Chapter Text
David saw him before the show, but only a glimpse: angel-like curls and a strong profile in the corner of his eye, there and then gone. He turned around to get a better look, but the boy was gone, swallowed by the crowd, and David didn’t have time to look for him before the show started, nor the power to stop time long enough to search.
He kept an eye out, though, as people passed by the makeshift stage (the crumbling remains of an old amphitheatre that had been built at the same time as the boardwalk) while he and the boys set up for their show that night. He wasn’t subtle about it, either, though David had never felt the need to be particularly subtle around his family. There were no secrets in immortality – not for long, at least.
“What are you looking for, David?” Paul asked as he tightened the skin on one of his drums.
“Nothing,” David answered breezily. He’d never hear the end of it from the boys (or Star, once they told her) if they thought he’d lost his head over some guy he saw out of the corner of his eye. And he wasn’t really looking, anyway, more like . . . checking, every now and again. When he didn’t have anything better to do.
“You put the microphone in backwards,” Marko pointed out, snickering.
David frowned at the mic. The base was facing him; the grille was pointed at the boardwalk, where a crowd would soon be gathering. He righted it, scowling. There was no reason for him to be this distracted. He’d seen pretty people before. And he hadn’t really even seen that boy. Just the side of his face for half a second.
But that had been enough. His beauty was obvious, the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth impossible to resist. Nothing like him had graced Santa Carla’s shores in a long time, if ever. David wanted him for the thrill of having something new, for the ecstasy of keeping something so ethereal in his veins.
He didn’t want anyone else to get to him first.
“Let’s hold off on Have to Have You,” David told the band. “We’ll play that later.”
They usually opened with that song. It was a sort of summons, letting whoever wasn’t already there know that the show was beginning. But David wanted to save that for his boy tonight.
He could feel the guys sharing a look behind his back.
“Any particular reason?” asked Paul.
“Why not switch things up every now and then?”
David didn’t want to tell them about the boy until he knew more. He wasn’t completely sure what he wanted from him. It would be a shame to kill something so lovely, but the desire to consume him was almost overwhelming.
“Whatever you say, boss,” Dwayne answered. His tone promised a thorough interrogation after the show.
“I like the sound of that,” said David, grinning, entirely himself. “Are we ready for sound check?”
There he is. David saw the back of his head, the stage’s psychedelic lights shining on those lovely curls as his boy turned in a slow circle, taking in the boardwalk. The crowd screamed, sharp elbows and dancing feet jostling him, but he didn’t look perturbed. His eyes gleamed with excitement and his hands flexed in time with his heartbeat, restless. Oh, yes, David thought. This was the place for him.
David gestured at the band. Have to Have You next, he said in their heads.
David watched his boy as they wrapped up their song and transitioned into Have to Have you. He was a vision: stormy eyes and plush lips set in a face that not even Botticelli, with all his angels, could have done justice to. His form was superb: tall, long limbed without being gangly, and he carried himself with a casual kind of confidence that made him seem totally unaware of his own good looks (though David was sure that was impossible).
His outfit wasn’t to David’s taste, but it didn’t do any harm. His white t-shirt hinted at definition underneath, and his jeans, while not particularly tight, still flattered the shapeliness of his legs. The denim vest really was tragic, but David would get it off of him and burn it. He might even replace it with one of his own leather vests, if his boy was particularly attached to it.
The guys began to sing the opening chords. The crowd sang along with them, almost frenzied with the force of their desire. David could feel it radiating off of them, their thoughts hazy but strong, similar and simplistic enough for them to blend into a single plea. Sing, sing, sing, their minds cried, begging for their own undoing. David loved it almost as much as he loved the taste of their blood on his tongue.
“I need a quick hit / Come on and give me it / Don’t give me counterfit, no / Give me the good shit.”
The crowd screamed. David moved without thinking, his body carrying him back and forth across the stage, going through the motions of the song. He kept his eyes on his boy as much as possible, but he always seemed to be looking at something else happening around him. It was his first time on Santa Carla’s boardwalk, David guessed. Right now, David and his band were no more interesting to him than anything else going on. David didn’t bother trying to keep the snarl off of his face.
“Your pulse is racin’, uh / You drive me crazy, yuh / How can you blame me? / You’re so beautiful, baby.”
Whoa, Dwayne thought in David’s mind. Who pissed you off?
That was extra growly. Marko. This was a group conversation, apparently. Great.
He’s always extra growly.
Alright then, Paul, extra-extra growly.
You singing to someone, Davey-boy?
Shut up, Dwayne, David barked in their minds. He could practically hear Dwayne’s salacious smile. Focus on the damn song.
It came to them like breathing had when they were alive, easy and automatic. They had played it so many times that they didn’t really need to think about it anymore. But David wanted it to be really good tonight – better than they’d ever played it before. He wanted his boy’s eyes on him, and he wanted them to stay on him.
“Ooh / In the dead of night / I have to have you / I have to have you / I have to have you / I have to have you.”
Star had manoeuvred her way to the front of the crowd. She stretched her arm out and David grabbed it, tugging her up onto the stage. Star wasn’t strong enough to sing the whole set while she refused to feed; all those rushing veins, those beating hearts, overwhelmed her senses. She had nearly gotten off stage to eat a girl, once, before David had hauled her back. Under any other circumstances he would have let her – would have cheered her on and comforted her after – but there was no way she could get away with it with half of Santa Carla’s population screaming her name.
She took the mic from him, smiling as brightly as her name sake. She loved performing. David hoped it would be enough to make her want forever. “I’ll make you work for it / You’re gonna sweat a bit.”
The band kept singing. David handed the reins over to Star while he tracked down his boy. He’d moved, or been moved, swallowed by the ravenous crowd. David could sympathize; he wanted to get his mouth on him, too.
And – there he was. Hanging off of a metal grid on the side of the stage. He must have climbed up there when Star joined them.
He was looking at David, at last. His eyes were wide, his mouth parted. He wasn’t singing along, just staring, awestruck. David felt unbridled satisfaction shoot through him like lightning. Good, he thought. Now I’ve got you.
“I’m knockin’ on your door, lemme inside,” they all sang. David locked eyes with his boy and found himself unable to look away. His delightedly stupefied gaze was mesmerizing. David felt almost bewitched. “Don’t let me be denied.”
His boy’s were lips moving, but they didn’t match up with the lyrics. It looked like he said, “I’m going to lose myself.”
“Come on and lose yourself,” David sang to him.
To me.
David ended the show early. Not after Have to Have You – he wasn’t that obvious – but not terribly long after. It was possible (though unlikely) that his boy would wander off, and David couldn’t have that. It would take all night to find him again, and he couldn’t be seen chasing some piece of tail. His wild, dangerous reputation was his protection, and if anyone thought that someone had put a leash around David’s neck, they might start taking a closer look at him and his boys.
David let most of the crowd disperse before he paused time. He didn’t exclude Star and his boys – he’d tell them what he was doing later. Whatever that ended up being.
His boy hadn’t gone far, only to Gene’s piercing stand a few yards away. He was idling, David could tell, wanting to seem like he wasn’t trying to stick around the band for as long as possible. His frozen gaze was pointed towards a dangling earring, a crudely constructed Joshua tree hanging from a small hook. His lips were almost pursed, his eyes narrowed just the slightest bit, but his hand was halfway out of his pocket, like he had been about to reach out and touch it.
David positioned himself a foot or so behind his boy and then let time flow around them again. He jumped when David laid a hand on his shoulder. The heat of his skin, even through his shirt, nearly burned David’s cold hand. David didn’t give him the chance to turn around and see who it was; he slid himself into place on his boy’s left, his arm coming naturally to rest against his shoulders.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” David said to him. He smiled without any teeth.
His boy looked like he couldn’t decide if it would be safer to back away or to indulge David.
Indulge, David thought. Always indulge me.
“I just moved here,” his boy replied slowly. “This afternoon.” His voice was low and smooth, made soft by caution. David wondered what his pleasure would sound like – his fear, too.
“This afternoon! You haven’t seen much of Santa Carla, then.” David shifted so that he was facing his boy instead of the piercing stand. His boy shifted likewise. David didn’t bother hiding his pleased grin when he didn’t shrug David’s hand off his shoulder.
“I guess not.”
“Why don’t I show you around? There’s nothing quite like Santa Carla’s boardwalk at night.”
“No, there isn’t.” His boy looked around, smiling, enchanted by the place. He seemed on the verge of taking David up on his offer, but then his smile faded back into careful neutrality and he said, “I have to take my brother home.”
“Come back out,” David said, relatively sure his boy would say no. “Or I’ll come get you.” He phrased it like a suggestion, but David saw his boy register his tone, straddling the line between a command and a promise. His pupils widened. Not enough for a human’s eyes to detect, but David saw it as clear as – well, as clear as night, for him. Interesting.
“I – ”
“Michael!” Some kid shouted. “Mike, oh my god – ” A scrawny, prepubescent boy came to a skidding halt at David’s boy’s – Michael’s – side. Michael grabbed the kid’s shoulders to keep him from falling over. The kid latched onto his arms for balance as he panted. David took a step back from the tableau. “Mike, this town is crazy, I just met two guys – guys? Yeah, guys – at the comic store, and – ”
“Jesus, Sammy, breath,” Michael snapped. Sammy bent over double, hands on his knees, panting like a dog that had been left out in the sun all day. “Did you run here?”
“Yeah, and I never run, so you should really listen to what I’m about to tell you – ”
“Your brother?” David interrupted smoothly.
“Yeah,” Michael answered, not taking his eyes off of Sammy.
“Oh, uh, hi,” said the brother, finally noticing David. He looked him up and down once and frowned, then straightened up, still panting a little. “Who are you?”
Michael looked at David again. He seemed more interested in the answer than he probably wanted to be.
“David Powers,” he replied simply.
“I’m Sam.”
“Not Sammy?”
“Not to you.”
“Sam,” Michael hissed.
David smirked. This kid had spirit. He wondered what it would take to coax that out of Michael.
“We’re leaving,” Sammy declared. “Right now.” He tugged on Michael’s vest. “Let’s go. Where’s your bike?”
“You ride?” David asked, mildly surprised.
“My dad taught me,” Michael replied.
“Mike, come on.”
“Quit that.” Michael shook his brother off. “You ride, too?” He asked David.
“Yes. A Triumph.”
Michael looked begrudgingly impressed. “I drive a Honda.”
Oh, how sweet.
“Mike! Michael. Mi-chael Em-er-son.”
Michael threw his hands up in exasperation. “Okay! Fine! We’re going.”
“Good, ‘cause you are not going to believe what happened in the comic store – ”
“I’ll follow behind?” David asked.
Michael’s mouth opened. His lips formed the word ‘No.’
He hesitated.
He looked into David’s eyes as if he could see into his soul if he just searched hard enough. Well, if eyes were the window to the soul, David’s had black out curtains, and he wasn’t going to pull them back anytime soon. For Michael’s benefit (or his own, really, in the end) he smiled, friendly but not overly solicitous, and clasped his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on his heels. Innocuous, gently interested, willing to take rejection.
What came out of Michael’s finely shaped mouth was, “Sure.”
He looked almost as surprised as his little brother.
“What?” Sammy practically shrieked.
“David’s going to show me around after I take you home,” Michael explained. His tone was somewhere between defensive and sheepish.
David let his smile grow. Sam looked at him and somehow managed to frown harder. The kid had good instincts. David would have to keep an eye on him, especially if he had run into the Frog brothers at the comic store. David couldn’t imagine anyone else in there eliciting this kind reaction.
“It’s – it’s late,” Sam protested. “And this town is dangerous! It’s the murder capital of the world – thirty-two people missing this year! And it’s June!”
“Does Michael need your permission?” David inquired idly.
“He needs to consider the facts,” Sam bit back.
“He is not arguing about this with you,” Michael said. “Do you want to go home or not?”
Sam’s shoulders slumped, but his eyes hardened. Determined little shit. “Fine. But Mom’s not going to let you go back out.”
Michael didn’t acknowledge that. “Where are you parked?” He asked David.
“Not far from the old amphitheater."
“I’m by the pizza place.”
“I’ll find you and then we’ll go?” Again, he phrased it like a question, but David knew Michael heard the instruction underneath.
There was a pause. This was Michael’s last chance to pull away and they both knew it.
“Alright.”
The Emersons’ house was . . . modest. A small two storey structure that had probably only been saved from demolition by the city’s negligence and a quick paint job every ten years or so. David was pretty sure he remembered an old recluse living there most recently.
Michael parked his bike in the driveway beside an ancient, though well kept, station wagon. David lingered by the mail box. This was an odd place – he was pretty sure he would need an invitation to get on the property itself, not just inside the house. It felt aware of David somehow.
He didn’t like it.
David watched as Sam tried to convince Michael to come inside. Michael shook his head repeatedly and pointed at the front door. Sammy waved his arms a few times before giving up. They both watched him climb up the porch stairs, teenage petulance evident in every step, and enter the house, nearly slamming the door behind him.
Finally, Michael climbed off his poor, sweet Honda and walked down to the end of the drive, where David waited for him on his Triumph. Michael eyed it appreciatively. David revved the engine and grinned when Michael jumped. “Like what you see?” He teased.
“Sick ride,” Michael muttered, face flushed prettily.
“Mm. Hop on, Michael.” It was the first time David had said his name. He liked the way the hard syllables turned soft on his tongue. Michael did, too, if the way he shivered in the warm night air was anything to go by.
Michael slid on carefully behind David, anchoring his hands to his shoulders, keeping their bodies at a polite distance from each other. David patted one of Michael’s hands and then moved it to his middle, tugging him forward slightly. Michael’s other hand tightened on David’s shoulder.
“That won’t keep you on the way I drive,” David told him.
Michael was still for a moment, but then he gradually moved his other arm to David’s waist. He clasped his hands together, encircling him, and pressed his chest to David’s back. David squeezed his hand again. “Good.”
Michael’s arms flexed against him and then immediately and forcefully relaxed. An involuntary reaction to David calling him good. He took note of that. His boy had some interesting quirks.
“Ready?”
Michael took a deep breath. David felt the rise and fall of his chest against his back, the way it calmed his rapidly beating heart for a moment. “Ready,” Michael breathed against David’s ear. It felt better than a cool evening breeze on a hot night.
David revved the engine one more time and then shot off down the Emersons’ quiet street, back towards the lights and music of the boardwalk.
David took turns too sharply and went fifteen over the speed limit the whole time; consequently, Michael held onto him for dear life the entire ride and they reached the boardwalk ten minutes faster than they otherwise would have.
David parked between a pick-up truck and a Volkswagen in a lot near the pier. Michael released David immediately and stood on shaky legs. “What the fuck,” he said.
David slung his leg over so he was sitting side-saddle. He watched Michael try to find his footing.
“Why do you drive like that?” Michael asked. He sounded almost angry. His eyes were wide, his hands shaky, but there was something there that made David think more of excitement than fear.
He smirked and shrugged insouciantly. “It’s fun. And we got here in one piece, didn’t we?”
Michael shook his head and looked around like there was something that would make David make sense. “I guess,” he acquiesced at last, having found nothing helpful.
“Have you been to the pier yet?” David asked.
Michael shook his head. His dark curls seemed almost black in the moonlight.
“Perfect place to start, then.”
David stood and placed a guiding hand between Michael’s shoulder blades, leading him towards the beach. Michael turned to take the wooden stairs leading from the parking lot up to the pier, but David slid his hand down to the small of his back and pointed him back towards the sand. Michael looked at him questioningly but didn’t say anything. David just smiled.
They walked in silence until David brought them under the pier. “This,” he said, gesturing around them, “is the place where the locals bring tourists to make out.”
Michael started. He opened and closed his mouth, eyes wide with surprise. Precious, David cooed. Absolutely precious.
“I – I’m not a tourist,” Michael stammered. “And I don’t, uh – ”
David cocked his head and kept his face blank. He wasn't going to help Michael along on this one. He wanted to see if he would actually get the words out.
“I don’t kiss guys,” Michael managed.
Not I’m not gay, or I don’t do that fairy shit. Just: I don’t kiss guys.
“Do you want to?” David asked.
Michael swallowed. His pupils dilated.
He took too long to answer.
David stepped closer. Michael didn’t back away. He stayed rooted in place, eyes following David’s every move. They flicked from his face to his shoulders, to his arms, to his boots, and back to his face – his eyes, then his lips, and then his eyes again. What are you looking for, Michael? David wondered. Safety? Permission?
“Can I kiss you?” David whispered, close enough for his breath to ghost over Michael’s lips.
Michael nodded. Just slightly. Just enough.
David closed the space between them. He kept his hands clasped behind his back as he kissed Michael, sweet and soft. It wasn’t his boy’s first kiss, David was sure, but it was his first with a man. Certainly his first with a monster.
Michael didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t even kiss back.
David pulled away, a little confused. Did Michael really not like men? How else was David supposed to make sense of his behaviour? He was usually a better judge than this, but –
Michael surged forward and grabbed David’s shoulders, pulling him back in. David’s arms wrapped around Michael on instinct, holding him too tightly. Michael kissed him like he had to, like he couldn’t imagine what would become of him if he didn’t. He tilted his head for a better angle and prodded at David’s lips with his tongue until David granted him entry. He explored the cavern of his mouth, warming it with his fervent attention.
David let him carry on like that until he could feel the lack of oxygen slowing Michael’s heartbeat. He placed a gentle hand on Michael’s chest and pushed him away before Michael could register the need to do so himself.
That hadn’t been a bad kiss, not at all. David’s lips still tingled a little. He heard the beginnings of a melody in the back of his mind, slow and canny.
Michael’s eyes were almost glazed over. His lips were parted; he was panting a little. He was still holding onto David’s shoulders, gripping them like a lifeline.
David threaded one of his hands through the curls at the nape of Michael’s neck and slowly brought his head to rest on David’s shoulder, as if he were made of delicate china and not stout bone. Michael went easily. He wrapped his arms around David’s torso and twisted his fingers into the straps of David’s shredded muscle tee. David felt Michael’s eyelashes brush his neck.
David let his mouth drift from the top of Michael’s head to the side of his face, and down the column of his throat. He pressed his nose to the pulse point just under Michael’s jaw, inhaling deeply. His blood was rich, vital, smelling of bright sun and something warm and homely.
Oh, David wanted him. He wanted Michael’s blood in his veins and his scent in his lungs and his hands on his skin.
David opened his mouth against Michael’s neck and pressed his lips against his skin in a sloppy kiss.
“David,” Michael murmured.
David sucked.
“David,” Michael hissed.
David sucked harder. He let his fangs come down.
“David,” Michael’s voice cracked.
David opened his mouth wider, ready to bite down —
But something held him back.
The way Michael’s chest rose and fell against him, his hot breath on David’s rapidly warming neck, his soft curls brushing David’s chin, the clenching and unclenching of his fingers against David’s shoulders – he was alive, all of him, from head to toe. Alive, and beautiful, and David wanted him.
There were other ways to have someone – to keep someone – than by killing them.
David thought of the bottle of Max’s blood in the Ironworks, sitting in a crate somewhere, gathering dust.
He pulled away from Michael’s neck.
“Time to get you home,” David murmured.
Michael snorted. “Some tour,” he said.
“What else do you want to see?”
Michael lifted his head to look at David. He was smiling, a small, unsure thing. His lips were red and puffy. Good luck explaining that to Sammy, David thought, utterly pleased with himself. He pressed a quick, dry kiss to Michael’s lips. Michael’s smile settled, which was what David wanted.
“This is good for now,” Michael whispered.
For now. The words hung in the air between them, heavy with promise. David’s grin grew slowly, half genuine and half smirk. Michael saw it and rolled his eyes, but the corners of his own lips were twitching, his answering grin barely repressed. His cheeks flooded with heat; David pressed his hand to Michael’s face to feel all that blood so close to the surface.
He would miss Michael’s flushed cheeks, but they were a small price to pay for having the rest of him forever.
David was much more careful on the drive back to Michael’s house, but his boy held onto him like he was going one-hundred miles an hour the whole time.
David parked by the mailbox again. He could see a light on in an upper window and the curtains flicking open. Sammy glared at them – more at David than Michael, really – but Michael didn’t see. He was still sitting behind David, arms wrapped comfortably around his waist.
David intertwined their fingers and stood, pulling Michael up with him. He let Michael go just long enough for them to turn and face one another. Michael’s expression was open, devoid of expectation but wanting all the same. David had never seen anything quite like it. They stood there, nearly entranced, until the front door opened and a pretty woman stepped out onto the porch.
“Michael?” She called into the darkness.
Michael’s eyes closed. “Oh, god.”
David huffed a laugh. “Out past your curfew?”
“I don’t have a curfew, asshole.”
“I think you will after tonight.”
“I’ll break it, then.”
David raised a brow. “Will you now?”
Michael opened his mouth to respond but his mother interjected before he could get anything out. “Come inside, you hooligan.”
“I have to go.”
“I can see that.” David judged the length of the shadows and how good a human’s eyesight was in the dark. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Michael’s cheek. “Good night, Michael.”
Michael stared at him for a moment, confusion and longing shining out of his wide eyes, as if the events of the night were finally starting to dawn on him. “Night, David.”
David watched as his boy trudged up the drive, the porch steps, and into his house. The light in the upper room went off, and David heard footsteps running down a set of old stairs. He wondered how hard it would be to get Michael to let go of his family. He got the feeling it wouldn’t be a Herculean task.
David took off once the door closed behind Michael. He drove in relative silence until he got past the bluff just before the Ironworks. Then, three headlights appeared. They swerved when the drivers saw David and came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road.
“Dude!” Dwayne shouted. He sounded genuinely angry, which was unusual for him.
“Yes?” David asked.
“It’s nearly sunrise,” said Paul. “Where have you been?”
Nearly sunrise? David looked at the sky. It was still dark, but instead of a black field of stars, he saw a navy sea.
“You just disappeared,” Star scolded. She was sitting behind Paul, but she looked like she was about to get up and clobber David. “We couldn’t find you anywhere. Where were you?”
“Here and there,” David replied blithely. “Don’t worry about it. I’m back, aren’t I?”
“This isn’t like you, David,” said Marko.
No, it wasn’t. Michael was bringing out all kinds of new sides to him.
“What are you all doing out?” David asked.
“Looking for you!” Star shouted.
“Well, you’ve found me. Shall we go?”
“We’re talking about this later!” Dwayne swore.
David didn’t respond. He revved his engine and took off. It was nearly sunrise, after all.
David waited until everyone else was asleep before he slipped down from his perch and took out his notebook. He scribbled down the melody that had come to him when he and Michael were under the pier and a few simple guitar chords. He hummed to himself, trying out a few different verses, before he wrote down, “If it takes all night . . . ”