Crossroads of Forbidden Love

TwilightxFate/Stay Night crossover/slashfic

Edward Cullen was a very pretty man. He was doing things that pretty men do, such as taking a road trip in a red convertible. He would often gaze into the rear view mirror to admire his pretty auburn-chestnut-gold-brown-black locks as they bounced scandalously in the wind. On account of this, he had already plowed through a group of schoolchildren and was somewhat responsible for the forty-car pileup back at the intersection, but he was too pretty to care.

Eddie was heading to Texas. He was going to Texas because there was oil. He didn't know what it was used for, but the term "black gold" just made his sparkly gaydar twitch. It would probably look good in his hair. Edward Cullen was, after all, a classy motherfucker. So classy, in fact, that he got dumped by Bella. He couldn't blame her. When your milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, the girls are bound to get a little jealous.

As he traveled down the long stretch of road, a rickety shack and a makeshift turnpike slowly came into view. Normally, his sullen, festering, inner rage would not allow him to stop for hell or high water, but our hero was taken by surprise. Sitting on a rickety metal chair in the middle of the road was a young man holding a shotgun. The sight of the man's full head of red hair glistening with sweat above the perfectly sculpted definition of his pectorals was almost too much for Edward to handle, but the sight of that Remington 870's supple curves resting in his firm but gentle grip sent Edward's phallic imagery sensors into overdrive.

As Edward pulled to a stop, the young man in front of him donned a pair of black shades before slowly lifting his head to meet Edward's searching gaze. In a slow, almost agonizing drawl, he let out,

"This is Route 14. Goin' somewhere, strangah?"

Gotta' keep it cool, Edward thought. He was going to play this the best way he knew how: like a brooding asshole.

"I don't think that's any of your business, officer," Edward said as icily as possibly, while staring out from under a creased, furrowed, and sullen brow.

"This is my turnpike. It damn well IS my business."

Edward was struck by this sudden turn of events. He was no stranger to trespassing on private property, but he usually got away with it. People were either too afraid or too busy lusting after him to care. This man would take some work.

"I'm going to Texas, sir."

"Holy dog shit, Texas?! Only steers and queers go to Texas, Private Cowboy, and you don't look much like a steer to me-

"Wait 'til you see how I'm hung."

"Keep your pants on."

"Oh, and my name isn't 'stranger,' sir," Edward coolly replied. He ruffled his pretty hair, unbuttoned his shirt to reveal his pretty collarbones, grimaced a little deeper, and threw on some extra sparkle.

"...it's Edward Cullen."

The half naked man in front of him simply stared, as if taking it all in. Edward almost smiled and brooded to himself,

"Hook, line, and sink-"

The redhead was putting on another pair of sunglasses. Or was it the same pair? He slowly brought his hand to the air, clenched in a fist. Edward was greedily examining his armpits when

*CRACK*

The mysterious man's fingers snapped with a noise heard across the barren wastes. As if in response, a group of people began filing out of the old shack. A middle aged man dressed like a priest and one, two, three, four, five girls? Edward was about to get jealous. The priest stood directly behind the young man, with the girls forming a semicircle around them. Then, out of nowhere, a record player appeared in the place of the shotgun. After a few initial scratches, some smooth soulful funk started coming out. The young man sat for a good two minutes or more, tapping his fingers to the music, when the priest behind him suddenly opened his mouth:

"Who's the white magic dick that's a mana machine to all the chicks?" he appeared to ask no one in particular.

"SHIROU!" the girls called back.

"Ya' daaaaaaaamn right. Who is the man who would risk his neck for his psycho bitch?"

"SHIROU!"

"Can you jam it? Who's the cat who has no clue about a pOnOs and vagOOO?"

"SHIROU!"

"Right on! They say this cat Shirou is a bad mother-"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!"

"I'm talkin' about Shirou!"

"THEN WE CAN JAM IT!"

"He's a genius of a man, but no one understands him but his women."

"EMIYA SHIROU!:

"Shirou, can I come out side to play?"

"No, the other girls don't want you playing on this route."

"Awww...."

Edward was oblivious to the fact that the song had ended some time ago. He was livid. Some upstart had beaten him, Edward Cullen, in showmanship, in fabulousness, in ballsiness, and in harem size! How could this be?

"You, you bastard! What right do you have a harem that large? You've got five hot women, a sexy middle-aged man-"

"Whoa, just hold on there-"

"-and a cute little girl in the kitchen! Where do you get off being better than me? I'm the best! THE BEST! And yet here you are, night after night, engaging in wild acts of depravity, letting yourselves drift into the never-ending passion of unquenchable lust! I can see you now, all huddled in a dark room, touching, teasing, playing, kissing, loving, THROWING YOURSELVES INTO A MAD ORGY OF UNBELIEVABLE ECSTASY!!!"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...you lost me."

"I KNOW I CAN KILL! THE TRUTH LIES BEYOND THE GATES!"

And with that Edward hit the gas, running straight into the group of somewhat bewildered women standing by, quite possibly killing two of them. He approached the gate, ready to smash through it, when out of nowhere, a sandworm came. It ate Edward and his red convertible.

Shirou and his harem looked on with just a little less surprise and awe than the situation befitted.

"D'ya think he's dead?"

"Well, Saber, people die when...."

On top of the sandworm, two heavily cloaked men peered around them.

"Do you think we should set up camp here, Maud'Dib?"

"We can't stop here. This is fag country."