fic: Set Back Under Fire
What is this? Did I actually complete a story?! Oh, the shock. Contained herein: rampant, random vampirism. Story may or may not be pointless. Hoo boy.
Set Back Under Fire
Gabe/William, PG-13, 1,377 words.
He lifts his bottle of beer to his mouth, tipping it back. The liquid burns on the way down, and it's not what he needs. Not what he wants.
There's strip poker in the front of the bus, loud, raucous laughter, and plenty of alcohol to go around. William's clutching his own bottle of beer, pressing the knuckles of one hand to his temple. It's too much noise, and William feels like he's had the same headache for the last three days.
Siska finally loses his jeans, and Butcher shouts in delight as he pulls this round's winnings toward his chest. William grimaces.
"Not in a partying kind of mood tonight, are you?" Mike says as he falls back onto the couch next to William. He drops an arm across William's shoulders.
"Shut up," William mutters under his breath, words barely making sound.
"What?" Mike has a tendency to get louder and louder the more he drinks. William thinks he might be on his fourth beer now, not to mention the shots he'd done earlier.
William shakes his head. "Just tired," he says. He lifts his bottle of beer to his mouth, tipping it back. The liquid burns on the way down, and it's not what he needs. Not what he wants.
It's been eight days since he last fed. He's starting to feel a little weak. The sunlight's starting to hurt more than it should.
He shrugs Mike's arm from around his shoulder, and doesn't bother to give an excuse he squeezes through the many people between him and the bus door. They're all warm against him as he passes, their scents sharp.
Once he's outside, he breathes in deep. It's slightly cooler out, the summer heat receding only a little bit, and only this late at night. William can see other people scattered across the parking lot, other people leaning against buses and vans. He scans his eyes over them quickly, looking hard to see if -
"William," Gabe exclaims as he presses himself against William's side. William holds his beer out awkwardly. He hadn't even heard Gabe walking up. "I was just looking for you, kid."
Gabe smells like alcohol, other people, and maybe a faint, sweet kind of cologne. He smells good. He always smells good.
William manages a weak smile, says, "Yeah? What for?"
Gabe grins, and pulls William in close, arm tightening around his neck and shoulders for a weird, half hug. It pushes William's face between Gabe's neck and shoulder, and William wants to shout in frustration, sink his teeth into his own lip to keep from biting, then maybe sink his teeth into something else.
He can feel Gabe nodding in the direction of the bus. "I heard this is where the party's at tonight. And, also, Ryland bet me that I couldn't drink Mike under the table, so I came to kick some ass."
Gabe always seems to run hotter than most people, or at least a lot hotter than William is used to. ("It's the Latino blood in me," Gabe will joke, kissing a finger tip, then pressing it to his backside while Suarez makes accompanying sizzling sound effects.) So he's warm against William's side, hand hot on his shoulder, five points of heat burning through William's shirt where his fingers are spread. William has his forehead pressed to Gabe's shoulder, but if he just - if he just tilted his face up a little bit he could press it to Gabe's neck, open his mouth over Gabe's skin, and these are all bad, bad thoughts. He makes a small noise, not quick enough to swallow it.
Gabe's hand squeezes on William's shoulder. "Bill? You all right?"
William lets his half-finished beer fall to the ground in favor of twisting his hand into the front of Gabe's shirt as he pushes his nose agains the skin of Gabe's neck, inhaling deep, and he is so, so gone. So fucked.
William has this thing, this stupid sort-of-kind-of half-promise to himself that he'd never feed off his friends. And he hasn't so far, but that's all about to fly out the window because William is so hungry, and Gabe is right there. Eight days, and Gabe smells better than anyone else. (And William knows, though he'd never expressly admit it, that Gabe'd smell better than anyone else even if William wasn't aching to taste someone on his tongue.)
"Seriously, Bill, what's - " his words stutter to a stop, other hand dropping to squeeze William's hip. Gabe gives a low laugh as William flicks his tongue out against his pulse, the taste of his skin making William's mouth water. "Feeling friendly?" he asks as he turns his body to face William's better, closer so that there's not much space between their torsos, belt buckles clicking against the other's.
"Something like that," William murmurs. He doesn't want to do this, except for the way that he completely does, the way he's aching for it.
And anyway, he's been this good, so good, for years now. Maybe he deserves this, maybe he deserves Gabe's blood in his mouth just this once rather than some stranger whose name he can't bother to remember. He's wanted it bad enough, hasn't he?
Gabe laughs again as a low wolf whistle sounds from somewhere across the parking lot. "They probably think you're a girl, you know," he mumbles. He tilts his head down, nosing against the side of William's head. "Did I ever mention that I miss the longer, girlier hair? 'Cause I do."
William doesn't respond, except for the way he moves the hand that is not currently clenched in the fabric of Gabe's shirt to pull the collar of his shirt aside, expose even more skin. He trails the tip of his nose over Gabe's skin, lightly, from the base of his neck to just under his ear. He does it again, this time following the same path with the tip of his tongue.
Gabe's hand squeezes around William's waist again, and he shudders a little, then huffs to play it off. "Jesus. What's gotten into you?" Because, see, William's tactile, but he's not this tactile, not really.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," William says. He wonders if Gabe can hear the different quality in his voice, the slight lisp he gets from talking around his fangs. William presses his mouth just over Gabe's pulse, and nearly moans, attempting to press even closer to Gabe. It causes Gabe to stumble back a little, and then he's against the side of the bus with William standing between his legs.
"Try me," Gabe whispers, and William wonders if Gabe notices the way he's tilting his own head back, baring his throat to William.
"I just," William whispers back, "I just need something from you, please. I really need it, and I promise I won't take too much." He hates the way he sounds, asking for this, but hey. At least he's asking.
"What?" Gabe sounds a little alarmed, and a little confused, but mostly alarmed.
With great difficulty, William manages to pull back far enough to allow Gabe to see his face. In any other situation, probably, it'd be some kind of comical to witness the way Gabe's eyes slowly widen, then blink a lot in quick succession.
"I won't take more than I need," William says as quietly as he can manage. "And, fuck, I need you for this." Well, William thinks, that's not technically true. "I want you," he amends.
Gabe is so quiet, and so still for so long that William starts to wonder if he can convince that one blue-haired guitar tech to let William feed off of him. He could always go another day, or two. Hell, he went two weeks on the last Warped Tour, although his band had been convinced he was dying from pneumonia, or bronchitis, or something. Point is, he can walk away from Gabe now and maybe try to pretend this never happened. He can go without a little longer, though the thought of doing it again almost causes him to shudder, and not in any pleasant kind of way.
"Okay," Gabe finally says. William actually manages to stop the embarrassing sigh of relief that wants to escape his throat, and, instead, licks his lips. Gabe's eyes glance down, then up quickly. "I'm pretty sure our bus is empty right now."
Set Back Under Fire
Gabe/William, PG-13, 1,377 words.
He lifts his bottle of beer to his mouth, tipping it back. The liquid burns on the way down, and it's not what he needs. Not what he wants.
There's strip poker in the front of the bus, loud, raucous laughter, and plenty of alcohol to go around. William's clutching his own bottle of beer, pressing the knuckles of one hand to his temple. It's too much noise, and William feels like he's had the same headache for the last three days.
Siska finally loses his jeans, and Butcher shouts in delight as he pulls this round's winnings toward his chest. William grimaces.
"Not in a partying kind of mood tonight, are you?" Mike says as he falls back onto the couch next to William. He drops an arm across William's shoulders.
"Shut up," William mutters under his breath, words barely making sound.
"What?" Mike has a tendency to get louder and louder the more he drinks. William thinks he might be on his fourth beer now, not to mention the shots he'd done earlier.
William shakes his head. "Just tired," he says. He lifts his bottle of beer to his mouth, tipping it back. The liquid burns on the way down, and it's not what he needs. Not what he wants.
It's been eight days since he last fed. He's starting to feel a little weak. The sunlight's starting to hurt more than it should.
He shrugs Mike's arm from around his shoulder, and doesn't bother to give an excuse he squeezes through the many people between him and the bus door. They're all warm against him as he passes, their scents sharp.
Once he's outside, he breathes in deep. It's slightly cooler out, the summer heat receding only a little bit, and only this late at night. William can see other people scattered across the parking lot, other people leaning against buses and vans. He scans his eyes over them quickly, looking hard to see if -
"William," Gabe exclaims as he presses himself against William's side. William holds his beer out awkwardly. He hadn't even heard Gabe walking up. "I was just looking for you, kid."
Gabe smells like alcohol, other people, and maybe a faint, sweet kind of cologne. He smells good. He always smells good.
William manages a weak smile, says, "Yeah? What for?"
Gabe grins, and pulls William in close, arm tightening around his neck and shoulders for a weird, half hug. It pushes William's face between Gabe's neck and shoulder, and William wants to shout in frustration, sink his teeth into his own lip to keep from biting, then maybe sink his teeth into something else.
He can feel Gabe nodding in the direction of the bus. "I heard this is where the party's at tonight. And, also, Ryland bet me that I couldn't drink Mike under the table, so I came to kick some ass."
Gabe always seems to run hotter than most people, or at least a lot hotter than William is used to. ("It's the Latino blood in me," Gabe will joke, kissing a finger tip, then pressing it to his backside while Suarez makes accompanying sizzling sound effects.) So he's warm against William's side, hand hot on his shoulder, five points of heat burning through William's shirt where his fingers are spread. William has his forehead pressed to Gabe's shoulder, but if he just - if he just tilted his face up a little bit he could press it to Gabe's neck, open his mouth over Gabe's skin, and these are all bad, bad thoughts. He makes a small noise, not quick enough to swallow it.
Gabe's hand squeezes on William's shoulder. "Bill? You all right?"
William lets his half-finished beer fall to the ground in favor of twisting his hand into the front of Gabe's shirt as he pushes his nose agains the skin of Gabe's neck, inhaling deep, and he is so, so gone. So fucked.
William has this thing, this stupid sort-of-kind-of half-promise to himself that he'd never feed off his friends. And he hasn't so far, but that's all about to fly out the window because William is so hungry, and Gabe is right there. Eight days, and Gabe smells better than anyone else. (And William knows, though he'd never expressly admit it, that Gabe'd smell better than anyone else even if William wasn't aching to taste someone on his tongue.)
"Seriously, Bill, what's - " his words stutter to a stop, other hand dropping to squeeze William's hip. Gabe gives a low laugh as William flicks his tongue out against his pulse, the taste of his skin making William's mouth water. "Feeling friendly?" he asks as he turns his body to face William's better, closer so that there's not much space between their torsos, belt buckles clicking against the other's.
"Something like that," William murmurs. He doesn't want to do this, except for the way that he completely does, the way he's aching for it.
And anyway, he's been this good, so good, for years now. Maybe he deserves this, maybe he deserves Gabe's blood in his mouth just this once rather than some stranger whose name he can't bother to remember. He's wanted it bad enough, hasn't he?
Gabe laughs again as a low wolf whistle sounds from somewhere across the parking lot. "They probably think you're a girl, you know," he mumbles. He tilts his head down, nosing against the side of William's head. "Did I ever mention that I miss the longer, girlier hair? 'Cause I do."
William doesn't respond, except for the way he moves the hand that is not currently clenched in the fabric of Gabe's shirt to pull the collar of his shirt aside, expose even more skin. He trails the tip of his nose over Gabe's skin, lightly, from the base of his neck to just under his ear. He does it again, this time following the same path with the tip of his tongue.
Gabe's hand squeezes around William's waist again, and he shudders a little, then huffs to play it off. "Jesus. What's gotten into you?" Because, see, William's tactile, but he's not this tactile, not really.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," William says. He wonders if Gabe can hear the different quality in his voice, the slight lisp he gets from talking around his fangs. William presses his mouth just over Gabe's pulse, and nearly moans, attempting to press even closer to Gabe. It causes Gabe to stumble back a little, and then he's against the side of the bus with William standing between his legs.
"Try me," Gabe whispers, and William wonders if Gabe notices the way he's tilting his own head back, baring his throat to William.
"I just," William whispers back, "I just need something from you, please. I really need it, and I promise I won't take too much." He hates the way he sounds, asking for this, but hey. At least he's asking.
"What?" Gabe sounds a little alarmed, and a little confused, but mostly alarmed.
With great difficulty, William manages to pull back far enough to allow Gabe to see his face. In any other situation, probably, it'd be some kind of comical to witness the way Gabe's eyes slowly widen, then blink a lot in quick succession.
"I won't take more than I need," William says as quietly as he can manage. "And, fuck, I need you for this." Well, William thinks, that's not technically true. "I want you," he amends.
Gabe is so quiet, and so still for so long that William starts to wonder if he can convince that one blue-haired guitar tech to let William feed off of him. He could always go another day, or two. Hell, he went two weeks on the last Warped Tour, although his band had been convinced he was dying from pneumonia, or bronchitis, or something. Point is, he can walk away from Gabe now and maybe try to pretend this never happened. He can go without a little longer, though the thought of doing it again almost causes him to shudder, and not in any pleasant kind of way.
"Okay," Gabe finally says. William actually manages to stop the embarrassing sigh of relief that wants to escape his throat, and, instead, licks his lips. Gabe's eyes glance down, then up quickly. "I'm pretty sure our bus is empty right now."