A/N: This is just a little one-shot that V and I wrote after seeing Breaking Dawn together. We couldn't shake the image of Edward with human blood smeared on his face, and couldn't quite place why (for both of us) it was so ridiculously *hot*. So we decided to get this little ditty out of our system and had a lot of fun collaborating again. THIS IS NOT CANON EDWARD. This is Edward as we would have imagined him, before SM introduced the silly notion of "vegetarian vampires". We really wrote this just for ourselves so it hasn't been beta'd or preread. Thanks for reading, we've missed it!
Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight.
I'm pacing. I've been up and down this hallway at least 40 times in the last 10 minutes. I'm resisting the urge to pull my hand from my jeans pocket and gnaw on my nails. He hates when I do that.
My mind is spinning like a pulled slot machine, grappling for somewhere safe to land. Somewhere other than the reality of where he is. What he's doing.
He warned me, of course. I swore to him I could handle it. It wasn't my place to deny him one of the basic necessities of life. But sometimes - now, for instance - I think maybe I really am in over my head. My mind is wandering out of the safe zone now. Tripping recklessly into the hypothetical scenarios. Maybe it's someone I know. Or someone someone I know knows. He never gives me details - it was one of the agreements we made in the beginning. But he promises me no females. No minors. And no parents of minors.
I tell myself it's not personal. I know I'm right - it's no more personal to him than my next meal is to me. And who can argue with the food chain? But my stomach still knots and cramps. If the food chain itself is natural, perhaps falling in love with a species that outranks you is not.
I'm sweating now and my hair is starting to get frizzy around my face. He'll be back soon. I ache just thinking about what he will look like when he arrives. There is never any mistaking the look on his face. After a hunt there is only ever one thing on Edward's mind, and he can hardly stand to indulge even the most banal and brief small talk before getting it. The anticipation is the worst. And the best.
The first time he apologized for a good hour afterward. Despite my assurances that it was unnecessary, I could tell he felt guilty for taking me so roughly. He never hurt me intentionally, but the intake of blood coils him up like a spring; there is no time for sweet nothings when his body is screaming for relief.
It's not always like this. It's not even usually like this. We make love, slow and lazy, soft and sweet. We tickle and tease and spoon and snuggle. But not after a hunt.
Lately though, it's these times I look forward to the most. I'm not sure what that means, and I am afraid to examine it too closely. He always cleans beforehand - rinses his mouth and washes up. But I still taste it. It used to scare me but not anymore. Now the taste is just him. It represents Edward at his most wild and passionate. It represents danger, too. I know it. But if I ever cared, I don't remember why.
She asks me not to hunt women, and I oblige. She thinks it's a sacrifice, but it's not. Not really. Now that I have her, the allure of fucking nameless women, of feeding from them, is gone.
There were thousands over the years. Carlisle chastised me for it – found the mix of blood and sex reprehensible. Survival was a clinical concept to him, one that could be achieved quickly, methodically. He saw survival as a science, while I saw it as an art.
He also had Esme, which I understand now must have had some effect. Before Bella, I had no self-control. My dick would get hard, I'd smell blood, and I'd attack. I'd touch their arms, then their cheeks. By the time our lips met, I could already tell they wanted to fuck me. I'd read their minds and fulfill their fantasies, and when they came I'd begin to drink.
They all died happy.
Sex was not my primary motivation, but it certainly made things easier on both parties. I didn't relish taking human life but I didn't agonize over it either. The fact that I technically used to be human never interfered with my basic survival instinct. That is, until I fell in love with one. Now, my desire for Bella, all soft and hot and wet, was the only thing that surpassed my primal thirst. It's because of her that I'm able to spare the human females around me. I can have Bella whenever I want if restrain myself from other women.
The task is as easy as the choice.
Tonight, I am running fast. I have to seek out childless men, preferably those not within the presence of women or children. It's harder than you'd think. Given my desire to be with Bella at all times, I must be as efficient as possible. Because my required intake has upped substantially since meeting her, I'm forced to kill in groups, draining a half dozen in the span of an hour. I hit a lot of golf courses, prisons. For the first time in my existence, I realize that the majority of people I've killed lately were, by and large, bad people. It's unsettling. On one hand, I feel a bit like a superhero. On the other, I wonder if their darkness will somehow seep into my being.
I understand now why Carlisle always saw what we do as purely clinical. You can't overthink it. And so that's why I was speeding down the 101, my legs gliding as if propelled by the scent of human male. I might end up at a gym, a bar, a basketball game. I didn't know and I didn't care. In a matter of minutes I would be feeding, that blood the same taste and temperature as any other I've had.
More for my sake than for hers, I generally stayed clean, taking care to keep the mess off my clothes and hair. But I didn't ever shower or change, and why should I? It's not as if she couldn't tell where I'd been, what I'd been doing. My eyes gave it away.
And she loved it. She hated it, too. I knew that. But even if she couldn't yet admit it to herself, she liked smelling another man on me. She liked the power that I had, the vulnerability of it all. Bella's not afraid of me, but she knows the risks.
In less urgent times, she's teaching me how to go slow - how to make love. I'm learning to love her soft, with my fingers, my tongue. I can get her off three, four times before I unzip my pants. I can take her slowly, deliberately.
But not tonight. After a hunt, I, regrettably, can do no more than fuck. Hard and rough and desperate and dirty. After, we'll collapse on the bed, her hot little body heaving next to mine.
Then she'll ask. She says she doesn't want the details, and I assure her that she does not. I tell her that they felt no pain, no fear. They did not struggle; there was no time. I promise her that the men were not familiar to me, that I'd not seen them strolling around the A&P, or lunching at the Forks Diner. They were not friends with her father.
I gave her what she needed to be comfortable with it all. Make no mistake, I could not conceive how she could possibly be comfortable with this. Comfortable with me.
I didn't hide what I was from her. I attempted to rein in my baser instincts at times, but she knew that I was a killer. That I could kill her, and indeed, nearly did so upon our first meeting.
I was fresh from a kill, sprinting through the woods toward home. My hair whipped in the wind and scattered droplets of blood onto my face, marring my vision and streaking the landscape a gruesome shade of red.
I felt her before I saw her, before I smelled her. The sensation was no more than a vibration at first, similar to the frequent shifting and shaking of earth that humans don't notice but to which those of us in a different species are uniquely attuned. I continued to run but changed course, my body inexplicably pulled in the direction of the interstate I'd just fled moments ago. By the time my feet touched asphalt, my throat began to flame in spite of the blood that still coated it. I realized then that the tremor I'd felt was not coming from the ground beneath me, but from within. My chest throbbed and my limbs shook, and as I took the first breath of air that was tinged with her scent, I was determined to have her.
Instinct took over, her decadent blood leading me several hundred yards down the road. I stopped suddenly, puzzled that I couldn't yet read her mind. I panicked for a beat, worried that I was too late, that someone had gotten her first.
It didn't seem possible. The atmosphere was saturated with her, a sweetness as thick as the morning fog and untainted by the smells of death or fear. If I concentrated, I could hear her heartbeat.
But I couldn't hear her thoughts.
If it was fate and instinct that pushed me toward her, it was curiosity that kept me moving. This was more than a hunt now, more than the savage bloodlust that commonly controlled my body and overpowered my mind.
I pulled my mirrored Ray-Bans from my pocket and studied my reflection. There was thankfully no blood on my clothes, and the remnants on my face and in my hair were easily wiped away. My eyes shone like a demon's, but that's what the glasses were for.
At a human pace, I began to close the distance between us. After rounding a sharp curve in the road, her scent grew stronger, painfully so, until I came upon a truck - a red, beastly looking thing that straddled the shoulder and the grass. She sat cross-legged in the truck bed as if she'd been waiting for me, and she stared at me with wide eyes until I had swallowed enough venom to manage an awkward "hello."
Bella says now that she knew I was supernatural even then, that she actually considered I may have put her under a spell. Truth be told, I was the one who was bewitched.
She was absolutely exquisite. Everything about her was perfect - as if she'd been factory-designed piece-by-piece to challenge every notion I'd held about the human race and to exceed every expectation I had for my existence. I wanted to see her smile, hear her laugh. I wanted to whisper to her like a lover, share her confidence like an old friend. I wanted to touch her all over, feel her everywhere. I knew already that once with her would never be enough, and yet despite that certainty, I found myself fantasizing about fucking her, then changing her, slicing through her neck as she came all over my cock.
Our first time was terrifying, the moments of unimaginable exaltation marred by doubt that I possessed the requisite self-control, doubt that she would survive. The second time was sublime. Before Bella, I'd never had the same woman twice. I didn't contemplate that she would learn my body, remember things that made me moan, growl. Things that made me come.
It had been six months now. If I'm honest, I didn't think she'd last six days. Even Carlisle, my biggest cheerleader and a veritable beacon of restraint, thought that this would end badly for her. For me. He'd urged me to talk to her, to feel her out on the change. Just in case, he said. Part of me knew he was right, but I had already asked so much of her. I didn't have it in me to ask for more.
It was this cowardice that forced me to glut myself on the blood of others, to fill myself so full that I had no need or want for another drop. Tonight was no exception. She'd left me hard and wanting earlier, an unexpected visit from her father interrupting our time together. Bubbling within me was a toxic brew of lust and thirst, both of which demanded to be sated.
I veered off the pavement and through the woods, following my senses to a rundown brick house in a nondescript subdivision. The lights were on, the garage door open, and everybody - all five of them - were home. The place stunk of beer and cigarettes, tinged with the musk of dirty laundry and unwashed male.
They sat together in the cramped living room, crowded around a television the size and price of which made no sense given their dilapidated quarters. Drunk, they were watching baseball, their minds shifting sloppily from the stats of the home team to the women they wanted to fuck. They were America's favorite past-time, personified.
After strolling through the open door, I checked the score of the game before making my presence known. In typical fashion, their thoughts registered surprise, then confusion, before settling on a determination to kick my ass.
Human males are always so amusingly confident.
Thirteen minutes later I was approaching Bella's cul-de-sac, reducing my footspeed so as to avoid alarming her neighbors. I ran my tongue over my teeth, slick and salty, and moaned at the taste. The blood I ingested had not yet metabolized, and the scalding liquid was rushing through me, swirling and sloshing behind my eyes, through my fingers, to my dick. My face felt warm and my chest was tight, my body pulsing with the phantom heartbeat of the last man I'd drained. What used to count as euphoria, a rapturous high characterized by sharpened senses and heightened instincts, was now achingly incomplete. I was full - too full- yet nowhere close to satisfied.
I needed her. She had so possessed my mind and consumed my being that without her I'd never be sated again. I could hear her now. Smell her. A few more steps and I'd be outside her house, watching her through the blinds she left open at my request.
She'd be ready for me. I knew that much. I could only hope that I was ready for her.
He's standing at the sliding glass door, just staring. I never get used to the way he can appear without the slightest sound or warning. His breathing is labored, not from the run, but from the effort of restraint.
"Come in, Edward," I laugh, relieved. "For God's sake."
He steps over the threshold and his eyes rest on my body. Not my face - not now. They will be dimmer in just a few hours - faded to a brickish hue that can almost pass for brown. But now, fresh from a human bloodmeal, they are a bright, primary, shocking red.
His hands are gripping my hips and I know instantly we are going to fuck on the floor. His face is downcast, trained on my chest - his arms shaking with the effort of not crushing my bones. I tug the bottom of his t-shirt and he lifts his head for a moment to help me take it off. He throws his shirt away and my heart is pounding against my ribs.
His hair is matted, damp. A smear of blood runs from the corner of his mouth to his jaw - a rare carelessness that signals his urgency. His cheeks are pink with the flush that only appears after a kill. His ruby eyes are hungry, not for blood, but for me. His lips part, and I see his incisors. They are only slightly longer than a human's - not so much that anyone else would take note. But in his current state, he looks more animal than human, and I feel more hunted than loved.
He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, taking care of most of the bloody residue, but not all. He takes a single step back and gestures to the floor with a nod of his head.
"Now, please." He manages. My ears are ringing with want and my heart is still racing in exhiliration edged with fear. His torso is gleaming an ethereal white in the dim moonlight of my living room. He has the lithe muscled build of a young athlete yet to put on the bulk of adulthood. Now, fresh from a hunt, he exudes a healthful strength. Though I know he won't, I ache for him to hold me.
"Of course," I say, straightening. We are standing about three feet apart, facing each other. He makes no move to undress me, but watches as I pull off my clothes, my bra, my panties.
"Are you wet?" He asks, rhetorically, signaling his impatience. We both know he can smell that I am.
"Yeah," I say, blushing. It's not his directness that embarrasses me, but the fact that I've been ready for him for so long already, despite knowing where he's been.
He looks relieved, absolved of any duty to engage in foreplay. I give him a slight nod and he exhales, unzipping his fly and casting his shoes and jeans off in the blink of an eye. I lay down on the Persian rug, knees bent, my hands uselessly gripping the fibers as I brace for him.
It takes less than a second.
Any trace of calm has been replaced by the manic wildness of an animal conquering its prey. In a fell swoop that was over before I registered it, he hooked his arm under one of my knees and pressed inside me up to the hilt. He groans long and deep and gravelly, his eyes meeting mine only briefly before settling on the wall and then closing tight. His teeth are clenched as he pulls back slightly and then forward over and over.
I arch up to him and there is no loving hand to cradle my head when I slip back against the floor. He's bracing his weight on his palms, lost in the act. My head flops to the side and in the reflection of the sliding glass door I watch us. Even in his frenzy, Edward's movements are graceful and perfectly timed - a lion conquering its mate. It's sex, raw and base, and I groan at the sight of the love of my life unceremoniously fucking me like an animal.
I moan his name and he looks at me watching us in the window. "Fuck," he seethes, not missing a stroke. His teeth are bared, and I sense he is getting close.
But then he surprises me, flipping us over in one smooth movement, pressing my hips down flush with his, holding me firmly on his cock. He's so deep inside me it hurts, bad. His head is back, flat on the floor, his eyes closed, his neck arching slightly as he swallows, regaining a little control.
He opens his eyes, the color still startling. "You're okay?" It's a question but it comes out like a statement - a command.
I nod, breathing heavily. Satisfied with my answer, he pushes up into me, driving himself deeper before lifting my hips and forcing me to fuck him at the pace he needs. It's thrilling. Even underneath me, he's still completely in control.
"Jesus, Bella." He hisses, his eyes darting around the room, his fingers digging into my hips. "Need...more...deeper...more...fuck please."
But he's bucking up into me at a pace I couldn't match if I tried. I whimper slightly, wanting to give him what he needs but not sure it's physically possible. He lifts his head for a moment, stilling his hips and moving his hands to my waist and then up to my back. My spine tingles everywhere at his unexpectedly tender touch.
"Hey, hey," he's soothing, swallowing thickly as he attempts to rein in the urge to thrust. "It's okay, Bella. Do you need to stop?"
"No!" I practically shout, and I'm frustratingly close to tears. "No, don't stop, I'm just . .. I'm sorry..." I cover my face with my hands, frustrated that I've spoiled the mood. I know I'm not as durable, as powerful and unbreakable as the females of his kind. I tell myself I'm enough for him and want nothing more than to satisfy his needs, even the primal ones - especially the primal ones.
But sometimes my doubts creep in.
I don't know how many men Edward killed tonight but I can tell by his intensity it was more than one. The thought makes me shudder and ache for him all at once and I can tell that I'm falling down the rabbit hole - losing my ability to care. I want to be free of these human thoughts and conflictions - free to love him and accept him for what he is. Free to share in this with him, to understand this maddening need, to understand his every need.
"Bella we can stop." He's rubbing my thighs now, gently. "I can take care of myself and suck on you for a while after - slow and easy." He musters a smile but it's strained. There's nothing that compares to the feeling of Edward's open mouth on my pussy. But we both know it's not what he needs right now.
"No," I repeat, lifting my hips slightly for emphasis. His eyes roll back and he growls as I take him deep.
"Shit, Bella." His eyes are hard, and I can see his control slipping.
"Bella," he grinds out between gritted teeth. "I took too many tonight."
Lives. He means lives. My stomach churns but my pussy throbs. I want him, still. More.
"Come on," I'm begging, scratching my nails down his chest. "Fuck me."
His hands have slid up to my hips and he's squeezing, pressing his thumbs hard into my flesh. "It's not safe," he says, but his eyes are pleading. He's desperate to thrust again. He won't deny me. I know he won't.
It's up to me now. I can change my mind now or go all in with him.
I brace my palms on his shoulders and lift myself up to drill down hard.
An animal roar erupts from his throat and he's on his feet, sweeping me up and slamming me hard against the wall. It hurts and I feel a shooting pain in my skull. It's not uncommon for our sex to result in minor injuries, but this is reckless, and different. I wonder for a fraction of a second if I'm bleeding but then Edward's cock is shoved so far into my cunt that I can't process any other feeling.
He's gripping my thighs, thrusting up into me at an angle that reaches parts of me that have never been found. I know I'm going to be bruised but I'm too far gone to care. And so is he.
I claw at him, raking my nails down his back, and he drives me harder, his eyes flashing, hot and terrifying and not the least bit human.
And then I wonder, even as I approach my climax, whether I've pushed too far. I search for his gaze but he doesn't meet mine. His pupils are dilated, rimmed by only a thin red ring. He's growling and grinding and it feels so so good, better than anything I've ever known. He is all instinct now, driving toward a release sure to be more powerful than any I've ever witnessed. I'm climbing to the brink, too, a growing sense of danger causing my body to paradoxically become even more aroused.
As I start to come, Edward bends his head to kiss my neck. He's licking and sucking and it feels like heaven. I close my eyes and grip his hair, pulling as hard as I can. I feel him erupt deep inside me as I fall and soar and spin.
Churning in the relentless current of my orgasm, I feel a sharp sliver of pain where he's kissing me. And then a searing burn. I glance down to see a trickle of red travel over my breast. Edward's grip on my body has grown impossibly rigid. His throat moves subtly as he sucks and swallows.
"Edward!" I choke out. The pain builds, and I can feel his venom screeching through my veins. He takes another pull...and another, his mouth never leaving my neck.
"Edward," I plead. "Stop. You have to stop."
I am panicked now, crying and scraping at his face, his shoulders. If he hears me, feels me, he doesn't let on and I know that I am in danger of losing him now but I could have him forever if he would just -