The Inside Job

Author : Lifeless Lyndsey

Summery : There is salt on your skin from sweating. I want to lick it away, a simple slide of the tongue. I bet you taste to real. To real to be real, though I am sure this makes no sense. I would doubt this reality as little more a mirage, but you are real in my arms, and you taste of salt.

Pairing : Bella and ???

Warning : M for language, lemons, violence, gore, questionable content

Word Count: 1,247

Beta: ForksPixie , she did this not even knowing what I had sent her, bless the girl.

A/N This was written as a gift for MsCarlisleCullen. I wanted to write her a story, and this is what came. I have no idea where this story came from. I think the onslaught of one shots has warped my mind. I am warning you, this will squick the shit out of you. The man will not be reveled till the end, and really, it could be any of them. But, if blood, gore, some blood play, breath play, if you squint anyways, as well as questionable content, and other....just, don't read this if your squeamish.

There is salt on your skin from sweating. I want to lick it away, a simple slide of the tongue. I bet you taste too real. Too real to be real, though I am sure this makes no sense. You do that to me. I am a smart man. But I make no sense. I would doubt this reality as little more than a mirage, but you are real in my arms, and you taste of salt. You taste of sweat. I have dreamed of this, waking dreams, fantasized about your body pressed against mine. I had always imagined you would be alive for it. It is of no consequence now.

There are parts of your body that always burned hotter then others. Your arms are cool, your stomach warm. I lay my head on your chest to hear your heart beat, to count the steady beats. To hear your lungs swell with air, with air you need. To hear inside you. I want to be inside you.

Oh God, I want to be inside you.

I am sick.

I've seen you in states of undress, still quite chase, but undress none the less. The flimsy paper hospital gowns showed me your legs, showed me the long, smooth expanse of your back, and the peek of small, blue panties. Your bra was folded neatly in the chair. Your father was there, asking me questions, asking me if you were okay.

You were fine.

I just wanted you half naked, in a flimsy paper gown, on a hospital bed. I want to watch the nurses examine you with careful fingers. I want to watch the needle pierce your skin. You flinch. I like it. I can smell your blood, I can smell you. The salty sweat, sticky on your skin. I want to lick it. I want to lick you.

I am old. Older then you. Older then many, though not the oldest. I am old, but I am male. I have urges. Carnal urges. Primal urges.

You bring neither. You bring both. You bring more.

I want to kiss your mouth so hard it tears open, spilling trickles of blood onto my lips. I want my nails to tear into your skin when I hold you tightly. I want to pull you against me by your hair and hear the strands snap from your skull. I want to hurt you. And I want you to like it. I never wanted to hurt any one, before you.

I saw your smooth, freckled stomach. That's how we got here. You were asleep on the couch, faded t-shirt slipping up your small body. You are so covered in scars, but your stomach, it is cream untouched, smooth and perfect, moon-lit white. Flawless. We were alone in the house. I could not think of any other time that had been so. The family was hunting. I could be trusted.

You stirred when I touched you, touched your bare skin, finger tips tracing across the waist of your sleep pants. You opened your eyes, unsure of my intentions. Which is understandable. I rarely touch you, don't I? So I licked your stomach, the tip of my tongue fucking your navel and you moaned. That is acceptance. I continued. The words 'no', never slipped your lips. As if they would, when I was kissing them.

I slip the shirt from your body easily, followed by the pants. The need to touch you is almost unbearable. The need to be inside you. You are wet. You want this.

I want more.

I want to make you scream.

I want to fuck you.

I want to be inside you.

Inside all of you.

I am a sick man, and no one knows.

My fingers inched to sink inside that perfect flesh, to tear you open with my bare hands, which would cut with surgical precision. I wanted that. I want to rip you open, and paint with your insides, intestines trailing across the hard wood, blood seeping down the cracks and scratches. I want to squeeze the air from your lungs and cast them aside. I want to watch your heart beat even as I flay you open. As I break every rib one by one and toss them aside. So I do. You scream so prettily. It makes my heart hurt. I swallow those screams and bite your lip.

Your panties are covered in your blood, red soaking the white, I cast them aside, tattered and bloody, for your glory is gory, naked and torn. I want to fuck you. I want to tear you apart, consume you. I want to be inside you. An inside job. Some of me is. My hands are, gripping what I imagine was once your liver, and what I am sure is a kidney. I tear them away; cast them aside like your bloody clothes. So much blood. We are covered. It is better then your sweat. I lick you. Lick clean trails through the dark red, cream skin loosing it's warmth beneath my tongue. I check. Your heart still beats.

I want to fuck you now.

I am hard, achingly hard, and I slick myself with your blood. You are gasping, suffocating, airless. Your body aches, and I still will make you cum. You didn't say no. There was consent. We only have a few minutes. But I am a vampire. Known for speed.

My grand entrance is swift, breaking your seal like I broke your ribs, searching for your heart. You are hot here, inside you. I want to fuck you. So I do. You are gasping. For air, I am sure, but I like the sounds you make. Your blood is hot on my cock, and you are hot on my cock and I am going to spill inside you, a rush of venom burning trails in your body.

And I am going to like it.

You might like it to.

I expected you to cry.

But there are no tears on your red flushed cheeks.

You're still alive, still lucid, and your pain torn body betrays you because even through the horrendous pain you feel, your stomach, what is left of it, coils with pleasure, pressure building up inside you as I fuck you harder, deeper, faster and your body is tense. I shift, and you gasp one last breath, and now I know you are dying, airless and it is time. I can feel your body convulse around me, the intense, mind numbing, oxygen deprived orgasm that only a human can feel. You are milking me, I am coming. Your eyes close. I open them.

I want to watch your eyes as I sink my teeth into your naked, beating heart, poisoning your core. You are mine now. I've given you what you want, what you have asked for incessantly since near the moment I met you. Forgive me please, for I could not control myself and the family did warn you, all vampires feel blood lust. Even the strongest. But you got what you asked for. You've gotten your Forever.

I put your pieces back inside you, watching the way my silver venom drips from your thighs. I put you back together, and I wait.

I wait and I do not move from the spot on the couch where I ripped you open and almost bled you dry. You scream bloody murder, as you burn, but I have infected you with venom and the change is swift. Sometimes, you cling to me; mutter my name in your pained haze. My name. How strange.

When you wake, you smile.

It looks like a murder scene. It is a murder scene. Esme will need a new couch. And new husband. You kiss me, old blood dry on your lips is renewed when you slip your venom-wet tongue into my mouth.

"Thank you Carlisle."