The Major and Mike Newton

This little vampy o/s is for Gilla, who was hoping the voyeur was Mike Newton in ch 4 of NAWWAL. That made me LOL so hard I wrote this crack fic.

Many thanks to the fabulous BassmanOz who corrected all my tenses - sorry about that - and to HammerHips for being a lovely pre-reader.

Caution: the following is rated M for language, lemons and the use of religion. If you are a devout Christian, you may not be too happy with me.

Fuck my undead life. No, seriously, fuck my undead life. I'm stuck in Peter's big-ass truck driving through Texas on the way to LA – of all places – and he decides he wants to get it on with Char. 'Course this is making me horny as all hell too, but do they give a shit? Do they fuck. It gets so bad I think my dick is 'bout to bust through my button fly – no zippers here, the only teeth real men need down there are those belonging to beautiful women. I give in to the horny fuckers and we end up stopping in some nowheresville called Lordsburg, New Mexico.

Place seems to be nothin' but an RV park. Good huntin' guaranteed later, no-one really misses the snowbirds and at least they've had a good life. It's like we're doin' 'em a favor really. Can't say I like the taste of old folks drugs too much, but Viagra has some beneficial side-effects. Not that I need 'em of course. I am the master of control after all. Just ask Char. Actually, no don't, she might tell you 'bout that one time when we all got a little fucked-up at Woodstock – fuck knows what those Hippies were taking – and we had a pretty interesting three-way with some dude who thought he was Jesus. Still, I guess it would make sense if Jesus was a vampire. Maybe it really was him. Peter took photos, maybe I could ask Aro, after all he was one of the Centurions at the bottom of the Cross – so he says. Dude had real funny lookin' hair, kinda bronze colored. Took it up the ass like a champ though, so who am I to judge?

Long story short we check into some cheap-ass motel and I leave 'em to it. Find a diner I can pretend to drink coffee in and settle down to read my book. Fucking Yankee piece of shit. Made it my mission in the afterlife to send errata to every single one of the authors and publishers responsible for this crap. Built up quite a file. So I'm gettin' all worked up over some casualty list that I KNOW is wrong, seeing as how I wrote the original myself, when in walks little miss sex-on-legs. And what legs they are.

Long, long legs. Legs in jeans and Western boots. Legs that lead up to a pert little ass and pert little tits. Tits that lead up to a graceful neck and a heart-shaped face with big brown eyes and long brown hair. Fuck-hot. The new Mrs. Jasper Whitlock is fuck-hot. Of course she doesn't know this yet, and I'll have to kill her first, but hey, when you know, you know.

I take a sniff and nearly puke. Oh this is not good. The love of my existence stinks. And not in a good way. How am I gonna get close enough to bite her when she smells like that? Good God, how am I going to fuck her if I have to wear a vamp-proof mask? Don't laugh, Caius has quite the collection of vampire bondage gear. Again, don't ask me, ask Alec.

I take another sniff. Nope, she still stinks. Wet dog with a hint of damp and hairy wolf balls. She takes off her coat and not only do I get a fine view of those perky handfuls, but the smell dies down. Oh thank you funny-haired Jesus! It's not her, it's her clothes! Well seein' as I aim to get her outta them soon enough, that won't be a problem.

The problem appears not two seconds later. While my little future bride is writing on her laptop, my kin stalk in. Char screeches about some open mic night nearby that we just HAVE to go to. If I wanted to deal with screeching, bouncing, hand-waving psycho chicks I would have stayed in the diner in Philly back in the 50's. Christ, one look at that demented pixie and I was outta there faster than a gerbil up Richard Gere's ass. Allegedly.

Peter, meanwhile, is slinkin' up and down the aisle, wigglin' his butt like a pansy-ass banana-hammock model. I have no fuckin' idea what he's doin', and to be honest I don't care. I decide I'm not gonna eat the waitress, wearin' that uniform is punishment enough, so we leave. For now. Of course, I'm gonna be keepin' my eye on my beloved. She ain't goin' anywhere without me anytime soon.

As soon as we hit the sidewalk Madame Peenella, the gypsy dick-reader, has on his shit-eatin' grin. "Oh howdy-doody Major, we're all in for a fine time tonight. Get us some dinner then a little after hours cocktail of music and dancin'. We're gonna be happy as pigs in shit!"

Fuck my undead life.

Of course, I follow my future wife's scent to the crappiest pit in all of Nowheresville, where she staggers inside carrying the oldest, most-loved guitar case I've ever seen with a human. I must admit, there' s somethin' about it. It simply reeks of love and affection, and her emotions as she looks at it reflects the same. I'm glad she likes old things, gives me a fighting chance after all. The only problem is that she still stinks of dog. And wolf-balls. I am gonna have to fix that ASAfuckin'P. Hm, what to do, what to do . . genius!

As she wiggles past some old dude I send him a boatload of interest and horn-dog. He lurches out of his seat and pours his beer all down her top. Win on both counts. She is pissed and embarrassed, but I also get a fantastic view of her tits. Of course, being the gentleman I imagine I was raised as, I offer her my shirt, which she accepts with a lot of flustered thank-yous. Nice to see she's polite. Now she smells like me I am able to calm down and appreciate her performance. She is actually really good, but I don't like the undertone of sadness and worthlessness I'm feelin'. Whoever caused that is in for an unpleasant surprise.

Char manages to get her to come over and talk to us after her song. She really is adorable. No fear at all, but a shit-load of apprehension. I put that down to her not really understandin' what we are, but she shocks the shit outta me when she asks if we know a family called the Cullens. Well, well, well. I've heard of 'em, obviously, bunch of weird-ass, animal-eatin' veggie pussies, but I can't fathom how my beloved knows of them. She clearly isn't goin' to tell me tonight, so I file it away for another time.

After Bella – what a wonderful name – leaves to go back to the hotel, we leave too. As luck would have it she is staying in the same place we are. Luck or the future-knowing He/She of course. Still, I am able to make sure she is safe in her room before returning to mine. I could have broken in and watched her sleep, but that shit would be just too fuckin' creepy. Who would do that?

I do, however, hack into her laptop and read her blog. Hey, I have to be careful, I don't want Caius up my ass, which is where he would be if I broke a rule.

Luckily she didn't really write anything she wouldn't want the world to know. Apparently ass-hat's ass-wiggling gained him approval. Char is hot and friendly and I'm . . . .what? I'm kinda-cute? WTF is this chick on? My mate needs to wise-up pretty fuckin' quick. I'm pissed now so I break out the Jameson and start to get drunk. Oh yes, we can get drunk, just takes a lot more than a human can manage, although I've heard Richard Burton and Oliver Reed had a damn good try at drinking a vamp under the table once.

Once I'm pretty much gone I decide I need a cigarette. Of course this being 2010 I have to go outside. Christ, it's a pain in the ass to get moving but I get out onto the patio before I realize I'm shirtless. Hell, I don't give a shit, no-one's gonna see me anyway. As I'm out there smokin' I can feel lust floatin' around. Not unusual in a hotel, but this seems to smell familiar. Faint, but familiar. I'm thinkin' it's my girl startin' to get herself off. Nothin' hotter so long as it's me she's thinkin' of.

And with that thought I'm a gonner.

I undo the first two buttons of my pants and hear a little squeak. Good, she's watchin'. One more swig of whiskey and I undo the rest. Pulling my cock out I lick my palm and run it up and down my magnificent length. Oh yes, vampires tend to have rather impressive sparklepeens. I spread the pre-cum around the head and groan as I imagine sweet little Bella on her knees. She's in awe of my mighty cock, she knows I'm better than my brother now. She slowly sticks out her tongue and takes a tentative lick, before deciding I taste as sweet as candy and diving straight on in.

Now even in my fevered imagination I know she's not gonna deep throat a vampire, no human can, (well I've heard rumors about Paris, but eh) but she's doing her damnedest. Her little hand is wrapped around what she can't take in her mouth and she's sucking and licking like her life depends on it. All the while I'm hearin' her little whimper-squeaks and it's spurring me on.

I have one hand in her hair while I imagine her hand sneaking down into her white cotton panties, exploring her wetness and fingering her slit. She's rubbing on her clit while sliding two fingers in and out. That pussy is mine. I'm the one who is going to be pumping in and out of that tight, wet hole. That cunt is mine and she better start believing' it. I wonder if she waxes.

I go faster, so does she.

I hear her moans as I groan. Faster. She has to cum before I do. I send out a heavy burst of the lust I'm feeling and I hear her. She's almost keening, and that sends me over the edge. I release hard. The best hand-job ever, just from thinking about her. It is good. So good.

Unfortunately once I calm down and do up my pants, something else strikes me. We weren't alone in our little masturbation session. I begin to see that I heard me, I heard her, and I heard someone else. A male someone else. A human. That is not acceptable.

I look around and what do I see, a little pervert under a tree.

He is pathetic. Blond and blue-eyed and somehow pathetic. His appearance reminds me of a Labrador. Unfortunately for him, his emotions are not quite so friendly. He is hiding under Bella's window. He has seen her in a state of undress. He has witnessed her getting herself off. He is going to die.

Before he knows what is happening I have him across the street, across the train tracks and into the wasteland. I drop him onto his knees and prepare to interrogate him. He surprises me.

"Oh fuck I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't know there was another one, your eyes are different, I didn't know she was still with him, I thought he left, I would never have started following her, I thought no-one cared about her, I thought if I stayed with her she'd love me like she loved Cullen, I just haven't let her know I'm here yet but I've been watching out for her for months, I stopped her getting raped, I'm so sorry . . ." ad infinitum.

Hmm what to do, what to do. I really wanted to know what he knew about my Bella. I really wanted to know what he meant about the Cullens, I really wanted to know what he meant about saving her. Ultimately though, he has admitted to being a stalker, and that shit just don't fly with me. That annoying little skeeter has been stalking me on and off since Philly and it pissed me the fuck off. If I were a human and had some dip-shit stalking me, especially if I were a girl, I would appreciate having the problem taken care of.

"Well Mike, it seems like you have been looking after Bella, and for that I thank you. Now, I'm going to give you something in return."

He looks at me, confused, until I start to pump him full of the best morphine high I've ever experienced. He's blissed-the-fuck-out, and I don't even have to touch him, his heart just gives out.

One day Bella will tell me about him. One day she'll tell me about the piss-eyed freaks and one day she'll tell me about why she feels so unworthy. Until then, I'll make sure she is loved and protected. She will get to know me and my siblings, and she will one day be mine.

Fuck, I'm drunk. Fuck my undead life.