Welcome to PAD's much longer than a flash fic.

Stephenie Meyer's Edward in Twilight never flashed anyone.

But mine sure does.

Watching You 14

He gives me an enthusiastic mini tour of his living space—all five thousand square feet of it. He has every kind of room imaginable and had to show me nearly all of them. It was excruciatingly difficult to follow him . . . walk beside him . . . or even pay attention to him while he was showing me things while his things were showing. Just as before his hardness was—and still is—making it very hard for me to concentrate. And as we come full circle (Come? Why did I have to choose that word?), he's led me to his spectacular Mediterranean-style kitchen where he turns to assess my take on his place. He's so excited, elated, and pumped to have me here. (I don't need to be thinking about pumping, either.), he's like a nine-year-old boy on Halloween night experiencing an ultimate sugar high after having eaten his entire candy hoard. I can tell not only by his words but also by his mannerisms that he's really serious about me becoming a fixture here, and I'm becoming overwhelmed.

Just a few hours ago, a gorgeous guy whom I've been secretly pining over for the last six months waved his wand at me. I ashamedly brushed him off, but he persisted. He bought me two strong drinks, and I became the aggressor. I then gave him a life-altering blow job that evidently I didn't even know I had in me. And now he's nearly suggesting I become a more frequent visitor to his place and maybe even more. What the hell just happened tonight?

"I should probably run back downstairs again to grab my socks, underwear, pants, and shoes. I don't need to create gossip material for the cleaning crew, and I meant what I said. Please make yourself at home. I'm preparing you strawberry-glazed chicken with multi-colored-boiled-broiled then pan-fried, seasoned baby potatoes, grilled asparagus, and peach shortcake. In the wine cabinet, I think you'll find a few bottles of chilled Moscato that will go nicely with dinner, or if you prefer a bottle at room temperature, please select what you'd like from one of the racks. The wines are alphabetized according to type, so the m's should be on one of the shelves in the middle. I'll be right back."

Refusing to break eye contact, he cups my cheek and pushes his fingers gently over the side of my face and through my hair, reverently stroking the mounded skin under my eye with the pad of his thumb before kissing my lips and pecking at the tip of my nose before pulling away.

I could get lost in this . . . lost in him.

While he is gone, I act like any curious, nervous girl would; I snoop in Edward's kitchen. As I check out what's in his beautiful spalted wood cabinets, I'm mesmerized by the unique hand-painted accent tiles depicting European rural life and by a mural of what I think is Germany.

I check out what's in his seven-foot tall built-in Miele fridge and separate freezer, and thankfully, he appears to eat well and doesn't shy away from fruits and vegetables. That's a plus.

My last boyfriend was a burger and fries guy who wouldn't know a fruit if it bit him in the ass, which is one of the reasons I went to Edward's gym. Unhealthy eating made me feel doughy and crappy.

Edward also has a full-size wine cooling unit that resembles a piece of furniture more than a refrigerator, and it's stocked with some pricey bottles, too. He also has a professional-looking gas range with a huge hood, numerous warming ovens, a ceramic cooktop, two built-in ovens, and every other cool kitchen appliance currently trendy.

Edward keeps this space—as he does all his others—immaculately clean, and I sigh because I love guys who take care of themselves and their spaces. He even has a heavy-duty-countertop-paper-towel holder with a marble spindle. You just have to love a guy that loves cleaning up messes.

"Making yourself comfortable, I see."

He catches me in his drawers looking for his corkscrew (his drawers? his corkscrew?). It's suddenly really warm in here, and I grab a potholder and start fanning myself with it. He's shed his jacket and shirt and is currently not wearing anything but a black bartender's waist apron with the catch phrase, "Tend this!," printed atop the fabric now covering his loins. Warm has suddenly turned to sweltering.

"Yeah, um, I was just looking for your corkscrew."

In his bare feet, he glides on terra-cotta-kitchen tile over to me with a wicked smile. He tips his head, takes my right hand, and places it over the silk-screened words on top of his very stiff cock, which not surprisingly resembles his firm, hard, thick, phallic-shaped, paper towel holder.

"Well, look no more."

Screwing with me, he magically produces a "cockscrew," I mean a corkscrew, seemingly out of thin air with his left hand. He releases his hand from mine to snake his arm around my waist, but I don't pull mine away. Setting the corkscrew down on the counter, he takes his left hand and places it around the back of my neck to pull me in to his lips. He must have shaved. His skin feels smooth as he tugs at my upper lip, wedging his tongue into my mouth.

"Mmm," I give him.

He presses into me further, which presses my hand into him further.

"Mmm," he gives me in return. "Your hand feels so good, but you feel even better. But if I don't stop, my counter will see some usage other than what it's intended for. And, though I'm definitely all in favor of using it unconventionally in the future, I need to feed you for what I have in mind for tonight."

What? No counter? Wait a minute. Unconventional future usage? Feed me for later? What about now? My "Bellabits" are Tweeting, calling for a revolution. They're ready to overthrow my government. My constitution is standing on shaky ground, and that's not the only thing shaking.

I start getting light-headed from the significance of everything—lack of food included—and also the fact my blood's gone south. My legs begin giving way.

"Whoa, Bella."

Edward grabs me just as I start to sway and places me onto one of his swiveling, padded, kitchen stools.

"Thank you."

"Here, let me get you some cheese and juice. I'm so sorry. You probably haven't eaten since this afternoon. I'm lucky you didn't pass out on me." He says this apologetically and seems quite flustered.

Edward grabs an Italian crystal glass and fills it with black currant juice then plates some firm, sharp, Vermont cheddar and some Parmesan-garlic-Ciabatta bread. He pours a generous puddle of olive oil—the same color of his intense green eyes—onto a white plate he dusts with freshly cracked pepper and a few Kalamata olives. I could certainly get used to this form of pampering.

"I'm really okay, Edward. You're right. I needed to get something in me."

"You mean other than me?"

"Actually, I think having you in me helped. Otherwise, I might have passed out from lack of nutrition."

"Well, in that case, I'll have to make sure I keep you well-nourished. Let's see how fast I can whip up that main course and get things put in you, besides what will go in your stomach."

A/N:

It sounds to me like Bella has many voids needing to be filled.

Do you think Edward is up to the challenge?

Is Bella?

Review me your thoughts.

Thank you to my magnifique beta, Chayasara, who's just magnifique.

Also, "Boys Will Be" has been nominated at the Twific Fandom Awards as Favorite LMFAO Fic.

If you are familiar with it and love it, please vote for it. If you haven't read it, please check it out. It really is very funny.

Ohgeefantasy, if you are reading this Mwah! Thank you for nominating me!

Thank you all for reading and your continued support.

PAD