Author's note: as always, the team of sick, masochistic lions who make my tomato sparkle are betas jkane180 and mac214, and pre-reader DoUTrustMe. The sacrificial lamb is cryptthing, but I'm not sure if he got a chance to pre-read or not before I posted. Shouts out to nowforruin and jewelzP for tweeting me through my "The Little Prince" crisis.

Facebook Status: I'm a magician. Watch me make two fingers disappear.

"Bella?"

My eyes wouldn't open. They felt glued shut, and I could hardly summon the will to care. When I didn't reply to the annoying voice, it poked me in the sternum. Who the fuck would bother a sleeping arsonist?

Arsonist.

Oh shit, I would be typecast now unless I did something spectacular soon... like launder money or create a new breed of animal through aggressive gene-splicing. I'd hate to be considered a one-trick pony... or pony-poodle, should my research grant come through. You know, the one I never applied for. Although, I was in advanced placement biology. I could totally start splicing stuff if I set my mind to it.

Wait, who am I speaking to?

"Um, Bella?" Another poke to the ribs.

"Wha?" I mumbled through my drool.

"You're babbling about committing arson and creating monkeys with four asses."

"Am not!" I huffed. "Oh, shit." I seemed to have fallen asleep in Edward's car. The minty scent of his air freshener mingled with his musky cologne and made for an interesting olfactory experience. "Where are we?" I asked, stretching my arms over my head and sneezing.

"Um, my house," he said sheepishly. Not like a sheep but rather an embarrassed human. My mind was still foggy and obsessed with cross-breeding or cloning animals. Like Dolly. Except I was pretty sure Dolly was a goat, not a sheep.

"Oh my god, shut up!" There was a chance I was freaking out.

"But... I haven't really said much," Edward protested, running his hands through his crazy hair to smooth it down. Huh. I didn't much like it flattened. I wanted it all sex-hairy.

"Not you; my inner monologue. It's just... not right." Edward smiled at me as I spoke, staring into my eyes with an almost terrifying intensity. "Um, why are you looking at me like that?"

"You mean, besides the obvious?" He took my hand in his and examined our entwined fingers. I glared in response, having no fucking clue what he meant by "the obvious."

Wait, I think Dolly was a sheep.

"I'm trying to figure out what you're thinking. You were mumbling in your sleep... and the way you write. It's weird. It's like deciphering code."

"Right now I'm thinking about Dolly; you know, that sheep that was cloned. I thought maybe she was a goat, but I'm pretty sure she's a sheep. Also, it got me thinking... arson is kind of like that old saying about goat fucking."

"Ah, yes, that age old goat-fucking axiom."

I rolled my eyes before I could stop myself. "You know that saying 'you paint one picture, and they don't call you a painter. But you fuck one goat and...' well, you know." I paused, taking stock of his bewildered expression.

"Go on," he said, almost breathlessly.

"Arson is the same way. I set fire to one car, and now everyone calls me 'that crazy bitch who set fire to her boyfriend's car.' It seems rather unfair. I've done lots of interesting stuff, but it doesn't matter. Arson will define me now." Then again, "arsonist" was certainly better than my previous moniker.

Whatever. I was having some sort of spastic episode rather than trying to charm the pants off Edward. Precious seconds were wasting away. I needed to practice the subtle art of seduction.

"So, you said something about showing me your cock?"

"Not my cock." He laughed. "But I've been dying to explain myself and show you... well, you should probably just come in."

"What if I asked really nicely? Would you show it to me?" I pressed.

"My cock, you mean?"

"Yeah-huh."

"Well, sure... I suppose. If you promise to only look but not touch."

"I think I could promise that," I lied. I was pretty sure I'd glom onto it upon first sight like sucker fish.

Suddenly, I couldn't get out of the car fast enough. I sought clumsily for the handle and kicked open the door, forgetting it wasn't my truck. "Aw shit, sorry," I said quickly as Edward winced.

"No dent, no foul." He took my hand and helped me out of the front seat like an otherworldly, sex-addicted gentleman. His hand felt so perfect holding mine that I forgot to be nervous. I closed my eyes for a second, relishing the feel of his skin on my own, even in such an innocent way. It was comforting.

"You okay?" he asked, and I realized I hadn't let go of his hand yet.

"Yeah," I replied to his sexy jaw, having lost the nerve to look him in the eye. He laughed lightly, dropping my hand, and I followed him up a pathway toward the house.

"Watch your step. Some of the trees have exposed roots."

What trees? My eyes were fixed on his high, firm ass. As far as I knew, we were surrounded by a herd of sheep eating baobabs.

-({})-

Edward's bedroom was really big, all dark leathers set against soft cream woods. It was opulent and clean... and terrible.

Too perfect.

"Um, where should I sit?" I eyed the bed suspiciously.

"Anywhere." He seemed distracted, kneeling down at his bedside table and opening the drawer.

"Are you sure this is really your room, or does it just play it on TV? I feel like I'm on the set of Big Brother or something."

He frowned. "Why are you insulting me?"

"Not you, dude - your room." I decided to sit on the leather couch. If I sat on the chair, he wouldn't be able to sit beside me and sitting on the bed just seemed too forward. Of course, I had mentioned I wanted to see his cock.

"I don't spend a lot of time in here."

"Oh, yeah? Where do you hang out?"

"Alice and I came back home last year." He was evading me. "We were in boarding school before that."

"Why did you come back?"

He grimaced. "We were expelled. Well, I was. Alice refused to stay if I didn't have to. Our other brother, Emmett, had graduated by then."

I waited for him to continue, but he didn't seem like he was going to explain any further. He pulled a notebook out of a meticulously organized drawer, setting it on the bed gingerly. He opened and closed the drawer three more times before exhaling a drawn-out, shaky breath. Was he nervous?

"Don't freak out, okay?" he pleaded.

"Um... what? Why?"

Wordlessly, he passed me a class photo and sat beside me. I narrowed my eyes at him questioningly, trying to decipher the significance of the picture. It took me about ten seconds of staring to realize I was in the picture.

"Why do you have this?" Nope, wasn't freaking out yet.

"Memories," he said simply, smiling wistfully.

"Yeah, but these are my memories."

"Mine too." He pointed to a small boy in the front row.

"You're telling me we were in first grade together?" I still wasn't freaking out... just confused.

"Yeah." He chuckled nervously. "I was pretty sure you didn't remember." He opened the notebook and handed it to me. "Read it," he said hoarsely.

It was a journal. Partly his, but mostly mine.

"I don't understand..." Okay, now I was freaking out a little. "You follow my blog? How do you even know who I am?" He'd printed out sections of my blog and pasted them into the notebook like a scrapbook.

"You were my first kiss," he said quickly.

"Bullshit." I'd never kissed him. I would have remembered something like that.

"Well, it was over eleven years ago." He smiled, and his face flushed, his jaw turning slightly redder than his cheeks.

"You've been following my blog for eleven years? Wait, I haven't been blogging for that long. I don't get it."

"Just this last year... don't freak out, okay? I'm not a creepy stalker."

"That remains to be seen. Do you sneak into my room at night and watch me while I sleep?" I was only sort of kidding.

"Just twice."

"Fuck you."

"Sorry! No, I'm kidding." The asshole was laughing, and I suddenly had the urge to punch him in the nuts, but I needed to find out what the fuck was up.

"You're looking at my therapy journal." He moved a little closer and flipped through a few pages. "Read this... it sort of explains everything."

Banner asked me today if I think about anything other than pussy. Just like that, the guy uses the word "pussy," and I wonder if Dad knows the way his favourite therapist speaks to his patients. But it got me thinking about pussy, of course, since I never think about anything else anymore. I tell him I think about other things too, and I'm not really sure if I'm lying. He then asks me if I can think about a girl without thinking about fucking. I ask him if blow jobs count as fucking. He shrugs and says not according to Clinton, and I laugh because Clinton makes me think about having my dick sucked. Just like that, my cock is hard when I'm trying not to think about sex. So, yeah, I tell him I'm unable to think about oatmeal without thinking about pussy, let alone look at a girl and see her for anything beyond her twat. Well, then the asshole asks me about my mother, and I just about puke. No, I agree, I don't think about sex when I think about her... or my sister, thank fuck. Banner seems relieved. He asks me to look back and try to remember a girl, any girl I could think about in a "chaste" way. Sure, there's plenty of girls I don't want to fuck... ugly girls. He asks me about my first sexual experience, and I can't remember. He then asks me about my first kiss, which I'll never forget. Bella Swan, I tell him. We were six. She punched me in the arm for pulling her ponytail and then kissed me because I cried. She was so pretty, and she smelled like vanilla ice cream. What happened to her, he asks. She moved away at the end of first grade. He tells me to hold onto that feeling. The kiss. The smell of her hair. Hold onto it and remember what it felt like to be exhilarated by the simple pleasure of an innocent kiss.

"Um... the fuck?" I asked. "You have me on some sort of sick pedestal for something I did when we were six?" Tears burned in my eyes. He'd made a fucking mistake. "So I exist as some sort of sick 'happy place' in your hornball head? Shit, Edward, you really picked the wrong fucking girl." I was nearly hysterical.

"No, you don't understand, Bella. I like you."

"You don't know me," I snapped.

"I've read every post on Sylvia Plath is Dead," he argued. "I bought the anthology your poem was published in."

"I want to go home now." I jumped off the couch and got nearly halfway down the stairs before he caught up with me.

"I'll take you back to your car, Bella. I'm really sorry, okay? I won't bother you anymore."

I turned to him and shuddered, taken aback by his expression. His eyes shined like maybe he was on the verge of tears. Crying. Over some idea of me he'd conjured up in his brain out of pure need and a patchwork of blog musings cut and pasted out of context.

He'd Frankensteined me into the perfect woman. I'd have to break him of his misapprehension.

"Okay, so I think you need to fuck me now," I explained clinically, grabbing his hand and leading him back to his room.

"Um, what?"

"Take your dick out and fuck me." It occurred to me I was being rude, so I added, "Please." I yanked him through the threshold of the bedroom and deposited him on the couch with a shove before sitting beside him.

"No. It's not a good idea." Hah! The guy admitted to getting horny from oatmeal and Bill Clinton. I was pretty sure I'd be able to seduce him.

"So you're a sexual compulsive. Big fucking deal," I taunted. "Poor Edward wants to fuck all the time. I'm supposed to feel sorry for you? At least you can... come." What the fuck did I just admit aloud?

"Wait, what?" His jaw dropped. "You don't come? Like ever?"

Wait, how did this suddenly become about me? "Fuck you," I spat.

"You've never had an orgasm?" He collapsed into the arm of the couch, leaning away from me and clutching a cushion so hard I thought it might explode.

"Yeah, I've come before. Just not in the last year... well, maybe once." My face burned. The last time I came was with my own hand with his name on my lips. "Can we change the subject?" I pleaded. Shit, I was going to start crying again; I was so humiliated. What had I been thinking? How could I have admitted something like that?

"Only once... in the last year?" He swallowed thickly.

"Yeah," I whispered.

"With who?"

"Whom," I corrected. "If you're going to quiz me about my sex life, I demand you use proper grammar."

"With whom? And stop evading."

Shit. He wanted to know. I'd totally tell him.

"With..."

Or maybe I could show him. What would he do if I showed him?

I jumped off the couch and faced him. "With..." Backing up until my legs were flush with his stupid, fancy bed, I waved two fingers at him.

"You made yourself come?" His pink tongue shot out, and he licked his lower lip.

"I fucked myself with my fingers," I admitted.

"Fuck."

"Yes. With my fingers." I let myself fall back onto the bed.

"What are you doing, Bella?"

I didn't answer him right away. Instead, I undid the fly of my jeans and dipped my hand inside my panties. "Brain surgery," I said breathlessly.

Author's Note: yes, you've seen that trick before, if you've read Becoming Bella Swan. I find if you're practicing the subtle art of seduction, flicking the bean always gets the mister's attention.

Fic rec: Dead on my Feet by cesca marie. This was billed to me originally as a comedy, but the angst is crazy. Not for wuss pervs.

Stay tuned... for a huge contest announcement from the Twificpimps. We're buzzing with excitement like canon Alice.

Reviews give canon BellaFlan an orgasm.