book/movie; Twilight (New Moon)
pairing; Edward/Jacob, mentions of Edward/Bella
warnings; man/man, angst, character death(s)
disclaimer; I do not own Twilight, New Moon nor any of the characters used.

i

He's only half-conscious of it because it's just so unlike him and usually, even the thought wouldn't come close to crossing his mind, and Edward was always raised to be a good little boy-

(even with the vampire instincts tugging at his already mad and damaged mind, even with the bloodlust threatening to tear his insides apart)

-and yet, here they are, in something hot and triggering and sinfully delicious that could only be compared to what it would feel like to be embraced by the Devil's searing hot arms.

It's not because he has a reason that he balances on top of the well-built body bucking beneath him, Jacob's dark eyes almost dripping with the animalistic need building up inside of him and it's like fireworks (his own ice-cold and much too pale body rubbing against tanned, feverish skin and the hot-cold sensation is enough to drive him c r a z y).

ii

It really was nothing more than a spur-of-the-moment-thing, and Edward honestly wishes from the bottom of his frozen solid, non-existent heart that there was more to it but there's not and so the guilt he's not really capable of feeling starts eating him from inside.

Bella asks him things and her voice is just lovely, (incomparable to the many piano sonatas echoing throughout his much too empty house, resounding within him and releasing its impatient frustration by the jerky movements of his fingers dancing across the keys).

Bella smiles at him and her smile is just wonderful, (the glorious sun rays peaking in through his bedroom window pale in comparison, but nowadays the majestic burning star set high in the sky reminds him of something else, of too-hot skin with an earthy scent).

Bella is his life and Bella is the air forcing itself into his since-long dead lungs, his sole purpose of keeping himself 'alive'; if that is what he is, if that is what he can call himself without frowning in disgust - and yet, Bella is nothing that could ever fit into his much too bizarre lifestyle, into the spiral of agonizing madness constantly oozing over everything he does or says or thinks.

Bella's skin is pallid and too delicate and he could break it merely by grazing it with a butterfly-kiss and the temptation of the rich, crimson fluid pumping life inside of her is too much, it's just too much no matter what she says or how she insists that he's stronger than the hungry monster inside of him - he's not.

It's too dangerous to be with her, but he doesn't know how he figures that it's any less dangerous to meet up with the shapeshifter - before he even realizes it, Edward finds himself pressing the gas pedal all the way down as he accelerates down the road leading to La Push.

iii

He's a wicked addiction, a risky thrill, but Edward figures that if his whole life is a rotating sin, then what does one more act of unholiness matter?

Jacob's savage grunts urging him on and the short nails leaving angry red marks temporarily carved into his creamy white back, basking in the moonlight illuminating the outlines of their entangled bodies, adds absolutely nothing to this barbaric demand soaring within his body - yet it's magical;

Every move the boy does, every involuntary twitch of those alluring hips, every gruff gasp that slips past his full, swollen lips and every muscle tensing in a terribly delicious way as Jacob arches his back and opens his eyes to be met with the sight of high tree crowns shielding them, casting them in a tantalizing darkness ("keep your eyes on me" and Edward is barely aware of the fact that it's his own voice hissing demands into the boy's ear).

It's not because of the blood; the werewolf's stench is awful, but rather, it's something else - something resting behind those rock-hard abs, the mahogany-colored skin and the nerves, the veins running in complicated patterns within; something resting behind that prehistoric enmity, the facade of hatred Jacob displays.

It's an addiction all the same, Edward presumes, a devastating temptation that will burn the ice-sculpture that is his body, that will consume everything that he is (or rather, everything he's not) but above all, it's surely something that will be the end of him.

iv

Maybe it's been clouding his mind for weeks, maybe it was there from the start, but there's an unstoppable fury inside of him, something initiating not only because of the blood-thirsty beast that he's become, but perhaps something that has always been resting within the darkest corner of his body, human or not.

"It's not like you", Alice decides, and her round brilliant eyes tells Edward that she wants to believe in him, that she sincerely thinks that he, if he allows himself, can find the strength to fight it off.

"Don't tell Bella", is all he offers, because something born as a monster can't just stop being a monster simply for the reason that it has chosen to deny its very being.

He locks himself up, he jumps from cliffs, he dives to the bottom of the sea and stays there; in the end, he's forced to return to the vicious and never-ending life of his and Bella cries and pleads with him and he wishes that his heart would ache so much it eventually broke into a million shards (had he only possessed one) and Jacob just looks at him whenever they cross paths, those infuriating and dark-as-desire eyes-

Eventually, it becomes too much; he grows sick and tired and if he only had the proper needs of a human body he'd be pale as a ghost and have a heavy case of insomnia (unfortunately, he realizes, those are the main descriptions of his kind).

Carlisle tries to stop him, tries to talk with him but Edward's tired of talking and Edward's tired of Carlisle, quite frankly. Emmett yells and Jasper looks disgusted, Alice cries along with Esme and Rosalie snorts, elegantly plucked eyebrows rising.

He leaves and the night is much too silent and even more so inviting, blood covering his thin fingers and his button-up shirt and his glimmering fangs and fuck but it's the most delicious thing ever, except for maybe-

Edward easily spots Bella's bedroom window on the second floor, the nightlamp flickering behind navy-blue curtains, and his entire body jerks in anticipation.

v

Jacob sits on one of the many beaches scattered among La Push's reservations, rocks and tidal water and the impressively large amount of sand as far as his sight allows him to view.

He hums softly a forgotten tune, something his grandmother used to sing for him with the intention of lulling him to sleep when he was a child, his dreams clad in safety and foreign melodies; a quilite lullaby that he cannot recall the lyrics to.

Everything is excessively serene as he inhales and tips his chin back, allowing his eyes to drink in the enchanting sky reaching as far as he dares to acknowledge, stars scattered among the smashing display of untouchable greatness.

Not far from him, near the sea-shore, a huge camp fire has been lit, the deceiving flames and the sound of crackling filling his senses.

A body has been torn apart and thrown upon it, the madness that once threatened to consume the vampire now licking along his blood-stained body(parts) that is soon going to be nothing more than a small heap of ash.

"Together for ever, even in death - just as you wanted", Jacob mutters but he doesn't know who he's speaking to - Edward's soon-to-be-corpse or the lifeless form of Bella resting on the moonlit beach, blood seeping from the large gashes covering her lithe frame, pointy teeth marks serving as a cruel reminder.

vi

Hmmmm.. you know.. it honestly wasn't my intention to let it get this angsty, suicidal and.. plain weird. My fingers moved on their own, I swear! Oh well, maybe I have some pent-up frustration or something?

Sorry if this is offending to anyone (I don't see how but y'know, just in case) but I just don't believe that everything can have a happy ending.

Anyway, I know what I wanted to be portrayed in the story, in the certain scenes and so on; I could babble on about my thoughts and ideas, but I'd rather you made up your own.

Well, I'm sure you can figure it out. It's not something I can explain, it's just a feeling I think is all over the fic.

Oh, and I think this is much more similar with my 'old' writing style. Dunno where that came from.