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David still hasn't made up his mind what to do about Michael.
He'll be one of them, that much is already in motion, a future set in stone from the moment Michael tipped the bottle to his lips. But why count it from there? To David's mind, it was all over from the moment Michael wrenched his wheels around and skidded to a stop, inches from the edge of Hudson's Bluff, only to come back swinging for David, fire in his eyes.
David wanted him already, but that moment sealed his fate.
To learn that Max already had plans for Michael's family was a complication, and an unwelcome one. Superficially, their goals align, but it's hard to stage much of a rebellion when the family patriarch only orders you to do the very thing you were doing already. David's not contrary enough to deny himself something he wants, just to make a point, but Max's plans hold no other appeal. To Max, Michael is a convenience, the link that completes the circuit between himself, David, and the new mother he's decided will finally bring all his boys to heel. Max is too old and too set in his ways to realise how long ago that ship sailed. They don't need a mother. David may have no intention of ever growing up, but given the chance, he'd have left home far behind long ago.
Then again, if his mother is half as pretty as Michael, maybe David can see the appeal.
Michael's more than just a pretty face, of course. David's been on this earth long enough to have seen everything Santa Carla has to offer him many times over; it's not often he passes anyone on the street that catches his eye anymore. Michael is the rare exception: young, clean-cut and wide-eyed, already chafing at the rough edges that separate childhood from whatever comes next, but seldom has David looked at anyone and known, with such unshakable certainty, that there's a killer lurking beneath that innocent face. All David has to do is bring it out in him.
In the meantime, Max's latest olive branch only leaves them only more at odds. David wants Michael, but he wants a Michael freed from mortal encumbrances, from Max's looming shadow. A Michael who comes to their world with a mother and mouthy kid brother in tow will never truly be free—not the way he deserves to be.
He'll never truly be David's.
David isn't sure yet how he's going to achieve that. So far, his best attempt has been to send his hungry fledgling home and hope all such problems might take care of themselves. It's not the most elegant plan, but it's hard to think strategically when Michael is around. He's very distracting.
It's even harder with Michael in his lap, tense with anticipation. Besides, it'd be a shame to waste a moment like this worrying about what might come next.
Michael doesn't fully understand what David really wants from him, what David's really offering, not yet. But there's a part of him that knows, on some deeper, instinctual level, and David can feel that part of him responding. It's right there in this strange eagerness to lie his head down in David's lap, his willingness to stretch his neck right into the lion's mouth without fear.
An earring may not be as traditional as a ring on the finger, but David's never been a traditionalist, and this will mark Michael as one of them in a way that's so much harder to mistake. Besides, a ring wouldn't pierce his flesh or seal their bond in blood, wouldn't even give Michael the excuse to lay his head down in David's lap. He's already picked out Michael's new earring; the boy doesn't need to know how long David's had it, or why he kept it, even long after he stopped wearing it himself. If David's any judge, Michael's not nearly ready to admit any of what he wants from David either. But that's fine, he'll figure it out soon enough.
David doesn't take his gloves off much anymore, but a job like this needs a little more finesse than they allow ‒ and it'd be a shame to waste the excuse to put his hands on Michael's skin. He's already starting to smell like the rest of them, but with that tantalising aroma of fresh humanity overlain, in a way that makes David's mouth water. There's a part of him that longs to sink his fangs deep into that pale neck and drink and drink until all of Michael is gone. He's not going to, but the temptation is hard to deny.
Michael's skin prickles as David runs a thumb over the shell of his ear, dragging it beneath the soft flesh of the lobe to stretch it gently outwards over the pad of his thumb. He doesn't need to spend as long as he does minutely adjusting his grip, but David is enjoying this, the way Michael's pulse and breath quicken the longer David makes him wait. He's probably making all sorts of excuses for why David's hands on his face and neck thrill him so. He thinks he's proving himself, making himself vulnerable before David without fear. He doesn't know how right he is.
Carefully, David lowers the very tip of the needle to mark the perfect spot on Michael's earlobe, and feels Michael twitch a little at the touch.
"Ready, Michael?" says David. "Don't move, or this'll all come out so much worse."
He doesn't count down from three, just plunges the needle down hard, straight through and deep into the pad of his own thumb. Michael gasps and tenses hard, but he couldn't move now if he wanted to: David has him pinned like a butterfly to a board.
"There," David purrs, as Michael pants quietly, eyes wide and fingers gripping hard around the curve of David's knee. "Was that so bad?"
Michael huffs out the world's weakest laugh and tries to look up at him, briefly, before whatever he sees in David's eyes makes him look away again.
David takes his time sliding the needle back out again. His wounded thumb comes away bloody, the taste of Michael's blood mixing with David's own when he slips it into his mouth, savouring that taste for long, blissful seconds while the pinprick heals under his tongue.
The earring itself comes next, and this needs to be done quickly, before Michael's body starts to heal. Even for a half-vampire, the wound won't stay open long without something to keep it from closing. Michael hisses and breathes out hard as the hook slides through and into place.
The blood on David's fingers this time is Michael's alone, but no less delicious. In his lap, David watches Michael breathe carefully, pulse still racing, eyes fixed determinedly on the far side of the room, waiting for permission to sit up again. Already, his body is trying to heal, but not fast enough to prevent a thick droplet of blood from falling from his wounded earlobe to the side of his neck beneath. David watches as it runs down the line of his throat, finally pooling in a hollow where the skin levels out on the path to his shoulder. He wonders if Michael can feel it there, in its little trail of damp.
It's an act of pure, sinful indulgence to do what David does next, bending his head to lick it up—the taste of Michael's blood rich and sweet against the salt of his skin—and slowly, slowly, follow the trail all the way back up to the source. Michael gasps beneath him—David feels it through his tongue—and starts to shiver, not stopping while David is touching him still.
Reluctantly, David pulls himself away at last. "All done," he tells Michael.
Michael pushes himself away from David as if stung. His hand goes to his neck, fingers seeking the drying trail David left behind with his tongue. "Did you just..." he mutters.
"Something wrong, Michael?" David prompts him, when Michael doesn't continue. They both know what David just did, but Michael is already second-guessing himself in the face of David's brazen lack of shame.
"N... no," he manages, stuttering only a little. His fingers find the new earring, feeling its shape curiously. His whole head tilts slightly to the left under the miniscule new weight of the hanging coin with a piercing of its own, loops of metal connecting one to the other. He'll still be noticing it tomorrow, but he'll get used to it soon enough.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" David grins at him, stepping into his space. He chases Michael's fingers away with his own, tugging gently on the new earring to slide the wire around. "Remember, you'll want to keep moving it as it heals, if you don't want it fusing in place." Not that David would greatly mind if it does: one more claw in Michael's skin that won't be easily pried free.
"Ah," says Michael, faintly. He doesn't wince this time, and David is quietly pleased with him.
"It suits you," David tells him. "You look like you're one of us."
Michael flushes and smiles, pleased in a way he doesn't quite understand. "Can I see it?"
"Of course."
They don't have much use for mirrors down in the hotel, but Star has a small compact nestled in with her things, and David knows where to find it. Michael is little more substantial than a ghost in the cloudy glass, but in the gloom of the cavern, he won't notice in any way he can't rationalise. David watches him move his head to and fro, watching the metal glitter as it swings in the light, fingering his new earring carefully.
"Like it?" David asks him.
Michael meets his eyes, the mirror forgotten, the edge of a smile on his lips.
"Yeah," he says. "I like it."
David smiles.