All characters are the creation of Stephanie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction. She would never have let this happen. I would.

This idea came to me weeks ago, and just wouldn't go away. Unfortunately I missed a deadline for a contest submission, but I thought I'd crank it out and put it up anyway. I initially used this as a practice run for writing dark pieces, but it was well received by a kind reader. Hope you enjoy your Jasper dark and twisted. This is very dark with some disturbing imagery. You've been warned.

Thanks to Jasper's Darlin' Kathy for encouraging me to put this up after reading it for me.


Bacon

Ask any vegetarian. Most will confess that the one thing that can break their resolve, the aroma that tortures the senses and makes them question why the hell they sit down to wheat roast with eggplant at dinner, regardless of religious persuasion or culture of origin, is the smell of frying bacon. Not chicken breasts, meatloaf, or even a nice steak. It's the combination of sweet and salt, smoke, meat and age that can make an avowed vegan's mouth water and wish he'd never given a fuck about the poor cows and pigs on the corporate farm.

As all meats are not equal, all humans are not equal.

Your average blood drinker normally cannot be too discerning. There is a certain amount of stealth and subtlety required, even or perhaps especially today. In more superstitious times an exsanguinated body could be explained away by consumption, anemia, or any number of diseases that may be ascribed to a degeneration of the blood or bad humor. I don't even need to remind you that bloodletting had been, for some time, a treatment of choice for everything from headaches to, ironically, hemophilia. I often wonder how Carlisle managed to restrain himself during these eras, being practically handed a serving bowl of ambrosia. Perhaps he had the good manners to wait until he was in the hall outside of his attending sickrooms.

I had no need to be subtle. I was a god. I was a general. I was The Major. I could partake of any human I fancied as long as that bitch Maria allowed it. She normally did. At first I drank from the young and beautiful, often indulging all of my senses and desires with them. They were often fragrant and sweet, tangy and reminiscent of slightly green fruit. Their skin, firm and taut against my teeth, resisted the suction and pull, snapping back between the draughts I drew from them. I could see the appeal, they were sexy, luscious looking and fresh.

Like the human child who must be cajoled to eat a variety beyond two or three favorite foods, my younger days had been dominated by the pretty and highly stimulating snacks Maria would bring for me. Her favor translated into a frenzy of blood splattered sex with the gifts she gave to me, followed by her licking the spilled blood off my body and lips, setting me on fire with the lust and power she brought me.

Over time I matured and, as years passed, I approached the vampire version of adulthood which is marked by a certain amount of restraint. I discovered that I preferred my food with some different aspects. Feeding and fucking no longer needing to intersect at the same point for me, so I could put my energy into pursuing these separately. Between campaigns I was able to hunt on my own now that Maria was not demanding my presence at all times. Whether she wanted me around for companionship, gratification, or simply to watch me, I neither knew nor cared anymore, but I liked hunting for myself.

I found that a man, in his forties to fifties, preferably with a profession, was satisfying beyond my wildest interludes earlier in my existence. They were rich, with a hint of smoke, thick and gratifying. The crimson clung to my tongue and slid down my throat in viscous mouthfuls that enthralled me as I drained them dry. Their skin, having lost the excessive tension of youth, would enter my mouth like a mother's nipple as I suckled the red from them. The heavy and robust scent would cling to my clothing and hair for hours.

So when we were introduced to Isabella Swan, that scent had clung similarly to her, and in combination with Edward's burn for his singer, I found myself in an inferno every time she was near. She was coated in her father's scent, as we are all perfumed by our homes and the people in them, and I was drawn towards that absolutely irresistible aroma, venom filling my mouth and choking my speech so that was rendered mute in her presence.

Edward knew I was a risk. He didn't know the real reason why. My brother thought he knew everything but just as I project emotion I can project thoughts if I wish. I could cover my real train of thought- find the sire, drink him dry, lick the fount, spurt in my mouth, warm rich red- and have him merely hear what he suspected... that I found his Bella a tasty distraction to my avowed behavior.

It was better when she stayed longer at our house under the pretenses of slumber parties with my wife. She would shower and wear fresh clothes, untainted -unmarinated- by her father's scent. I could deal with Bella's smell. She was a fresh tart fruit, and as appealing as an overcooked chicken breast. Vegetarians don't break their dietary restrictions for dry fowl. But when that piece of meat is tied in a bacon wrapper, well you might be tempted a little.

Today, her birthday, was the tipping point. I don't know why, but the smell of her sire permeated her. Her bag, too, which my wife had brought to our room to get her ready, had sat there like a sadistic air freshener. I could feel the fire kindle in me, like every time, and I resolved to push it back, beating it into submission like a wildfire.

But like a wildfire, the night had become unpredictable. My wife had wrapped Bella's presents in expensive, thick silver paper, the kind with an edge, and had not folded all the edges over to hide the sharpness. When Bella drew her finger along the paper, I could hear the 'snick' as it sank into her soft and supple skin, drawing out a fine bead of blood. It did not occur to her for a moment what she had done.

When it did, it was too late.

The combination of hours of exposure to the heady aroma of Charlie Swan joined with even the overly sweet and tangy blood of his offspring was too much. I lunged, still thinking of my teeth sinking into the neck of the Chief of Police, when the thick arms of my brother Emmett restrained me from draining the skinny and tart Isabella Swan, who was now dripping a river of fragrant blood onto our carpet thanks to the over reaction of her insufficient protector, Edward.

I ran.

I knew where I was running to.

In the confusion, I knew I would have some time. It was time to be what I was, starting with the temptation I had been cursed with for months. My feet were now skimming the mossy ground as I sped to the Swan home, a pale streaking demon in the night.

I approached the modest home, already dumbstruck by the wall of heady Charlie that surrounded the cruiser and trailed up to the door. God, I could track him in a rainstorm, he was so potent. I opened the front door silently and stepped in. I was tempted to make a scene so he would confront me, but I didn't want to wreck the body. I would have to plan. Old methods swarmed in my mind, how to cover your tracks, camouflage the body, and I settled on plain arson.

Charlie was asleep in his recliner, a prone position. I liked that, the blood would flow gently and longer if he was laying down. I flooded him with lethargy to keep him where and in the same somnolent state. I tinkered with the cook-top, opening gas lines and setting the timer to fire the pilot light. The fire would be believable, and I set a few pans on the stove and poured a little oil in them. A kitchen fire, started by hot oil over a malfunctioning gas stove, would cover up the fact that his body was as dry as a mummy.

I slipped through the house and made my way to the recliner. He was my favorite kind of mark: a working man who'd lived, aged, ripened, and dropped the cloying notes of obnoxious youth. My mouth filled with fluid. I was going to savor this. Then run.

I leaned over him, inhaling for as long as I dared, the hints of smoke and woods, fully matured red fruit, and toasted grain swirled and pulsed with his heartbeat. I drew toward his neck, breathing him in before I drank him in. My teeth had only begun to penetrate his skin when I drew in, his skin pleating obligingly to make the fount I so desired.

Charlie flooded me. His magnificent richness filled my mouth, a syrup that penetrated my every sense and I took him in. I swallowed his blood over and over, the hot springs welling in my mouth.

Finally, as the heartbeat slowed and I had to pull harder at his skin, stretching it and opening my bite wider. The faintest moan escaped Charlie's lips as his last breath rattled and shook his chest. I released his skin which now remained in a peak due to dehydration. Turning away from my handiwork, I left quietly and turned up the gas.

I turned as the house blew apart, splinters of wood whizzing by me smelling of char and burned insulation. I could feel them coming. They were shocked and knew at least in part what had occurred. Some had plans for me. These were plans that would never come to fruition. They had no idea what I was capable of; and I was stronger now, having drunk from the true source. I could feel the power flowing in me and I stunned them, buying myself the time to leave at a leisurely pace. I felt the cardinal directions, and started a calm jog toward the South. I had business to attend to.


Dark enough? Yeah, caught me by surprise, too. I'll be working on a Jasper/Bella story in the future. Meanwhile, leave this evil incarnate some love.

4/26/10: Thanks so much to the ladies of Jasper's Naughty Girls! Your rec made me squeal and do a happy dance. I'll do my best to let my Nihilisper come out and play when I really get crackin' on my story.

6/9/10: I corrected a few little typos and a grammar issue here and there. I just love this guy.