. The oddly bold action, so at war with the bashfulness tinging Cal’s cheeks, seems to surprise her. But she simply waits. 

“It didn’t hurt.” It didn’t hurt, I liked it. Still can’t bring himself to say that last part aloud.

He says it with such conviction, yet heat rushes to his face. It makes for a lovely view that finally pulls a faint smile from Edith.

“Mmh. Then it’s fine,” she hums after a moment, placing a small kiss to the bridge of his nose, “‘Cause I’m still hungry.” 

He’s about to ask what she feels like and sprint to the kitchen, for just a moment. And then he catches her meaning and sees that grin of hers, that ravenous light in her eyes that tells him he’s the next meal— he can’t stop the rush of excitement that ripples through him at that, and she feels it in her palm before he pulls her flush against him.

She laughs at the impatient look he gives her.

“That’s a good puppy,” she teases, lips ghosting over his without touching them.

Cal, who seemed about to dive in to kiss her himself a second earlier, sobers a bit at that. 

“Don’t— don’t call me that.” Oh, he’s flustered. So much so that he can barely hide the way he trembles as he turns to the side, hiding his face from her for a moment. 

She doesn’t have it in her to be merciful, though; not when he’s just offered himself so enthusiastically… Her smile only grows wider. His throat bobs nervously as he stares back at her.

“Husband, then.” 

That does it. A weak groan of protest, and then he’s burying his face in the crook of her neck as if he plans to live there, strong arms locked in place around her waist. 

Another laugh shakes her at the ridiculousness of it, of him, and then it softens into something else. Happiness, and disbelief, at how they found such ease despite the world outside this small, bare room. She sighs against his hair, pressing a kiss against the crown of his head that sends pleased shivers down his spine and through his marrow.

“Mine,” she declares, and this time he doesn’t object to the choice of words. Revels in it, even.