A blarg (longer than a drabble, shorter than 1,000 words) I wrote about vamp!Edward and vamp!Bella, disregarding BD because... who doesn't? I considered entering it in LolaShoes & tby789's "Love Through Lemons" contest, but the lemon is more an allusion than explicit... what do you think?
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership to any publicly recognizable entities, including and especially characters or settings from Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series.
Sunrise
Before Bella, Edward had seen thirty-seven thousand, three-hundred eighty-six sunrises.
For thirty-one thousand, four-hundred forty-four of those days, he had no choice but to watch the cadmium-chromatic spread of the rising light – colors shifting as pollution wrecked the air, their hues now so much more faded than they had been in his own allegorical sunrise as an eternal; he'd wondered sometimes if that fade was real, or whether had simply grown to notice their shades through old, jaded eyes, immune to their brilliance –
And then Bella came into his life, not merely the meteor brightening his nights but the bright whitewash of purity that drenched colors back into living, furling brightness, making his days bearable and his unending life worth truly, if only in irony, living again.
For thirty-six thousand, five hundred days, Edward watched the sunrise over the pale curve of Bella's shoulder, and admired the array of color when the pinkish morninglight played against her mahogany hair, slicing into spritely sparkles of crimson and gold and alluring aubergine, even a few strands glowing softly silver.
He never pointed those three troubling hairs to her, knowing that as a human it would have upset her too much and as a vampire, there was no help to be had. She didn't age any longer; no more of her color would fade away.
Edward was overcome every morning as the sunlight filtered in through the window and splayed like arcing drops of melting ice against her pliant diamondwhite skin; he kissed the gentle curve of her neck where her pulse used to race and tempt him as he pulled her back against him, rough hands and hips contrasting to soft words and lips.
Over the last hundred years, Edward memorized every millimeter of Bella's beautiful body; knew every grain of the soft slick skin that responded more to the fluttering, curling pads of his stone fingertips than to the sliding poke he'd tried the first few times, when she was still human lying beneath him and neither knew any better; knew just where a soft bite with steel teeth was more effective than nuzzling granite lips.
This morning was like any other they'd shared in the last one hundred years. The end of a century closed around their white wedding bed like shadowed curtains, the dawn of a new decade rising with the sun outside, sending shimmer and sheen dancing across Bella's moonstone skin, her gentle laughter as Edward's lips chased the bright warmth across her soft curves ringing in his ears as birdsong.
He rolled her to her back, long-fingered hands swallowing her narrow hips whole, pink mouth finding her pearled nipple.
After thirty-six thousand, five hundred mornings, he knew that a softly circling, pointed tongue should come first, then a lapping velveteen tongue once his lips closed around and began to suck. He knew the way her fingers would plunge into his hair, still thinking she needed to hold his head in place after all this time, still always worried he might pull away like he did a century ago.
He never would. All the same, every morning, Edward wondered as the sun rose whether today might be the day he could stop feeling guilty that Bella no longer lived.