My entry for the ‘Devirginizing Edward Contest’ got judges’ pick for Best Blow Job, and I received this awesome banner created by @TouchStone67 as a prize.
Thank you to all of you who voted for ‘Of Love and Silence’ in the competition, I appreciate it so much.
If you would like to read my entry, you can find it ~*here*~. I hope you like it. ~Lost
This is an original work of fiction and is no way related to, or endorsed by, Robert Pattinson or Javier Beltran. This is a slash-pairing. NC-17
By: @RobsLostSoul
I couldn’t believe how fucking lonely I was. I walked back to my apartment by myself, winding through the empty streets of this Spanish town that time had clearly forgotten. I didn’t hear anything but the sound of my own shoes hitting the cobble-stone alleyways, and even though it was a cool night, my cheeks felt hot from the beer I had just consumed at the pub…tavern? Whatever it was called, I drank a lot of beer there. I felt disgustingly full, and I swear I could hear sloshing as I walked.
I gripped my key and stopped short of the street I was residing on. I pressed myself against the edge of the stucco structure I was next to and peeked down to the entryway of my building. God dammit, it’s dark. I couldn’t see a fucking thing. See, there is this girl, or fan or something, that has decided to take it upon herself to just sort of ‘wait’ for me outside my apartment. She didn’t seem to be particularly harmful, but to be honest, I can’t imagine why anyone would exert that kind of energy and dedication on me if they weren’t a little bit nuts. I swallowed hard.
It must have been quite late by now, and the chances that she was there were slim. Not that I was afraid…I just like to be prepared to meet faces in dark, foreign streets. Perfectly reasonable. The coast seemed to be clear, and I shoved my hands in my pockets and quickly made my way to the building’s entry. After stepping inside, I ran up the tile stairs to my third floor apartment, or at least, I thought I was running. Like I said, I had had a bit to drink. Who the fuck am I kidding? I have the tolerance of a 300 kilo man, and to feel like this, I drank like a fucking fish tonight. I tried to stifle a giggle at that as I opened my door and stepped into the dark apartment. It was actually quite nice. I had a view of the town, and everything was quintessentially mission-Spanish. It was definitely a step up from my dingy flat in London.
Suddenly, a pang of homesickness rippled through me at the thought of my wretched little flat that I adored. Filming was almost over, and I tried to console myself with that fact; I would be home in a matter of weeks. Of course, that thought also scared me, because I was returning home to no real job, no sense of purpose or direction, no sense of anything, really. I tried futilely to push those thoughts out of my mind.
I landed heavily on the sofa and stared out the open windows, not really looking at anything except the gauzy drapes that were shivering from the Mediterranean breeze. I rubbed my eyes and blinked when reality slapped me sharply in the face. Tomorrow. Fuck. The scene is tomorrow. Christ.
I sighed and let my head fall back as I stared up at the ceiling while panic started to grip at my chest. You see, this movie I’m working on, and the character I play…well, I am sort of bi-sexual. I of course thought about whether or not I would be okay with this before I took the role, especially because when I first signed on, I was cast as the essentially fully-gay supporting role. And I am okay with it. I mean, I want to be the type of actor that takes roles because they are meaningful, not just easy to do, or whatever. All that aside, the fact was, I was going to have to pretend to attempt in having full-on anal sex tomorrow with another man. And naturally, I have to be the one getting fucked.
I sat there frozen for a time, just trying to even imagine how it might go while my mind kept tripping over itself. While I was wistfully toying with the idea of just calling the whole bloody thing off, there was a soft knock at my door. I about jumped out of my fucking skin. Who the hell could THAT be? Everyone is supposed to down at the pub still… My naturally paranoia-disposed mind started to take over and I imagined a million things. Stalker girl. Burglar. Murderer. I felt almost sober as I lightly crept to the door and listened. Another gentle knock. Shit. I cleared my throat, and in my most intimidating, ‘don’t fuck with me, I’ll kill you first’ voice, I barked, “Who’s there?”
A hurried mumble and deep Spanish accent answered me through the thick, wooden door.
“Robert, it is me. Javier.”
To continue to read ‘No Limit’, click ‘Read More’ below…
Due to the recent interest in my FanFiction, ‘My Own Best Friend’, I thought this the perfect time to post another wicked awesome manip done by our lovely, Neesie31! Ironically, she did NOT read the story before she made this…*sighs happily* wicked minds think alike…*wink* ~Lost
[click pic for a wicked close-up]
Let this be a lesson to keep your mitts off Robbie…all except mine, of course. *wiggles fingers deviously* Just kidding, I’m all about the ‘Rob Respect’…*at this moment ‘respecting’ his photographs with my eyes* ~Lost
Thank you all for joining us in a celebration of Rob with black hair, Salvador Dali, and Rob fooling around with other boys while portraying Salvador Dali with black hair!
Here is a FANTASTIC youtube video that rivals on the edge of sheer brilliance featuring Rob, and just Rob, jacking off and dossier-ing in Little Ashes. Score.
*wipes brow, dry swallow* Even with the pained emotional torture and mustache, that video does things to me…
Now, my other gift to you, beloved reader, on this day of days, is a untagged manip of one of my very favorite Rob pictures. I don’t do this professionally, but at least now it is easier to focus on the truly magnificent creature that was captured in this shot.
[click on UntaggedRob for a wicked close up]
*sighs wistfully* Fallen and I REALLY have a thing for him with black hair.
Happy DaliDay Everyone! xoxo ~Lost & Fallen
If you really want the full effect, close your eyes and listen to the crystal clarity of his moans and insert them into you own fantasy. *fans self, wipes brow* It’s a rather…*squeaks* ‘intense’ experience.
This clip is being taken down all over the internet as fast as it is being put up, so feel free to share it with your wicked friends but do NOT say the name of the movie or his full name when sharing, PLEASE! *looks around paranoid, whispers* They’re watching us…
Now, is it just me or are those the hottest sounds you have ever heard in your entire fucking LIFE? Oh. My. ROB! ~Lost
A big, wicked thank you to @ezrocksangel for being our 50th follower on @RobistheDevil Twitter! Hope you enjoy your manip…and I wonder who would have picked such a perfect picture of Rob? (I TOLD you you had wicked taste!) ~Lost
This is an original work of fiction and is in no way endorsed by, or related to, Robert Pattinson.
My Own Best Friend
“Sometimes I, you know, like to play my own trumpet to keep up sexual tension.” - Robert Pattinson
I open my eyes and scrub my face with my hands before tugging my hair back with both fists. I stare at my face in the mirror, and I realise that I hardly recognise the man looking back. He has an unnatural shade of pallor from the harsh florescent bathroom lights. It doesn’t resemble the make-up he wore earlier, but looks instead just plain sickly. He looks tired. Sort of…puffy. He looks older than he did just a few months ago. Ugh. This is going to be the death of me.
I take a moment to concentrate on zipping up my jacket and then hastily pull the black jersey hood over my head. As I lean in to open the bathroom door, my gaze automatically falls to the floor; a natural reaction for me now anytime I step out in public. I push myself forward with even but long strides, nothing resembling the sprint that every fiber of my being is begging me to break into. I’ve gotten pretty good at navigating with my head down, actually. I know the black sedan waiting for me is close by. I can hear the engine, faintly smell the exhaust, and I can see the familiar tires just ahead of me in my peripheral vision. Just a few more paces, and I’ll be gone. Whisked away from this jail. Whisked away to my other cell. You know, the one with the bed in it.
I close the gap quickly, open the car door, slip inside and shut it again in one fluid motion that I have perfected to an art. Sliding across the leather seat, I slump down as the car begins to move.
“Thank you.” I nod to the driver. He glances at me in the review mirror, says nothing, nods back.
Although I know the windows are tinted an impenetrable black, I can’t help but feel everyone can still see me. Not just see me, but I can feel unseen eyes staring at me…hunting me. I glance out the window to my left to see a paparazzi run along side the car for a few meters and I remember that these days, I’m right.
The car ride is over much too soon. It seems like about the time my shoulders begin to relax a bit, that is some sort of universal signal that we have arrived. I absentmindedly tug at my hood as I scan the back of the hotel. I don’t see anyone, at least, not out right. The driver does a slow circle to pull the car up to the back of the hotel’s shipping door where a staff member is waiting just on the other side to open it. I’d given up trying to go in the front. I know no matter how I get in it won’t be a secret, but I don’t want to have to risk running down more people than necessary just to get indoors. The driver looks at me in the rear view mirror announcing the end of our journey together. I look at him, and duck my head in appreciation as I lurch out the car towards the knob-less steel entrance next to me. Two quick knocks and the door opens, almost knocking me over. That doesn’t slow me though. I am determined. I’m down the hall and pressing the call button for the service elevator only seconds later.
I wait in the darkened, industrial corridor for the lift to arrive when I feel my mobile buzzing in my jeans pocket. I slip my hand into the fabric slit and pull out my old, beat-up phone. I have that iPhone as well, but for some reason, this one is just more…comfortable. I flip it open to see a text waiting from Ashley.
WE R ALL GOING TO GLOBAL @ 9 U COMING?
I bite my lip and look up at the twisting air ducts, letting the possibilities swirl around my mind for a moment. On the one hand, I could go, get completely pissed and have a billion pictures of the event posted online to remind me of what exactly happened the next day. On the other hand, I could go, make nice with everyone and appear well adjusted in addition to enjoying a nourishing meal. I start to reply.
THANKS BUT I HAVE A HEADACHE. SEE YOU TOMORROW.
The less celebrated third and agoraphobic option has increasingly been my one of choice. I sigh, and the lift doors open with an alarming screeching sound in front of me. I momentarily consider taking the stairs, but just don’t give a shit enough to even try to locate the stairwell. I step inside and lean into the corner and close my eyes as the doors grind shut behind me.
* * *
To continue ‘My Own Best Friend’, click ‘Read more’ below…
robisthedevil
robsfallenangel
robslostsoul