A/N: Flanny and the Freak (Jo) say: THANK YOU SO MUCH for your reviews on this crazy!

The Freak: You asked for it, you got it, Toyoooooooootah. I mean, Penal Code.

Flanny: LOL?

The Freak: I was having a "Forget Paris" (the movie) moment.

Flanny: *Snorts* I just fell off that tangent and hurt my head.

The Freak: *Eye rolls*

That's right, we're gonna see where this fuckery takes us. Perrymaxwell and Sue the Beta Fairy check grammar and give us feedback. We thank them profusely. Flanny & The Freak will be posting this simultaneously and at the same time within our own profiles, so if you've already alerted it, you will know when it updates.

We're looking at a short story here, maybe ten short-ish chappies long. And we really hope you enjoy the silly.

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 2 - That's Not Mud on My Face; it's Pudding

Edward.

Watching Bella eat pudding was like watching a porn movie. She licked that cup dry, and I wondered if that was part of her gig - getting a guy horny and hard over pudding and then sucking him dry, hour by hour.

I could get on board with that.

And when I say "sucking him dry" I obviously meant money ... although, I'm guessing she could suck me dry the other way too. She definitely had some tongue skills with that spoon, I'd noticed.

I wanted to be that spoon.

I wanted to punch that spoon in the nuts, actually, and take its place.

Sorry spoon, but you're out.

Alas, though, as Bella began to scrape the final remnants of chocolate flavored gelatin from the plastic cup she'd been having an intimate relationship with, her eyelids grew heavy, and before I could offer to walk her home, or... back to her pimp's place, her head fell.

Her nose landed square into the pudding cup, forcing what was left of her snack outward in a climactic spray of chocolate that speckled her face.

I was wrong. I didn't want to be the spoon after all. I wanted my jizz to be the pudding.

A laugh escaped me, and I tried not to let it sound out. She was damn cute for a hooker, I decided - pudding stained face and all. And I wanted to pet her hair then kiss her forehead for being that cute, but I...

"Shit."

What was I supposed to do with her passed out like that?

I couldn't just let her stay there. Could I? In my apartment? I mean, she was a hooker. I was a cop. If anyone found out I'd not only let a hooker into my place, but that she'd given me one of the most talented handjobs... ever... and then ate my pudding and fell asleep...

"Shit shit shit..."

I was dead.

Done for.

I was gonna be fired for sure.

This was not good. This was sooooo... not good.

But I couldn't exactly take her home either. Even if I could carry her in the state she was in, I had no idea where she lived... or where her pimp lived.

I rubbed at my face for a few seconds and thought about waking her up.

Then I jiggled her shoulder. "Bella," I whisper-sang. "Belllllllllaaaaaah."

Nothin'.

"Fuck me."

I thought I'd woken her up when she moved a hand to wipe some pudding from the corner of her mouth, but just as she did it, she mumbled something almost incoherently. Spoke in her sleep, that is. "I love your pudding, Edward Cummmmmmmmasen."

I chuckled.

And shook my head at her.

Damn, cute, adorable, talented, handjob giving hooker.

Then I sighed and thought, okay, I could probably let her sleep it off here in my apartment, wake her up early, and then sneak her out before anyone knew anything about it.

I looked over at the couch. It was a shitty thing to sleep on. I knew, I'd passed out on it quite a few times. Always woke up with a neck injury of some sort.

So I picked Bella up and put her over my shoulder, and took her to my bedroom, where I laid her down onto the queen-sized, blanket-covered mattress. Then removed her heels, pulled some of the god awful pins out of her hair, and covered her with my comforter.

I also wiped as much of the pudding off of her face as I could see without turning the lights on for a better look.

"Goodbye, sweet bed," I whispered before taking an extra blanket out of the closet. "We'll be together again tomorrow."

Once I was lying down and completely uncomfortable, I attempted to find sleep by thinking happy thoughts. Thoughts about Bella's soft touch and experienced fingers doing things to my dick that hadn't been done (properly) in many…. many eons.

Then I remembered something.

And cursed again.

Because I was pretty sure she was going to expect payment for that expertise.

I had about ten dollars in my wallet, which I was fairly certain wasn't gonna cover the cost of a handjob.

Maybe I could get a discount for providing shelter?

Probably not.

I kicked the covers off of my boxer-short covered legs in a very twelve-year-old having a tantrum sort of way and grabbed my jacket. It was fucking cold out, and I told the ATM machine as much while I punched my pin number into the damn machine to get... what does a handjob go for? A hundred? Two hundred?

I took the maximum amount out that I could for the day and decided to figure it out when I got back up to the apartment. I was quite busy cursing some more about the situation when I turned to go. Then I stopped short, finding an older, very "handsome" woman, as Bella might have put it, glaring back at me.

She held tightly onto the umbrella in her hands, and I became quite offended that she would think I, of all people, would be getting ready to hurt her in some way.

"What?" I finally snapped at her, unable to take the judgmental staring any longer. Her eyes dipped down some, then back up at my eyes, and she narrowed hers before saying, "Pervert!" Then she swung the umbrella at me, and I took off without questioning what the hell she was talking about until the doorman to my building snickered as I passed by.

"Forget something this evening, Mr. Cullen?" he asked, and that's when I got it.

What I'd neglected to remember when I ran out of the apartment shortly before.

My damn pants.

I gave a weak smile to the doorman and concentrated on getting myself back into the apartment before feeling the embarrassment of scaring the bejesus out of some poor old woman and probably giving the security guys their next big viral video for YouTube.

"Battin' a thousand, Eddie boy," I told myself as I guesstimated how much to leave Bella, then pulled a sticky off of its pad and wrote her a thank you note.

Yeah. That's right, I said a thank you note. And even I shook my head at myself for that one, but to be honest, my mom had always loved sending Thank You cards to people after they'd done something meaningful for her or given her a gift.

I guess it rubbed off on me.

No pun intended.

Oh god. That's gross, right?... something of my mom's... rubbing off on me... and then letting that thought go where it just went? I was as bad as Alice suddenly.

But um...

Anyway, it was difficult to come up with just exactly what to say at first, believe me.

Dear Bella, thank you for getting me off tonight.

No.

Dear Bella, you are very talented, I'm sure you'll move up the ladder of hookers in no time...

OY.

I ended up going with something more along the lines of generic.

"Bella, it was a pleasure meeting you. I'm really glad you liked the pudding."

It looked... lacking, somehow, but what else was I gonna say to the girl?

Let's do it again sometime?

Perhaps we can take things to the next level when...

I sighed. There was no way I could see her again.

Right?

Was there?

No seriously, was there?

Quit it.

Still, she was... really sweet, actually... and I managed to smile as I left the money and the note where she'd find it. Then I got myself situated back into a not so very comfortable position on the couch and managed to drift off with only five or so hours of sleep to get before needing to head in for a day of monster paperwork over at the precinct.

The last thing I remember thinking was a mix up of emotions that left me confused. On one hand, I had completely screwed up my collar for the night. On the other, I'd met a girl.

One that I couldn't necessarily take home to mom, but you know, still.

She was pretty great.

Bella

Shit and fuck! There's always this terrible moment of panic and disorientation when you wake up in a strange bed. Like, I wanted to grab my mace (not the spray, but the medieval weapon) and beat the shit out of the fucker who fed me the roofie. Instead, I kicked the comforter off me, pausing to examine the 1970s themed Chips commemorative bedsheets, and rubbed the sleep away from my face.

A snarf sound snorted out of my nose and throat as I stifled a giggle and sneezed simultaneously. The random tribute to Eric Estrada confirmed my suspicions from yesterday that Edward was a cop. Just like my father.

Well, not just like my father. I wasn't an Oedipal freak or anything. It's just that I'd noticed the holster on Edward's pants because, well, a girl doesn't miss that kind of thing, even when she's giving a handjob. I wondered why he left the holster on but removed the gun. Was it a kink thing? He seemed so sweet and grateful for my attentions . . . if he wanted to play out some minor BDSM stuff like a butt plug (on him) or fuzzy handcuffs (on me), I could be game.

If only I could figure out why he'd thought I'd wanted him to come on my face. I'm pretty sure I hadn't give off any of kind of signal that would suggest such a request.

Speaking of a sticky face . . . my cheeks were kind of crusty. I licked my lips, and they tasted like sugar.

Oh! The pudding. I must have fallen asleep right after eating it - Jake always did accuse me of being a messy eater - and now it felt crusted around my mouth like Crazy Glue.

I remembered eating the pudding, but I had no clue why I was in Edward's bed.

The alarm clock on the single nightstand announced the time, 10:00, in obnoxious, red numbers. Oh my fuck, he has one nightstand beside his bed. That has to be the universe screaming a warning at me. But my intuition had always been kind of crap. Case in point: one gay ex-boyfriend. So the universe could send me clever, ironic messages in the form of Ikea furniture if it wanted to, but I'd just continue on in my oblivious fugue.

I was going to be late for work if I didn't haul ass, and there was no way in Hades I could go to work in what I'd been wearing last night. Maybe Edward had some clothes he could lend me. But shit, I couldn't exactly show up at the first precinct in a dude's outfit.

Either way, Police Commissioner Swan was gonna kill me.

I padded barefoot out of Edward's bedroom and made my way into his living room. "CUMasen?"

Huh. Weird. Where the fuck was he? This situation was so messed up. Jeez, it's not like I'd been drunk yesterday. Just kind of hungry and lonely . . . oh, and maybe a little a suicidally depressed, too.

Of course he's gone, you idiot. He probably thought you were a complete whore.

I ground my fists into my eyes again in a vague effort to wipe the ennui away from my face, and my hand froze on my cheek as I spotted a piece of paper with my name on it. Well, not exactly my name; it was addressed to Cum-Swan.

Did he leave me his phone number or was he blowing me off with a Dear John letter already? Wait, what the fuck was this? My jaw dropped as a fifty-dollar bill fluttered out of the folded note, landing unceremoniously at my feet. I lowered to my knees and crumpled it in my hand, my brow furrowing in kind.

What the fuck did this mean? I had to admit, I'd dated a lot of schmucks in my time, but this was unprecedented. Maybe the note would explain it.

Bella, it was a pleasure meeting you. I'm really glad you liked the pudding.

He was glad I liked the pudding. THE PUDDING?

Water burned in my eyes, and I felt my skin heat and a tiny sob choke off in my throat. He couldn't even be bothered with cutting me loose in person? Or did his parting words mean something else? I squinted my eyes as if staring at one of those 3D paintings, and his message would decode itself if I managed to focus my vision right.

After five minutes of quiet contemplation, I had nothing to show for my efforts but a headache.

So I called Alice.

"I need your help," I whispered into the phone.

"Bella? I can't hear you. Why are you whispering?" Alice's boisterous voice grated on my final nerve

"Because I'm freaking out!" I yelled.

"Please learn the art of volume control. And it must be a full moon or something because I just got off the other line with my brother. He's also in crisis."

"Sorry to hear that, but I think my problem demands more immediate attention than your lonely brother."

"Bella," she warned, her tongue clicking.

"Look, I'm sure he's perfectly nice. I didn't mean to act like a scunt there . . . I just . . . I'm so confused!"

"Can you hold on a sec? It's my other line."

"No! I don't care if Edgar's calling you. I need you to make sense of something for me."

"I know, and I will. Just give me two minutes, okay? And his name isn't-"

"Hoes before bros, Alice," I interrupted. "And fine."

With my phone still pressed against my ear, I paced the room, glaring once again at the offending note and wondering if it would burst into flames if I stared at it for long enough. Truth be told, I kind of wanted to ignite into ash too. My chest ached with an unexpected sadness I didn't understand.

I ended the call, my finger hovering over the screen as a lead weight settled in my gut. I didn't need Alice's insight to confirm what was happening here: Edward used me to get off and then left me a polite thank you and cab fare, obviously over-compensating out of guilt. I turned the note over and scribbled FUCK YOU in bold letters, preparing to do the walk of shame out of the building in my semen-stained clothes from last night.

A/N - Every time you review Flanny and the Freak someone's face gets covered in pudding.