Author's note: Things get a little adult in this chapter. Okay, more than a little adult. There's sexy stuff. I'm sure you can probably figure out where it begins and ends.
'They met on the beach, far from prying eyes, all five of them. Ragged sneakers meeting sand, Michael couldn't help but feel a distinct sense of deja vous. He recognized this place. The pier. The distinctly eerie lights of the boardwalk at a distance melting in yellow streaks across blackened coastal water. Struggling had been pointless. With every brush of wind guided by Paul and David, he'd sailed alongside them through the sky. Exhilarated, angry, and almost terrified all at the same time. It was like he was fighting through a bad trip, as far as he could tell, and the high showed no signs of stopping any time soon.
Still, Sam was safe. They hadn't tried to hurt him, once they'd left the house. So in a way it was good that they were so far away, and David couldn't change his mind about feeding on his little brother after all.
"Hey," David clapped a hand on Michael's back, guiding him along the shore just shy of the surging tide while the rest of the boys walked alongside them. "I don't want to fight you, Michael. None of us do. Here's the thing, we don't always invite new members into the club. Fuck, we'd have way too many mouths to feed if we did. Santa Carla's a delicate ecosystem, y'know?"
Michael bit back an odd desire to growl, like some sort of animal, and very slowly made his thoughts known, "then you should have taken applications. I'm not a psychopath, asshole."
"Cool it," David warned, suddenly not sounding quite as cheerful as he had before, as he reached up with his free hand to give him a condescending pat on the cheek, "none of us were psychos. It takes a special kind of person not to fuck up this lifestyle. Just the right balance, ya see. Most people don't take the turn too easy. They snap," he jerked a thumb over at Paul, "this one barely made it. Would you believe he used to be a choir boy?"
"Suck it," Paul snapped back, then seemed to think better of it after a look from David, quickly adding afterwards, "I mean, y'know, only if you want to."
Marko snickered "Nice one, Paulie. Real smooth."
"The point is this: you passed the test. You're one of us, like it or not, and believe me-" David paused, drawing his arm away from Michael's shoulder as they all came to a stop, "-you're going to love what comes next. Don't worry about it, after tonight you'll thank us for this, Michael."
"What do you-" he was cut off, when David pressed a finger to Michael's lips, and pointed ahead. They'd come to a hill of sand littered with patches of dead grass overlooking what could only be described as a drunken orgy without the sex part. Punks dancing around a bonfire passing cans of cheap beer, headbanging and hollering out the lyrics of staticy music. Some, he recognized, most he didn't. The one that stood out, though, was the same bald asshole who'd tried to kill him, making out with the only chick there, sporting a leather jacket Michael remembered all too well.
"Great timing," Dwayne whispered, affecting a thin-lipped half-smirk as he surveyed the group.
"These shit-heads have a party every week," Marko explained, looking over at Michael, "we had a feeling they'd throw one tonight."
"Watch and learn," David whispered into Michael's ear, "we'll save you a bite."
"Don't bother," Michael ground out under his breath, "you won't need to." He couldn't kill. He wouldn't. Even if his blood was running hot right now, burning, scalding his skin. Even if they were right, and he was just living on borrowed time right now until he lost control. He'd figure a way out of this, cure himself, something!
Then, the masks the boys wore disappeared, and melted into their monstrous shapes. Dripping fangs, sharp bone and ridges, eyes bright enough to burn. They took flight, laughing wildly as they launched themselves at the dancing and drunken punks. Tearing throats, shredding clothes, scalping and mutilating them all with nothing but claws and teeth.
Michael sank to his knees, horrified, and excited at the same time. He wanted to bite down the raging hunger, letting his fear of these monsters he'd befriended take center stage. So much blood. He could taste iron on the air. Iron and salt. His nostrils flared as he drew a hand across his mouth, struggled not to bite through his own lips as he felt the monster inside being born.
Couldn't join them. Couldn't kill. Had to. Had to fight it. He screamed at the carnage, pressing his hands into his hair and yanking at it to use the pain as an anchor to his humanity. Then all he could hear was the fire and the waves. The laughter had died. The screams soaked into the sand with a canvas of blood and mangled bodies.
Then he heard his name, whispered, echoing from above, where all four of the boys floated together covered in their meals. They looked human again, and somehow that was even more frightening than their real faces. There was another person up there, though. David had him pressed against his chest, arms restrained behind his back with ease. The bald one wearing Michael's jacket, too scared to even cry out.
David suddenly released his hold on the human, letting him fall to the ground with a loud 'thump!'
Michael stared up at the leader, panting and gripping at his stomach as pain began to furiously gnaw a hole in it. David didn't say anything, he only mouthed the words 'do what you want.'
The human lay on the ground, dazed, the wind knocked out of him. He didn't look like he'd be able to stand up for quite some time. If the trauma hadn't done enough, the fall certainly hadn't helped. Michael stared at him, reminded himself what exactly would happen if he gave in to the monster.
If he'd never met this guy, maybe he would've had a better chance. Maybe Michael could have made himself turn away. Hell, if he hadn't worn that fucking jacket tonight, it would've been better, but he had. The taste of his own blood on his lips, the pain ripping through him as he'd been beat and kicked until he felt his ribs cracking, the memory of having his hand cut open when the guy had tried to hurt his little brother. The fucker could've killed Sam!
That last thought was what finally threw him over the edge, just as the human finally managed to scramble to his knees to try to get away. Michael snarled, beastial, out-of-control as he leapt at the man, yanking the jacket off so he didn't stain it, and using deadly fangs to rip out his throat. It was messy. It was quick. It was fucking heaven.
"You okay, boy?" Sam gripped both sides of his dog's head, giving the husky a few comforting strokes. Nanook had been acting a little funny all day, but he'd acted even worse when they went outside. Maybe it was just having the Frog brothers over, but that didn't really make much sense. Nanook never had issues with guests, no matter how weird they were.
Alan scratched idly at the tab of his coke can, squinting at the kitchen window, "thought someone was out there for a second," he cracked the tab, "Sam, your dog is freaking me out."
"No kidding," Sam mumbled, standing up and dusting some of shedding strands of fur off of his fingers. "He isn't norm-"
Sam stopped short when he heard a loud thumping sound upstairs, and all three of them immediately dashed from the kitchen, followed closely by the husky. Sam's first thought was that his brother had broken something, but when they got into his brother's room, he saw no sign of Michael.
Edgar flipped on the bedroom light, "where's the jock?"
"I don't know," Sam replied helplessly, looking over at the open bedroom window, and the cord hanging over the sill. He frowned, going over to inspect it, the distant sound of a dial echoing outside as Michael's bedroom phone swayed in the air against the wall. Sam reached for the chord to tug the phone up, glancing around. Michael's bedroom lamp was on the ground, the bulb broken. His window shades had been trashed.
"Oh god," Sam set the phone down, pressing his hands to his face and breathing harshly through his splayed fingers. What the hell had happened, and where was his brother? What was he going to tell mom?!
Everything was sort of numb. In a good way. Picking his way through the hotel tonight, Michael had a new appreciation for the darkness, once they'd left the human comfort of the burning oil barrels. He could hear water trickling down heavily mildewed walls, while rock seemed to constantly shift and settle about them. Wind pressing through hollowed crevices. Even, distantly, the crackling fires in the lobby.
"Feeling good, Mikey?" Paul slapped his back, sidling up beside him while David led the way with Dwayne and Marko trailed behind them tending to a pigeon nested in his hands.
He was tempted to lie. Hadn't asked for this. Hadn't wanted it. He couldn't really summon the words, though, and so Michael just shrugged, "yeah," he admitted with a tired smile. Honestly, after he'd dropped that asshole's corpse in the sand, and risen to join his packmates - because now he knew that's what they were - Michael hadn't felt anything but good. No regret. No pain. His first kill, and the high of the meal burnt through him, scorching his humanity into ashes that floated away with the brush of the coastal wind against his blood-soaked face.
"It gets even better," Marko called out, throwing his bird into the air to watch it beat a hasty retreat back into the light of the hotel lobby.
They found themselves at the base of a large pit, and as far up as Michael could see there was nothing but rock, rotting wood, and decaying bits of furniture or cloth embedded into the walls as if they were put there on purpose. Like Alice's tunnel, leading away from Wonderland, or maybe back to it.
It struck Michael that he was simply following blindly, yet in the dark now he could see more than ever. Every crack in the wall. Every shallow dip or space on the ground he might otherwise have tripped over and fallen into. His feet felt light now, though, and it was simply natural to let the wind carry him when they met places no human could easily walk over. Now, at the base of this pit, he finally decided to ask, "where are we going?"
In response, Dwayne rose into the air, followed by Marko, and then Paul, which left David and Michael to stare up at them.
"You gotta learn to use your inside voice," David whispered in Michael's mind, tapping a gloved finger to his own lips. "Not as safe here as the rest of the place." As if to illustrate the blonde's point, several streams of dust floated to the ground from above.
He could hear soft laughter echoing in his thoughts. Hard to disseminate one voice from another, Michael wondered if he'd ever get used to that. Just a few hours ago he'd been intent on barricading himself in his house with crosses and stakes, and now he was back here losing himself to a world he never knew existed.
"Where are we going?" Michael urged, this time resorting to their silent communication.
"Gotta pick a new room. Not enough space in the old one, and it's too easy to get to, anyway. You found it pretty easy last night, after all."
Michael was getting more confused by the second, "room for what?"
"Sleeping. Sorta had bad timing when I picked you, Michael, Santa Carla's not as safe as it used to be."
"It's the murder capital of the world, how can it get any worse?" Michael paused, not really wanting to say it, but knowing he had to, "I can't sleep here. I have to go home."
Just like that, the mood seemed to shift from one of excitement to something altogether different. Dangerous. He had a feeling he was going to have to choose his words carefully, judging by the dark look on David's face. The fucker could look pretty scary, even when he wasn't sporting fangs and freaky eyes.
"This is home," David told him, taking flight to join the others above. Michael stared after them as they disappeared through a large gap in the wall. For a moment, he got a weird feeling of discomfort. Like he was suddenly all alone in the world. The noises of settling earth and skittering bugs near his feet may be loud, but the silence in his mind now was deafening.
Was this what it would feel like if he went back to his family? This emptiness? Deep down, he knew he'd go crazy. Couldn't stand it. There was no turning back now. No running. No hiding. The second he realized that, the emptiness disappeared altogether.
"C'mon, Michael. Join the club," David called to him, and without a second thought, he rose into the darkness of the pit, following his brothers. Maybe that crazy old lady hadn't been so crazy after all.
The house was completely still this afternoon. It was the first weekend since the school year had started, and Sam had decided to spend the day with his friends. She couldn't blame him.
The night she got home after michael had disappeared, Lucy stayed up until dawn, worried, fretting. Just before the morning sun rose, though, she heard Michael's bike. When she'd rushed outside to find him, knuckles white with the effort of keeping her shawl wrapped tightly in the early morning wind, there was nothing. No sign of him.
She'd shouted his name, voice breaking with the early sun. Then she'd noticed the flag on the mailbox was raised, and found a letter. She'd get one every month, and could barely summon the strength to open this third one. Every time she read his words, her heart broke all over again. Michael wasn't coming home, and she didn't understand why he'd left.
"I'm telling you guys, this old lady has been watching us. Whenever I have to walk Nanook at night, I get a weird feeling, and I just know it's her. Mom actually caught her planting stuff in our front yard the other day." Sam reached for a slice of garlic-slathered pizza as he poured over a shaded-out map with the Frog brothers, coloring the spots they'd explored and planned to investigate in the near future, homework permitting.
"Then call the cops," Alan replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Well, I mean, mom thinks she's just lonely and told me not too," Sam protested, "besides, what would the cops around here do? To an old lady?"
Edgar slammed back half of a coke, gasping and cringing at the taste, "Alan, I don't think we need to spike our drinks with garlic, too."
"Hey, fight death breath with death breath. Could save your life one day," Alan snapped back.
"Then why am I the only one drinking it?" Edgar grumbled back, drinking more of his coke while he scanned the map.
Sam couldn't hold back a breathy little laugh and snort, "your turn to be guinea pig." If Alan had to make daily trips to the local churches to gather holy water, and Sam had to deal with splinters on a daily basis to build up their stockpile of hand-carved stakes, the least Edgar could do was drink and eat all the gross stuff. It was honestly hard to decide whether this was really for Ed's safety, or just because it was hilarious to jam cloves of garlic in his twinkies when he wasn't looking. Edgar Frog may have been the de facto leader of their group, but he wasn't really the brains.
"Okay, so you've got a geriatric stalker," Alan attempted to return to the topic at hand, "but what does that have to do with vampires?"
"Nothing, really, it's just freaking me out," Sam admitted, "and, I mean, she could be like, I dunno, a witch…" he trailed off sheepishly. If they could somehow involve getting rid of Mrs. Johnson, at least he'd have less to worry about. It'd be easier to track down his brother if he wasn't constantly looking over his shoulder just in case there was a madwoman in a chiffon caftan hiding behind one of their rose bushes.
"Have you seen her during the day? Maybe she's out for revenge," Edgar suggested, not at all jokingly. He was deadly serious when it came to anything about vampires. Or Stallone.
Sam looked at him, "uh, yeah. I told you that before. She's not a vampire, Ed."
"We haven't tested the sunblock theory, though," Edgar pressed on, "it might work."
"If they explode under sunlight, or burst into flame, I really doubt lotion's going to do the trick," Alan piped up, "unless we actually find one and figure out a way to keep it locked up, we're not going to get the chance to test that either."
Now there was an interesting idea. If Sam thought they could actually do it without getting their throats ripped out, they really could learn a lot about bloodsuckers if they had one to test hunting tactics on. Maybe it wasn't just garlic that worked on them. What about onions? Scallions? Onions would be a hell of a lot easier to peel and stock up on. It was sort of dangerous to think about. They were monsters, sure, and Sam would be happy to wipe off every last vampire on the planet, but torture? That was a little more than he thought he could handle. A staking lasted a second, maybe more if you didn't get a running start, and a lot of those things still looked like actual people half the time. He frowned, staring at his half-eaten pizza slice.
Edgar grimaced after finally tossing back the dregs of his coke and slamming the can on the table, "part timer is working tomorrow. I think it's time we finally do a really good perimeter check. I heard there were some missing kids in the sticks. There's gotta be at least a dozen prime vampire dens out there-"
"-how are we going to get to them?" Sam interrupted, knowing very well that riding on Ed's spare rusted-out bike wasn't going to get him very far.
"We'll borrow dad's car. Tomorrow's margarita night," Alan explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "he won't notice."
"Uh, yeah. Of course we're doing that," Edgar agreed, clearly surprised at the suggestion.
Sam just wished he could find his grandpa's key to that old car in the garage. Man, that would be one cool ride. Bloodsuckers wouldn't stand a chance. Maybe he'd do one last scan of the garage. Most of the stuff had been thrown away or pawned at that point, but it couldn't hurt. Maybe there was a drawer he'd missed. He was sure his dead grandpa wouldn't mind. It was for a good cause, after all.
The best time of night always seemed to strike when the glowing lights of the boardwalk flipped off, one-by-one. The people who didn't rush home, ants to their safe little hills, were the ones who lingered blindly. Closing stores. Chasing one last drink on a bar run. Catching intimate moments on blue-gray sand, bathed by a shrinking tide, or even desperately against plastered alley walls.
They skimmed the water together: David, Paul, Marko, Dwayne, and finally Michael. Dangerously close to burning themselves, howling and laughing while greasy clouds above melded together to block out the last sliver of a waxing crescent moon.
Muggy nights made for better hunts. Sun-reddened skin would be on full view from divers returning to the boardwalk after one last swim, and still others would wear skimpier shirts or shorts just to find some relief from the sweat and the heat. So much easier to pick up on scents, to find easier spots to bite without having to contend with clawing at denim and cotton. Less packaging on their food was always better.
David led, as he always did, as he always would. The unfortunate loss of their head vampire, Max, had left a gaping hole on the boardwalk. Someone with that much power doesn't just disappear without leaving a mark. Every creature for miles could have felt it, and the boys had fought hard over the course of the summer to maintain their position. They didn't mind it, actually. A kill with thicker skin than a regular human was a nice way to sharpen claws, and strengthen bonds between them.
Only once had their smallest been cornered. Luckily, he'd been vicious enough to hold his own, and kept the fragile skull of his conquer for weeks, until he'd left it outside too long and the sun got to it. Even after the true death, no part of a vampire remained safe from sunlight. Except his fangs. Dwayne had salvaged them for a necklace.
Paul and Dwayne shared a drifter, plucked from his tattered tent on the beach. Someone no one would miss. Not that it usually mattered, but the boys always tried to maintain a rule about locals. The ones who didn't fuck with them got a better running start, while the rest, well, it was a wonder Santa Carla's waters weren't tinted red by now.
Marko settled on one of the newer security guards patrolling the docks, too scrawny to share. A fish out of water, swimming right into his net. Why anyone bothered to hire these people to protect their property, David hadn't a clue. As if anyone would be stupid enough to be pulling a job at this time of night in the murder capital of the world.
David broke from them, stubbing out the remains of his last cigarette while he watched Marko feed. It would be slim pickings pretty soon, once tourist season ended. They were going to be in for about seven months of shared kills, and a much more limited food supply. Lucky for them, some hotels were being slapped up at the very edge of the boardwalk. Maybe Santa Carla was growing.
Michael followed David, glancing back over his shoulder at Marko speculatively.
"Good luck getting any more out of that one. Marko's going all-out tonight," David remarked, given how viciously the other vampire had torn out his victim's throat. Granted, none of them could claim to have the best 'table manners'. Especially Paul.
Michael rolled his eyes, looking back at David and staying in-step beside him, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, "I noticed."
The last few months had seemed longer than most. Adding a new member to their pack had changed up their routine. In a good way. It was good for their strength, too, given the loss of Max. They wouldn't likely add another for decades, though, if at all. Not unless there was a sudden unexpected population boom in Santa Carla. A couple of hotels here and there was only a drop in the bucket.
"What're you in the mood for tonight?" David clapped Michael on the shoulder, "I think I saw a couple of roadsters in that parking lot by the strip. Looked like they were getting ready for a fun night."
"Meal on wheels?" Michael asked, a hint of amusement in his voice, "alright. I could go for that."
David grinned back at him, taking off back into the sky. No one around now, no harm in showing off. He reveled in the speed the wind gave him. No leathered wings like a bat, but merely cold fingers brushing through air as the ground below him faded to a distant memory. Hazy. Eclipsed by mist. Michael was behind him, and then they were neck and neck. Racing. Michael could never win, not really. David was his maker, his pack leader, and over a hundred years older, but that didn't mean it was easy. If they could sweat, they would. If they had beating hearts, their pulses would rush so loudly that they'd hear it like hectic drumming. As it was, there was only the wind. Only David's laughter.
Michael didn't find it too funny when David beat him to the tarmac of the parking lot, while two topless cars raced about, leaving black streaks as their tires screamed into the night. Marko's security guard probably should have caught them.
David watched the drivers silently, unnoticed. He'd like to keep it that way until he had one in his clutches, pink skin shredded and embedded beneath his claws.
"Michael," he whispered in the brunette's mind, "how about you take first pi-" David didn't get to finish his sentence, just as one of the cars came to an abrupt stop, Michael was on the driver in a flash, never one to draw out his kills. Hardly even a scream. It didn't entirely fall in line with David's plans, but he enjoyed the show nonetheless.
The other driver, who'd been slowing down at first to join his friend, immediately changed his mind. It would have been funny, if his headlights hadn't flashed on David's grinning face, immediately followed by the massive fucking pain of impact as the human tried to mow him over. He hated when that happened.
In those quiet, dark moments when Michael almost felt alone, settling into sleep beside his packmates, listening to the emptiness of the caves about him, he wondered whether he'd made the right choice. Could he have fought the need for his first kill? How many more days would he have had left to live in sunlight and share dinner with his family? Guilt had nothing to do with it, he told himself. In fact, after the first time, Michael had reveled in the hunt with the others, laughed as they laughed, and killed as they killed.
Still, he'd like to see mom and Sam. Up close. Talk to them. If Sam hadn't become a hunter, picked up that funky smell after his first staking with those freaky comic geek brothers, maybe it would be an option. But until he could trust himself not to go on the defensive when he was near them, not to weigh the merits of attacking his own brother, Michael had to stay away. He'd been thinking about Sam and Lucy a lot lately, was thinking of them now that the main rush of the blood high was ebbing bit by bit, but then David's accident with the other driver caught his attention. He abandoned his meal, having inspected it for valuables already and pocketed the car keys.
"You alright?" Michael called out, swiftly finding himself standing over David, peering down at his bloodied leader. A few cracks rang in the air as bone repaired itself, punctured by soft grunts and the occasional curse. All the while, David stared back at him with a sour look on his face.
"He got away," David grumbled, still a little too injured to sit up properly.
"We can catch him," Michael suggested.
"Don't bother. Didn't really want it that much anyway."
Michael gave him a dubious look, "you were bitching back in the hotel all night about how hungry you were before we left."
When David remained silent, Michael reluctantly knelt down to offer him a hand. The bones knitted quickly enough for him to sit up by now. Even if they were all able to read Michael's thoughts at the drop of a hat in his inexperience, as they'd all make clear on several occasions, it was anyone's guess what David was thinking when he decided to keep it to himself. For some reason, now, they entered into a silent stand-off as David stared after his lost meal.
"Do you want me to go get him?" Michael suggested, after a strangely tense minute, punctuated only by the distant sound of rolling tides and night birds.
David shook his head, "it's not worth it."
Frowning, Michael stood up, looking in the direction the human had driven, "what if he tells someone about us?"
David shrugged, "nobody who counts will believe him. He was drunk. Pretty sure I smelled a popper cocktail in your meal, so I don't doubt he'd fuck me up anyway."
Michael blinked several times, when the feeling of lightness in his head dawned on him, followed by a pleasant rush altogether new, "shit," he cursed, rubbing at his forehead. "What'd he take?"
"I don't know," David replied, his frown quickly replacing itself with an amused smirk, "just gimme a few minutes for the ribs to pop back into place, and I'll get you home."
Easy for him to say, Michael thought, and then paused to really consider it. He felt good. Fuck, whether he was about to go on a trip or not, it was better than getting hit by a car. He slid back down to the ground, sitting beside David and staring out across the parking lot while they waited for the others to finish off their meals and find them.
There really weren't a lot of stars tonight, behind the clouds, but the ones he could see were brighter than the sun. "Wow," Michael mumbled, leaning back on his elbows.
"Starting to feel it?" David looked over at him, licking his own blood from his lips.
"Y-" Michael hesitated, squinting and shielding his eyes from the stars, "yeah. I think so."
"Kinda wish I'd gotten a bite after all," David flinched as he shifted on the ground, a few more cracks echoing in the air as he finished healing. For the most part. "I need to feed later."
It seemed perfectly natural then to proffer his own wrist to David, who raised one eyebrow coolly in response.
"Go on," Michael told him, tipping his head back to let the high carry him away, "I drank plenty."
For awhile, all he heard was the waves, and the rhythmic pulse in his head of flesh blood from his kill, and then he felt a sharp pain in his wrist. Soft leather-gloved fingers gripping his arm to hold it steady.
It didn't hurt very long. Not at all. Between the drugged blood and David's feeding, though, Michael had a hard time telling where one high began and another ended. It wasn't a bad life, being dead.
"Hey," Michael looked down at him, and wondered if David was enjoying his feeding a little too much. The growls emanating from his throat were almost like purrs.
Michael licked his lips, "hey," he repeated, "let's do something."
David paused, drawing back from his wrist just enough to speak, "like what?"
Michael wasn't too sure he liked that odd tone in David's voice. A little too intense. "I wanna go visit Sam."
"Excuse me?" David frowned, "right now?" There was no mistaking his growl for anything but irritation this time.
"Yeah," Michael replied slowly, "I wanna say hi."
David let out an irritated huff, licking up the last bit of blood off of Michael's healing wrist, "no."
"Why not?"
"I don't think I need to answer that."
Michael scowled, jerking his arm away, "I'm going."
David rolled his eyes, "yeah?" He leaned his chin against a palm, crossing his legs, "fine. Try it."
"I will."
"Fine."
"I'm going."
"You already said that."
"Alright then," Michael paused, "as soon as I can get my legs to work, I'm gone."
A dark smile played on David's lips, "so I guess you can't run away right now, huh?"
Michael squinted, and he could swear the stars above them had begun to drift down into the parking lot just to dance around them. Bouncing, breaking and shattering. The only thing that still seemed real was David, holding his gaze steadily, clearly enjoying this.
"Was-that a threat?" Michael asked him, finally seeming to find his tongue after what could have been a few seconds or a few hours.
"No," David leaned forward, golden eyes dancing, as bright as the falling stars around them, "not a threat."
In his right mind, Michael might have seen this coming. Not like David wasn't always watching him a little more intently than the others, touching, tasting trails of blood from his cheek after a fresh kill without so much as a word. He wasn't what you'd call subtle.
"David," Michael mumbled, as gloved fingers curled in his hair, soothing him, ruthlessly taking advantage of their link through pack and blood, "are you coming on to me?"
David rolled his eyes, a trickle of blood blossoming at the corner of his mouth as he leaned forward, "damn. You've figured me out," he replied flatly, the look in his eyes daring Michael to ignore the invitation of the blood. He didn't. He'd probably be cursing himself later, but David's blood was so much better than drugs, or the rush of a kill.
He thought he'd stop at that, just lapping at the blood, but then David caught Michael's tongue with his own, nicking flesh on fangs. The gloved hand at the back of Michael's head was no longer stroking, but holding him firm. They drank in the scent and taste of each other, while drugged blood still ran through them, and the fallen stars in the parking lot continued to dance, brighter and brighter with the passing seconds. Michael thought he'd go blind.
Then the stars were gone, and it was just the two of them, David far more real than he'd ever been, and Michael wondering what the hell he was doing. Still fuzzy. Still floating somewhere between cloud nine and the moon.
Distantly, Michael almost thought he heard laughter, or something. Maybe it was some kids on the beach. Or stragglers by the closing rides. Or someone else, too far away to matter. Whatever the hell his meal had been popping, it was one hell of a knockout cocktail.
"We can stop now," David rasped, when Michael suddenly realized he was lying down, jacket and shirt long discarded.
"What?"
"We can stop," David repeated himself, fingers brushing over bare skin, claws sharp enough to rip flesh from bone, before fading into human nails as his hand approached Michael's zipper.
Was he serious?
Michael let out an irritated growl of his own, tugging at the lapels of David's coat to try and pull it off, before the blonde's fingers gripped at his hands and pressed them down to the ground, "do you want to stop?"
Turning his head to the side, Michael bit back a retort, growing more frustrated by the second as David's little game threatened to kill his buzz, "no, asshole. I don't."
"Good." David shifted on top of him, taking the opportunity while Michael's head was turned away to brush his lips over the brunette's exposed neck, "remember that later. You wanted this."
Wanted what? Michael was just about to tell him to fuck off when he felt fangs tear into his neck. Not just bite. Or nip. But tear. It was pain on a whole new level, worse than turning, worse than death, or hunger, as if those fantasy stars that fell about them had decided to melt into fire just to burn into Michael's skin.
Then his veins.
His whole body.
And all at once, it was-
Bliss.
David hadn't planned this. So maybe it was eventually going to happen, but he'd been waiting. Waiting until Michael lost the desire to leave those empty letters for his mother, or catch fleeting glimpses of his idiot brother at that comic shop probably plotting to hunt them down if they knew what the Lost Boys were. He'd wanted to wait until Michael let go of everything and everyone else who wasn't pack. But he hadn't, and now after tasting Michael's drug-laced blood, David's self-control was out the window.
"Remember that later. You wanted this." Instinct drove him now. More than ever. If Michael hadn't exposed his throat, maybe he'd have been able to hold back. Second guess this. The invitation was just too strong, now, and so David bit deep. He tore at skin whitened by a summer of endless night, tearing through layers of pink and red, numb to the screaming beneath him that soon melted into soundless gurgling. Held Michael down. Ground his fangs against each other until he was satisfied, then slowly David eased back and let the flesh gradually mend beneath his lips. He lapped at blood while vein and muscle reformed, nursed happily until there was nothing more now of his bite but a raw, ragged scar. The mark that would never fade. He wasn't restraining the younger vampire anymore. He didn't have to, hardly even aware that their limbs were tangled together now, Michael's claws digging into his back. He should've taken the coat off.
By the time they had both managed to clumsily strip down to just their pants, David momentarily wondered if a parking lot was the best place for this, but he didn't really care. They had to finish this tonight. Now!
David growled impatiently when he tried to fumble at Michael's zipper, too impatient to think straight now, half-tempted to just rip the damn thing off. The brunette gave his own angry growl in turn, reaching down to help.
"Don't even try it," Michael warned, that much more aware of David's thoughts now. David might have fired back a retort if it weren't for the sudden gratification of Michael's hand on his cock, bringing his attention back to the moment.
They both gasped against each other's mouths, nipping, kissing as each in turn gave the other slow, sweet strokes. David's more skilled, but matched with enthusiasm. Now that the drugs from his taste of Michael's blood had settled firmly into his brain, he was struggling to pace himself, wanting, needing more than just the care of a strong hand to satisfy his desire. He'd claimed his mate with a ragged mark, but there was more to it than just tasting or biting.
David removed his hand, getting an angry snort from Michael in response as he reached down to tug his own pants a little lower, gain better movement.
"Mine," the blonde rasped, as if it was a perfectly acceptable explanation.
"Wh-" Michael shook his head, lowering both of his hands to the black tarmac beneath him, "what-"
"Mine," David repeated himself, catching Michael's mouth in another kiss, aggressive, desperate while he tried to tug the younger vampire's pants lower as well. That seemed to catch Michael's attention, and he used David's inattention to shove him away and straddle him.
There were no more words, only agitated snapping and growls as the pair struggled for dominance. Michael put up a good fight, but David had the benefit of age and siring. In less time than it had taken them to strip, he had Michael pinned to the ground beneath him, mouth and human teeth pressed to the same spot he'd made on the brunette's neck just before. If he was sober, if he didn't need to get this over with now, he'd be gloating.
But, on the other hand, he was David.
"How's it feel?" He whispered, hands firmly pinning Michael's arms down, breath harsh against his cheek.
Michael growled back at him, "it's pissing me off." That low, dangerous tone wasn't unfamiliar to him. It was the same voice he always used when he was ready to start a fight. This one, however, was a fight he wouldn't win.
"Mmmm, I think another part of you disagrees," David taunted, "seems pretty happy to me."
"I'm starting to wish both cars hit your annoying ass," Michael replied darkly, his muscles tensing as he prepared for another struggle.
David grinned, his arousal pressing against the small of Michael's back, "I'd still pin you if it did," he nuzzled into Michael's neck, inhaling deep. His scent was still just as intoxicating as it had been that first night on the boardwalk, when Michael's blood had first called out to him. David knew he was enjoying this despite himself, just as desperate for every fevered touch. "It'll be so much better if you just relax a little, Michael. Gives me a free hand."
Before Michael could make another attempt to throw him off, because David could feel his muscles tensing and just knew that's what the brunette was going to try, David bit down on his neck again, holding him in place without breaking the skin, quickly releasing one pinned arm so he could reach down to position himself properly. He could sense the others approaching, feel the air about them being stirred up. He had to get this over with, or Paul and Marko would definitely kill the mood.
He didn't apologize. David always took, claimed, and enjoyed everything he wanted. This would be no different, except for a few affectionate licks over the scarring flesh of Michael's neck as he slowly rocked against him, before giving one sharp thrust and driving forward, finally. Finally burying himself, deep in that beautiful, tight heat. A summer of agitated patience worth every single second in one incredible moment.
Michael gave out a harsh groan, lowering his head as he clearly struggled not to try to buck David off for fear it would hurt, "shit," he cursed.
David struggled to maintain a slow pace, massaging Michael's hips as he spread his knees just a little wider to get a better angle, knowing he struck the brunette's spot when the next cry Michael let out was more pleasure than pain. It had never been this good. This perfect.
"David," Michael whispered his name, and the spike of pleasure he felt at just hearing him say it sent David tumbling over the edge, his pace frantic and desperate, driving Michael to climax at almost the same perfect instant.
He wanted this to last, even when they were lying together on the tarmac, exhausted and bruised, clothes still lying in a discarded heap beside them. Even if the odd impressions he'd seen in Michael's thoughts of dancing stars had come true, and the heavens had fallen to the ground to join them, it didn't even fucking compare to this perfect, eternal night.
Paul and Marko would've gladly descended to ruffle the two up, but Dwayne was smart enough to put two firm hands on their shoulders, "c'mon."
"What, and miss the smelly, sweaty monkey sex?" Paul exclaimed in their minds, the best attempt he could make at staying inconspicuous. David and Michael would already know they were there.
"You already missed it," Dwayne replied, refusing to release his grip.
Marko huffed, "we can still give some constructive-"
Dwayne gave them both a good shove forward, "I'd prefer not to carry your body parts home tonight in a trashbag."
If they had to hassle the pair, better to do it tomorrow. Or at least when David had his fucking pants on.