Fanfic -- The Lost Boys
I just realized, it's been a month today since I've posted any
fic. And while I haven't been writing much lately (stabs school
with a certain vampire's railway spike), I do
have a stock of some older, unposted work. Much, much older -- I
just read it over, and I laughed. But I'm not editing it; this
can just stand. And since I'm supposed to be studying for my
computer science midterm tomorrow, this one seemed appropriate...
Summary: David helps Michael, Michael returns the favour… with interest.
Author’s Notes: Because I really, really wish I had someone to help me study for tests. Especially tantrically. Makes no sense in the canon storyline. Established relationship.
Disclaimer: While I wish I owned the boys, I don't. The Lost Boys was an awesome movie from the 80s, involving a bunch of really cool people, and you should definitely go get it. Right after reading this fic.
Pairing: David / Michael
Rating: NC-17
Turn and Turn About
“Mi-chael…”
“Damnit!”
The brunette slammed his pencil down, shoved back his chair and stalked to the window. The four vampires were waiting on the lawn below, David smirking with crossed arms and the others cavorting about him. The mortal glowered down and jerked up the sash.
“Not tonight, guys.”
“Got a headache?” their leader taunted. His scowl deepened even as he flushed; knowing what he was missing didn’t help.
“No, a goddamned history test,” he shouted back. “So knock it off!”
He jumped back as they sprang towards him, all four crowding through the window. He glared, but David only sauntered closer.
“Michael, Michael, Michael,” the blond tisked, shaking his head. “Blowing us off for a test?”
“Look, I can’t afford to fail,” he muttered. “Bugger off and let me study.”
“Aww, but Mikey,” Marko protested. As he glanced down the youngest pouted, coming close and grinding against him in utter contrast to the needy tone. He rolled his eyes.
“The Enlightenment?”
He turned his head to see Dwayne standing at his desk, leafing through the text.
“Yeah.”
He missed the look that passed between the two eldest vampires, meaningful on one side and thoughtful on the other.
“Scram, boys,” David ordered suddenly. He smiled, already turning back to his books as the undead filed out.
“Thanks. I’ve really gotta do this,” he explained. The blond’s eyes hadn’t left him, but the creaking of the bedsprings let him know he wasn’t alone. He sat gingerly, aching a little from having been bent over his desk for so long.
“I know, Angel.”
He sighed, stretching his shoulders. More quickly than a human could’ve moved, the vampire appeared behind him. Strong hands dug in, kneading out tense muscles, and he moaned.
“You sound just like you do when I swallow you straight down to the root.”
The husky whisper in his ear trapped his breath in his throat, and he caught himself leaning back into the sure touch. With a whispered curse, he hung his head forward.
“You’re not tempting me,” he lied blatantly. David snorted, but allowed the refusal.
“Want me to quiz you?”
“Really?” He twisted half around, staring into familiar cobalt eyes.
“Yeah, sure. No big deal,” came the casual affirmation.
“That’d be great,” he agreed. The vampire smirked.
“So, the name Rousseau 1 ring any bells?”
◄■■■■■■■►
“Jesus! What’d you do, live through this?”
“Nah.” He nipped Michael’s ear fondly. “Max did. Come on, lover. Time for bed.”
“But-
He snorted, reaching down to grab the brunette under his arms, and lifted the student out of his chair.
“Bed, Michael.”
The human rolled his eyes.
“It’s not like I’m gonna sleep.”
“Oh?”
He crooked an eyebrow, trying to look curious. Half his attention was on stripping his mortal, who submitted despite his pretended alertness. He sniffed surreptitiously, catching exhaustion and hope that he hadn’t expected.
“I never sleep before tests. Too wired or something. Come on, that stuff was actually making sense,” the brunette murmured. He smiled.
“Lie back, Angel.”
Sighing, though his cock twitched, the human obeyed. He studied the boy, all strong lines and curved muscles, broader than he was but not as strong. Michael cradled his head in his hands, one leg slightly bent and his prick blatantly displayed. The vampire licked his lips, stepping back to the light-switch and coating them in darkness. On the bed, his lover shifted, ears tuning for the sound of his clothes hitting the floor. He peeled off his coat, draping it on the back of the desk chair, and climbed on to the end of the bed.
“Trust me, Michael,” he ordered softly, and bent his head.
He started at his lover’s ankle. Tiny, cool licks circled it, paying special attention to the hollow below the bone, and a bitten-off gasp drifted down from above him. He smiled, enjoying the taste as he worked his way up the valley beside the calf muscle, and sucked a hot kiss to the back of his mortal’s knee.
“David…”
Smirking, he started again on the other leg. Round the ankle, up the calf, and this time a little nibble to offered tendons. Michael groaned, spreading his legs wider to accommodate him, and he hummed as he nuzzled his way up to his prize. He laved the area behind human balls carefully, burying his nose in their heady scent. Then he mouthed each one, gently taking them into his mouth and rolling them with his tongue. A strangled groan welcomed him, and hot hands reached for him. He let them, chuckling and letting the vibrations roll out into his lover.
Nuzzling, he worked his way up and around the base of his lover’s cock. Fingers clenched in his hair, and he slowly licked up the throbbing vein underneath. By now the head was red and damp with precum, and he licked the salty fluid away fastidiously.
Then he pulled fully off and sat back on his heels.
“No! Damnit, David!” Michael howled. He smirked.
“Didn’t you want to study, Angel?” he asked innocently.
“You bloody demon!”
He caught the lunge and tossed his lover back, flashing red eyes and a touch of fang to keep him there.
“True. Now, Michael: who wrote Candide?”
“Voltaire,” the human growled. “Get back here.”
“Soon. It’s importance?”
“It’s a satire.” He raised an eyebrow. “Which started out as a form of criticism during the enlightenment. Can we―
“Who else wrote satires?”
“Uh, Jonathan Swift, Molière…” 2
“Good enough,” he muttered, throwing himself back down.
This time he started by suckling one dusky, pinched nipple. His lover howled and arched beneath him, and he hummed. Opening his mouth wider, he let his tongue trace a circle round it without ever exposing it to the air. Then he nipped, too lightly to draw blood, and left a trail of stinging bites across to the other. He mouthed the skin around it mercilessly, refusing to touch the puckered bud. Drawing back, he blew a cold stream of air against its feverish heat.
Michael whimpered.
Chuckling again, he followed the urging hands down to the eager cock. Again, clear liquid was beading on the tip, and he kissed it away greedily, tongue probing for more. He drew the head into his mouth for a moment, sucking it clean, then laved the whole of it with wide, wet licks.
This time, when he pulled away, Michael only panted and glared.
“Who ran the salons 3?”
“Rich women.”
“Why?”
“To influence the people with power, make a safe place for debate…”
“And did they contribute?”
“Yeah.”
“Perfect,” he whispered, diving back down.
He fumbled at his own jeans as he swallowed the mortal’s cock, his prick swollen and aching under his hands as he imitated his own movements until his mouth was copying his fingers and his grip was following his mouth. He slid up and down, sucking hard and humming, tongue lashing his lover’s shaft faster and faster until the human screamed and exploded in his mouth.
Slowly, he gentled his movements and licked away the last of his mate’s seed. His own cum stained the tangled sheets, dripping stickily over his hands, and he wiped as much of it off as he could. Smiling, he slithered up the heaving body and wrapped his arms around it.
“You…” managed his lover.
“I came,” he murmured back.
“Wicked. Tantric.”
He chuckled, tugging up the blanket and settling it around them.
“Sleep, Angel.”
Michael turned his head lazily, tilting it, and he pressed a slow kiss to beloved lips.
“Night, David.”
◄■■■■■■■►
The dimming light streaked orange and gold through the cave, a vengeful sweep of brilliance that caught every edge in harsh and sullen fire. Slowly, it retreated, flickering streaks reaching furiously for the deepest corners, finally defeated by cool shadows. Burnished shining on the rocky floor was the last ditch-attempt, then even that was gone as the sun dropped out of sight and night reigned.
In a dark, hidden cave beneath the bluff, red eyes snapped open.
“Jesus-fucking-Christ!”
A hot mouth hummed around his shaft, and he came hard.
The others watched with good-humoured jealousy as he slithered down to the ground, vampiric eyes unfocused and orgasmic shivers wracking his frame. Michael smirked down.
“How come I never get woken up with a blowjob?” Paul asked the general group.
“Love, you’re a vampire. We’re vampires. We can’t get up any earlier than you, ergo, no wake up call,” Marko informed him patiently. Dwayne chuckled, reaching for his coat.
“Ergo, Pretty?”
“I picked it up from you.”
David caught unnecessary breath and focused on his lover’s face.
“Test went well?”
“Very well.”
He nodded and accepted the hand back onto his feet. Jerking his mortal into a rough kiss, he cleaned his own taste away. Someone - probably Paul - whistled, and he smirked as he pulled away.
“I wonder, Angel, if it would work for other subjects.”
The boys piled on as Michael jumped him.
------
1 Jean-Jacques Rousseau was a philosopher who believed the “general will” and “common good” should guide governments; he is accredited with “Man was born free, and everywhere he is in chains.” His work was widely used to support the ideals of the French Revolution.
2 Candide was a famous satire written by Voltaire, a French novelist and philosopher, following the life of Candide and criticizing pretty much everything. Jonathan Swift is best known for his A Modest Proposal, in which he proposed that to solve the overpopulation crisis in Ireland, they should all start eating their babies. Molière was a playwright in the court of King Louis XIV, the Sun King.
3 The salons were private parties hosted by wealthy ladies, where intellectuals could mingle and discuss philosophy, politics, the affairs of the day, etc. The guests were titled, rich or interesting, but not always all three, which made for a great melting pot.
All information regarding the Enlightenment was covered in my grade 12 history course, and was on the test. Our textbook was Legacy : The West and the World, published by McGraw-Hill Ryerson Ltd.
Summary: David helps Michael, Michael returns the favour… with interest.
Author’s Notes: Because I really, really wish I had someone to help me study for tests. Especially tantrically. Makes no sense in the canon storyline. Established relationship.
Disclaimer: While I wish I owned the boys, I don't. The Lost Boys was an awesome movie from the 80s, involving a bunch of really cool people, and you should definitely go get it. Right after reading this fic.
Pairing: David / Michael
Rating: NC-17
Turn and Turn About
“Mi-chael…”
“Damnit!”
The brunette slammed his pencil down, shoved back his chair and stalked to the window. The four vampires were waiting on the lawn below, David smirking with crossed arms and the others cavorting about him. The mortal glowered down and jerked up the sash.
“Not tonight, guys.”
“Got a headache?” their leader taunted. His scowl deepened even as he flushed; knowing what he was missing didn’t help.
“No, a goddamned history test,” he shouted back. “So knock it off!”
He jumped back as they sprang towards him, all four crowding through the window. He glared, but David only sauntered closer.
“Michael, Michael, Michael,” the blond tisked, shaking his head. “Blowing us off for a test?”
“Look, I can’t afford to fail,” he muttered. “Bugger off and let me study.”
“Aww, but Mikey,” Marko protested. As he glanced down the youngest pouted, coming close and grinding against him in utter contrast to the needy tone. He rolled his eyes.
“The Enlightenment?”
He turned his head to see Dwayne standing at his desk, leafing through the text.
“Yeah.”
He missed the look that passed between the two eldest vampires, meaningful on one side and thoughtful on the other.
“Scram, boys,” David ordered suddenly. He smiled, already turning back to his books as the undead filed out.
“Thanks. I’ve really gotta do this,” he explained. The blond’s eyes hadn’t left him, but the creaking of the bedsprings let him know he wasn’t alone. He sat gingerly, aching a little from having been bent over his desk for so long.
“I know, Angel.”
He sighed, stretching his shoulders. More quickly than a human could’ve moved, the vampire appeared behind him. Strong hands dug in, kneading out tense muscles, and he moaned.
“You sound just like you do when I swallow you straight down to the root.”
The husky whisper in his ear trapped his breath in his throat, and he caught himself leaning back into the sure touch. With a whispered curse, he hung his head forward.
“You’re not tempting me,” he lied blatantly. David snorted, but allowed the refusal.
“Want me to quiz you?”
“Really?” He twisted half around, staring into familiar cobalt eyes.
“Yeah, sure. No big deal,” came the casual affirmation.
“That’d be great,” he agreed. The vampire smirked.
“So, the name Rousseau 1 ring any bells?”
◄■■■■■■■►
“Jesus! What’d you do, live through this?”
“Nah.” He nipped Michael’s ear fondly. “Max did. Come on, lover. Time for bed.”
“But-
He snorted, reaching down to grab the brunette under his arms, and lifted the student out of his chair.
“Bed, Michael.”
The human rolled his eyes.
“It’s not like I’m gonna sleep.”
“Oh?”
He crooked an eyebrow, trying to look curious. Half his attention was on stripping his mortal, who submitted despite his pretended alertness. He sniffed surreptitiously, catching exhaustion and hope that he hadn’t expected.
“I never sleep before tests. Too wired or something. Come on, that stuff was actually making sense,” the brunette murmured. He smiled.
“Lie back, Angel.”
Sighing, though his cock twitched, the human obeyed. He studied the boy, all strong lines and curved muscles, broader than he was but not as strong. Michael cradled his head in his hands, one leg slightly bent and his prick blatantly displayed. The vampire licked his lips, stepping back to the light-switch and coating them in darkness. On the bed, his lover shifted, ears tuning for the sound of his clothes hitting the floor. He peeled off his coat, draping it on the back of the desk chair, and climbed on to the end of the bed.
“Trust me, Michael,” he ordered softly, and bent his head.
He started at his lover’s ankle. Tiny, cool licks circled it, paying special attention to the hollow below the bone, and a bitten-off gasp drifted down from above him. He smiled, enjoying the taste as he worked his way up the valley beside the calf muscle, and sucked a hot kiss to the back of his mortal’s knee.
“David…”
Smirking, he started again on the other leg. Round the ankle, up the calf, and this time a little nibble to offered tendons. Michael groaned, spreading his legs wider to accommodate him, and he hummed as he nuzzled his way up to his prize. He laved the area behind human balls carefully, burying his nose in their heady scent. Then he mouthed each one, gently taking them into his mouth and rolling them with his tongue. A strangled groan welcomed him, and hot hands reached for him. He let them, chuckling and letting the vibrations roll out into his lover.
Nuzzling, he worked his way up and around the base of his lover’s cock. Fingers clenched in his hair, and he slowly licked up the throbbing vein underneath. By now the head was red and damp with precum, and he licked the salty fluid away fastidiously.
Then he pulled fully off and sat back on his heels.
“No! Damnit, David!” Michael howled. He smirked.
“Didn’t you want to study, Angel?” he asked innocently.
“You bloody demon!”
He caught the lunge and tossed his lover back, flashing red eyes and a touch of fang to keep him there.
“True. Now, Michael: who wrote Candide?”
“Voltaire,” the human growled. “Get back here.”
“Soon. It’s importance?”
“It’s a satire.” He raised an eyebrow. “Which started out as a form of criticism during the enlightenment. Can we―
“Who else wrote satires?”
“Uh, Jonathan Swift, Molière…” 2
“Good enough,” he muttered, throwing himself back down.
This time he started by suckling one dusky, pinched nipple. His lover howled and arched beneath him, and he hummed. Opening his mouth wider, he let his tongue trace a circle round it without ever exposing it to the air. Then he nipped, too lightly to draw blood, and left a trail of stinging bites across to the other. He mouthed the skin around it mercilessly, refusing to touch the puckered bud. Drawing back, he blew a cold stream of air against its feverish heat.
Michael whimpered.
Chuckling again, he followed the urging hands down to the eager cock. Again, clear liquid was beading on the tip, and he kissed it away greedily, tongue probing for more. He drew the head into his mouth for a moment, sucking it clean, then laved the whole of it with wide, wet licks.
This time, when he pulled away, Michael only panted and glared.
“Who ran the salons 3?”
“Rich women.”
“Why?”
“To influence the people with power, make a safe place for debate…”
“And did they contribute?”
“Yeah.”
“Perfect,” he whispered, diving back down.
He fumbled at his own jeans as he swallowed the mortal’s cock, his prick swollen and aching under his hands as he imitated his own movements until his mouth was copying his fingers and his grip was following his mouth. He slid up and down, sucking hard and humming, tongue lashing his lover’s shaft faster and faster until the human screamed and exploded in his mouth.
Slowly, he gentled his movements and licked away the last of his mate’s seed. His own cum stained the tangled sheets, dripping stickily over his hands, and he wiped as much of it off as he could. Smiling, he slithered up the heaving body and wrapped his arms around it.
“You…” managed his lover.
“I came,” he murmured back.
“Wicked. Tantric.”
He chuckled, tugging up the blanket and settling it around them.
“Sleep, Angel.”
Michael turned his head lazily, tilting it, and he pressed a slow kiss to beloved lips.
“Night, David.”
◄■■■■■■■►
The dimming light streaked orange and gold through the cave, a vengeful sweep of brilliance that caught every edge in harsh and sullen fire. Slowly, it retreated, flickering streaks reaching furiously for the deepest corners, finally defeated by cool shadows. Burnished shining on the rocky floor was the last ditch-attempt, then even that was gone as the sun dropped out of sight and night reigned.
In a dark, hidden cave beneath the bluff, red eyes snapped open.
“Jesus-fucking-Christ!”
A hot mouth hummed around his shaft, and he came hard.
The others watched with good-humoured jealousy as he slithered down to the ground, vampiric eyes unfocused and orgasmic shivers wracking his frame. Michael smirked down.
“How come I never get woken up with a blowjob?” Paul asked the general group.
“Love, you’re a vampire. We’re vampires. We can’t get up any earlier than you, ergo, no wake up call,” Marko informed him patiently. Dwayne chuckled, reaching for his coat.
“Ergo, Pretty?”
“I picked it up from you.”
David caught unnecessary breath and focused on his lover’s face.
“Test went well?”
“Very well.”
He nodded and accepted the hand back onto his feet. Jerking his mortal into a rough kiss, he cleaned his own taste away. Someone - probably Paul - whistled, and he smirked as he pulled away.
“I wonder, Angel, if it would work for other subjects.”
The boys piled on as Michael jumped him.
------
1 Jean-Jacques Rousseau was a philosopher who believed the “general will” and “common good” should guide governments; he is accredited with “Man was born free, and everywhere he is in chains.” His work was widely used to support the ideals of the French Revolution.
2 Candide was a famous satire written by Voltaire, a French novelist and philosopher, following the life of Candide and criticizing pretty much everything. Jonathan Swift is best known for his A Modest Proposal, in which he proposed that to solve the overpopulation crisis in Ireland, they should all start eating their babies. Molière was a playwright in the court of King Louis XIV, the Sun King.
3 The salons were private parties hosted by wealthy ladies, where intellectuals could mingle and discuss philosophy, politics, the affairs of the day, etc. The guests were titled, rich or interesting, but not always all three, which made for a great melting pot.
All information regarding the Enlightenment was covered in my grade 12 history course, and was on the test. Our textbook was Legacy : The West and the World, published by McGraw-Hill Ryerson Ltd.