Twilight Parody - Meatballs Are Not For Kissing

I have still failed to come up with a title for the Twilight parody, although y'all had some rocking good suggestions. Somewhere out there in the proverbial ether there is a play on words involving sparkly merpires, and I intend to find it.

Oh, and I already hit number one on the "good ideas for a Twilight parody." Awful quick, wasn't it? Either way, I've declared it the week o' Twilarity, and Twilarity we shall have.

Sparkly Twilarity, even.

You may also notice that I've got a link to past editions of the Twilight parody in the sidebar in case you've missed any. They're kind of sort of sequential. Kinda.

Edition 4: Meatballs Are Not For Kissing

Luckily, Ellba didn't have to explain the baby pool, because Harley didn't even come into the room. He always said that the vampire and guppy print wallpaper gave him nightmares.

"Sorry to wake you up, Harley," said Ellba. "I think the painkillers are making me talk in my sleep."

"But I thought I heard sloshing."

"Oh, I slosh in my sleep too. You should hear me. Slosh slosh slosh, all the time. Sometimes I slosh so loud that I can't hear myself think."

"I've noticed that." Harley backed away, closing the door behind him. "G' night."

That was one thing that Ellba liked about her father: he didn't hover. He left her alone to hang out with freaky supernatural creatures in her room in the middle of the night.

"Ward?" she said quietly.

A streak of ochre light crossed the floor, slipping into the baby pool without even rippling its sparkling surface. Then Ward smiled at her, the cockeyed kind of smile that says, "Yeah, I might be a semi-stalker, but that's okay because I am sparkly and sexy. Sparkle sparkle sparkle."

Or maybe he said that out loud. Ellba wasn't sure. The painkillers, remember?

She smiled in delight. "I'll go put on my bathing suit and swathe my injured leg in a roll of Saran Wrap to keep my bandages dry. Wait right here."

Moments later, she slipped into the pool beside him. It was tough being so close to him, the glint of the bedside lamp on his ochre scales drove her to distraction. Her pulse thumped so loud that she was sure he could hear it.

She couldn't stand it any longer.

"Kiss me," she said, tilting her chin up to his. "I'm not afraid."

"What?" he replied. "I couldn't hear you. You're sloshing too loud."

"Kiss me, damnit!"

"Ellba, you don't understand how dangerous that would be for you. I don't know if I could explain it in terms you could understand, but I'll try." He paused thoughtfully, his fin churning the water in a rhythmic, almost hypnotic pulse.

"My love," he said finally, "you smell like a meatball."

Ellba sniffed her armpit. "Really? I haven't rubbed myself with any meat products lately."

"You don't need to. It's a natural part of your being. I noticed it that first day when you walked into Chemistry class."

"Oh! So that's why you tried to pour pasta sauce on me!"

"Exactly. It's one of your most endearing characteristics. I mean, the whole klutz thing works; don't get me wrong. And the part where you're not creeped out by my stalkerish tendencies is nice. But mostly, I love you because you remind me of ground beef."

"That's so romantic, Ward. But why won't you kiss me?"

Ward sighed. "Well, I drink blood, right? Human blood. And you're human. So it would kind of be like you going out to the pasture and kissing the cow before they made it into hamburger."

"Kissing me is like kissing a cow?" Ellba wrinkled her nose. "I'm not sure I like that."

"A cute cow," replied Ward, curling his fin around her Saran Wrapped legs and pulling her closer.

"You smell so yummy," he murmured in her ear. "You don't have any pasta sauce, do you?"