Candy Land
SM owns everything Twilight. I own this.
Adjunct to The Fixer – this episode takes place before Edward and Charlie have their little chat at the cop shop, and before Sofia pulls a New Moon and leaves Forks (and Edward).
Lemons – not for you kidlets; thanks to Regan O'Connor for the beta skills and once again holding my paw through this.
##
"Ha! I win again Grandpa!" The Go Fish cards are spread across the worn kitchen table with the largest pile in front of Nessie; the smallest, in front of her grandpa Charlie. The third person at the table has a pile somewhere between the two; Skittle in the Middle.
"Yeah, Nessie, you sure did. School me every time. Your best friend here, too." Winks over at Sofia, who's rolling her eyes and smiling at both Charlie and her ersatz daughter.
"Can I go watch TV now?"
"Go for it, Princess."
Nessie scampers off to the living room; a minute later Sponge Bob and Patrick are in some deep philosophical discussion about Plankton's schemes for world domination and procuring the secret recipe for Crabby Patties.
Charlie leans back in his chair, pushing it so he balances on the two rear legs; crosses his arms and gazes at the blue-eyed blond across the kitchen table from him; the loveliest woman he's ever seen, even more beautiful than Renee was, back in high school.
"So, Kiddo. What's on the docket for today? Any plans?"
Kiddo raises her eyebrows, crosses her arms in perfect imitation of the man across the table from her; doesn't lean back in her chair, but leans forward towards him.
" I dunno, Charlie. Got something in mind? Another game?" Waits a beat, continues. "Something like a game of...Cribbage?"
They sit there, each waiting for the other to make the first move.
Charlie breaks first; always does.
"I was thinking more along the lines of Truth or Dare." Brings the chair back to the floor, never taking his eyes off of hers; so incredibly blue, he's never seen a shade of blue that deep, it's unnatural.
It certainly is, because everything about the woman across the table from him is exactly that: Unnatural.
Rolls her eyes again, looking up at the crack that travels from one end of the ceiling to the other, bringing the right corner of her pouty red mouth up at the same time, snorting in amusement at his request.
"I'm not stripping for you, Charlie." Lowers her voice as she drops her chin before she continues, keeping her eyes locked onto his, studying him, then tilts her head to the right, just a smidge, as if she's listening to something far off, that only she can hear. "And I won't fuck you either, though God knows..." trailing off, leaving the thought hanging in the warm kitchen air, filtering through the dust motes and sun beams dancing across the kitchen floor, over the cupboards, finally settling on her hands resting on the tabletop, fingers laced together, the antique diamond engagement ring on her right ring finger shooting shards of prisms across the table, onto the worn, frayed green plaid flannel shirt on the man across from her.
Charlie sits up, embarrassed that she was able to read his thoughts so quickly; that she'd seen that he'd love nothing more than to see his soon-to-be-former son-in-law's girlfriend or whatever she is naked and spread out before him on the worn and soft patchwork quilt on his bed, beckoning to him, her glistening pussy waiting; saw he wants so badly to feel her warmth, her tightness as he enters her from above, pulling her legs up over his shoulders, locking her ankles behind his neck, matching his thrusts...
That she found him wondering if the curtains match the carpet, blonde on blonde, or if she's smooth, like he hopes she is, the one act of personal hygiene his ex-wife would never do for him. Tries to image what her face looks like when she comes, if she's a screamer or a moaner, or hopefully both. He loves that, loves hearing the woman he's with moan for him, scream when she cums; makes him harder, makes him feel wanted, makes him cum with a force that nearly causes him to black out as he does, all the blood in his body centered in his cock, as he explodes into her slickness.
Knowing that she realizes he would love to look down at her kneeling before him as he fucks her mouth, slowly at first, than harder and faster, nearly choking her; deep throating him as he comes, hard, the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat and then feeling her as she swallows every drop; the sensation of her tongue licking him clean, smiling up at him as she does, a drop of his cum clinging to her lips, teasing him, listening to his panting breaths as he watches her.
And that his greatest desire is to gaze into her cornflower blue eyes watching his face, his reaction as she climbs him from her kneeling position, pushing him down on the floor, stroking him back to life, teasing him as she pinches and pulls on her nipples, waiting until he couldn't stand the sight of her over him, rocking herself back and forth over the head of his cock, just over her slit, letting him feel her wetness, that entrance he desires more than anything in the world, anymore, and then taking him in completely, in one fast motion, arching her back as she did, riding him, urging him on, waiting to come until she did, then grabbing her ass...
And unaware that if he did, he probably wouldn't survive their union, that she would be the literal death of him, and that neither would she.
His soon-to-be-former son-in-law might kill her, if she did.
He'd have every right to, in their world.
But he wouldn't. He understands her needs, as does she, his.
Perfect for each other, in every way.
##
"I was right about you, Charlie."
"How so?" He's still stunned by what he gave away, what she saw in his mind.
Didn't think she could; she'd already told him how frustrating she found that about him, the last time they went fishing together, casting for Sunnies and Blue Gills: "It's like your mind is swathed in cotton and clouds, Charlie. Drives me nuts, I can read everyone in town but you." Then recast her line, waiting for her bait to do its magic on the fish swimming below the creaking boat.
"You're more like us than you might realize, buddy."
Slumps back in her chair, shaking her head, then stands up and heads to the fridge. "Beer, Charlie?" Turns her back to him, already knows the answer, has the can of Olympia in her hand, ready to toss it to him, as if this is her home, not his.
Her home has no beer in the fridge, only bags of blood for Nessie and, sometimes, for herself and her man.
"Sure. There's ah, a thermos in there too, if you want something, if you're ah..."
"Thirsty?" Smiling at him over the open door.
"Yeah, thirsty." Opens his beer, takes a deep slug from it, swallowing deeply, building his confidence with each gulp. Finishes the beer, tosses the empty into the sink, which draws her eyes as he does. Reaches back inside, and tosses him another can of courage.
"Uh, Kiddo?"
"Yeah, Charlie?" Takes out the thermos, opens it and inspects the contents, judging the smell, crosschecking and typing the viscous liquid within as she does. Wrinkles her nose in disgust, not her favorite blood type. Screws the cap back on, places the thermos back on the top shelf, closes the door, and faces her fishing buddy.
He notices her reaction to the blood, wonders why she acted that way.
"Something wrong with it?"
"Not my favorite type Charlie, I'll leave it for Nessie. No worries, I'll be fine."
Shifts in his chair, still embarrassed she caught him, his lust for her, in his mind. Changes the subject from games to sustenance, but his mind won't shut off what he desires, and neither will his dick, still stiff and aching as he watches her fluid movements, so graceful, so effortless.
"Uh, Kiddo, how do you, uh, how often do you need to, ah, drink?" Jesus, I'm fucking sweating, it's so warm in here, what the hell? Look at her, wearing that old Nirvana tee shirt, fits like a second skin and Christ, look at her rack, I wonder what she tastes like, if her nipples are the same shade as her...
Crosses her arms over her breasts, arches her eyebrows after hearing him think about her girls; knowing it'll make Charlie shift in his chair further, trying to get his erection under control; Edward does the same thing when she wears this shirt too, and it's always worn with this purpose in mind; worked this morning around four, when she slipped it on before brushing her hair while sitting at her dressing table, just in the tee shirt and her lace panties. He stepped out of the shower, saw her wearing it, how her nipples peeked through the worn cotton, and became hard again, making her smirk at him and brush the palms of her hands across her nipples, watching as he twitched and grew larger in front of her. Edward told her to take it off and opened his arms to her, pulling her back into the shower, for another round of lovemaking. Smiles at the memory, while Charlie looks at her, wondering what she's so blissful about.
Men. Doesn't matter what form they're in; they all want it. Some things never change – behold the power of pussy, indeed.
"About every two months or so. Sometimes more, sometimes less; it all depends."
"Depends? Depends on what?"
"Oh, what's going on in my life, how stressed I am. Sometimes it's the scent of the, uh, donor's blood, how alluring it is to me. And sometimes it's nothing in particular."
Waits for his response as she wonders what he looks like naked, if he's cut like her beloved or wears a parka; decides on the latter. Thinking he tastes like musk and the scent of the earth once the spring thaw commences; betting he has a Trail Of Glory like her Edward does, but darker, not bronze, deep brown, with flecks of gold on the tips. Wonders if he moans, or screams "Oh God, Oh Fuck" really loud when he comes; just like Edward does, as he always has, ever since they were kids together in Chicago.
Mulls over the idea if she could do it, fuck Charlie and get away with it, if Edward would catch his scent on her body, her hair.
Then shrugs the thought out of her mind; knows he would, no matter how hard she scrubbed his stench off her skin afterwards. That it wouldn't be worth it, no matter how much she'd love to fuck a human, again. Remembering the sensations, the heat.
Remembering the sounds of a pounding heart, of the rush of blood through veins and arteries.
But then again, if she asked him if she could, just this one time: Quid Pro Quo.
Worth a shot, I suppose. And what's the worst he could say, 'no'? Besides, he'd fucked Charlie's daughter plenty of times; he got Nessie out of it, if nothing else. Fair's fair...
"Donor?" Charlie squeaks out, getting a bit nervous. He knows what she is.
That gets a laugh from her; a genuine laugh from deep down in her belly, trilling out into the hallway between the kitchen and the main room.
"Oh Charlie. You're so funny; look, it's not like we have a list we can call, you know." Changes her voice, lowers it and affects a Brooklyn accent. "Hey buddy, I'm a quart low, got twenty minutes to spare, can ya come over, lay down over there, give me a refill?" Continues to laugh, finding his naiveté endearing, but also thinking he'd fit right in with them.
Shakes her head at him, smiling; a real smile, not the one she uses when she's reeling in her bait at some club or bar, his soon-to-be-former son-in-law waiting in the dark, waiting for their dinner to emerge outside with her. Waiting to quench his thirst with her, like he has for nearly a century.
That breaks the tension; he can feel the nervousness leave his body, knowing she wouldn't expect him to become her or his soon-to-be-former son-in-law's donor, ever.
And that makes him smile.
And ponder the thought if he could do it, of being with them, one of them.
Forever.
##
Kiddo sets up the board, taking out the game pieces; hands the cards to Nessie to place on the board.
Candy Land – Her wannabe daughter's favorite game.
Watches her fishing buddy and his granddaughter as they banter back and forth. Realizes that someday he'll die, and who will fish with her at four in the morning then? Not Edward, he hates to fish, has no patience for it. Emmett? He makes too much noise, and Alice would already know what their catch would be, so where's the fun in that?
No. She needs Charlie, needs him around to watch his granddaughter grow up, dance at her wedding with her. Hold his first great-grandchild in his arms.
And if nothing else, to fish with her, to remind her of the human she once was: Guileless and desirable to someone other than his soon-to-be-former son-in-law. Someone to watch over, protect her other than Edward and her Daddy.
That she needs someone to play Candy Land with her.
Forever.
##
Later that day, after the baby is asleep, and they're out on the beach, nestled together on the cold sand, watching the tide go out, as the moon rises high in the late spring sky, she asks her beloved for a gift, a special gift, one that both he and the gift might refuse.
But this is a gift that he knows he will not refuse her because both he and the gift cannot refuse her.
Ever. The gift is too in awe of her, of her beauty and her inaccessibility; his lust is too great, his need too deep.
Because her beloved is already her husband, unbeknownst to her requested gift; and Edward will do whatever she asks, since he's aware of how badly she needs this release from their exquisite self-imposed control, this return to their true nature; knows she will still remain his, regardless, as he has remained hers.
And he loves her too much to destroy her.
##