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The version of Michael from a year ago never would’ve thought he’d be hauling stolen blood bags in his backpack at two in the morning on a random Tuesday, but he supposes life was full of its own surprises. The Michael from a year ago would’ve been surprised he had even made it out alive, though in some ways he supposes he didn’t. In a manner of speaking.
He can hear them all, sloshing and rolling in the canvas on his back, and just the sound makes him ache. Makes the muscles in his stomach clench and cramp painfully - all his senses aware of what he’s desperate for. He had left it a bit too long this time, let the gnawing hunger grow into a roar; but he had only just started making money picking up graveyard shifts at the gas station down by the ironworks factory, and people would be surprised how expensive it is paying medical professionals to break the law and smuggle out blood.
Still, this blood would suffice for at least a week or two, maybe more if him and Star kept it light and supplemented with animal blood in-between. His mouth quirked into a smile at the thought of him and Star chasing foxes through the non-existent backwoods of Santa Carla - they had made quite a sight last time they’d tried. Eventually they’d given up and focused on rabbits, no less hard to catch, but at least with duller claws.
Being a vegetarian vampire wasn’t exactly a glamorous ordeal.
But for Michael, holding onto his humanity in this way, it was far more important.
He walked the last few steps to his bike and let it roar to life underneath him. He wasn’t far from either of his homes, and he pondered the thought as he reached the crossroads leading to Coronado Bluff. He considered for a moment turning left; going back down towards the boardwalk and grandpa’s house. Spending the night in his small bedroom with Sam’s breathing keeping him company, and waking up to breakfast that although he never ate - his mom still made for him regardless. Now that summer was over and Sam was in school and Lucy at work during the day, he stayed over less often. Keeping it to weekends when he could most enjoy their company, and they could all live in this moment where nothing had changed at all. In some ways, he supposes, they hadn’t. If anything, they’d vastly improved. Lucy was more relaxed, free from the storm that had plagued them for so long. Sam smiled more, albeit still having his irritating moments; but Michael was learning how to let those moments pass more playfully. His only boundary being a continual and firm “no” to Sam’s requests to let the Frog brothers study him, for research purposes. His family was miles better than what and where they were before, maybe it was only him that still felt caught in the middle.
They’ll both be asleep still, and yet, it might be nice to drop in. Just for a few minutes.
The bloodbags shift in Michael’s backpack, and the sharp hunger comes back in full force.
Michael looks both ways in the empty street, and turns right.
David always knows Michael is home before he announces himself. By the time Michael has got his bike parked, David is already waiting for him, leaning against the rusty doors with a smirk. He’s dressed in one of his usual ensembles, but a bit more casual then he would be when they’re all out in town. Leaving his long jacket off in favor of revealing his muscled arms. Michael makes a point to not let his eyes linger on his biceps, and holds onto his backpack a little tighter.
“Michael! Working late?” David asks, throwing an arm over Michael’s shoulder as they walk in together.
“Not tonight, just went for a ride - where’s everyone else?” Michael goes to take his backpack off his shoulders to make it more comfortable for David’s arm. He’s already hyperaware of the pinpricks along his skin where him and David are touching.
“The boys are spending some time on the boardwalk, think Star is rehearsing. A ride all on your own? No invite for me?” David winks at him, and Michael hates the way that even now David still makes him nervous.
They collapse together on the couch, and David’s arm stays on his shoulders, holding him tight.
Michael would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t enjoy David’s casual touchiness; the constant awareness of how close, how far, how seemingly full of need he is to be near Michael at all times. David is like that with everyone, a showman through and through, but Michael isn’t stupid; and he sees the way that Marko looks at them when David pulls him closer yet again, how Dwayne shakes his head when David puts Michael first, how Paul rolls his eyes when David insists that Michael can sleep in a bed if that’s what he prefers. They all see it, the way David gravitates towards Michael, and Michael would be a liar if he said he didn’t like it. Didn’t seek it out the same way that David did, if not a bit more subtly.
Although he’d never speak the words out loud; from the moment his fist had connected with David’s jaw that night, Michael just hadn’t managed to pull his hands away since.
Michael realizes that David is still looking at him expectantly, and he’d been so lost in thought he’d never answered his question.
“Was just a quick one,” He says mildly, “Didn’t think you’d be interested.”
He feels the moment David realizes, his arm going tense around him, and Michael knows what’s coming. David’s arm moves from his shoulders, his hand coming to rest on his chin and gently tugging so Michael is looking him in the eyes. Michael tries to keep his gaze steady; tries to ignore how the contact still makes him yearn to go limp.
“You smell hungry Michael, when was the last time you ate?”
Michael shrugs.
“I will be soon, I’m fine.”
David’s eyes narrow and zero in on the backpack still sitting beside him, “Is that what that awful stale smell is? You’ve been using blood bags again?”
And there it was. David did not agree with the notion of a vegetarian vampire. Hadn’t agreed since Michael first brought it up to him weeks ago, even with Star backing his corner. He turned his nose up at it at every opportunity, as though the thought of anything less than fresh human blood personally offended him. Michael did his best to keep it separate from his time with the guys, but it wasn’t something he could always hide - especially being under the same roof. And David always found out in the end.
“I don’t know why you bother with that,” David groaned, releasing Michael’s chin, “Why are you slaving away making human money, when you could easily do what you want? With all the power I gave you?”
Michael wants to make a point about how he never really asked for power, but he stays silent instead. The hunger is getting worse by the second, and David’s mood definitely won’t improve if Michael passes out from starvation here on the couch.
“I’m tired David, I’m just going to eat and go to bed. The sun is coming up soon.” He replies, sounding far more defeated than he realized he’d been feeling. David and his predatory glances were one thing, but the feeling of somehow letting him down was far worse.
“You don’t have enough strength Michael, you shouldn’t leave it this long,” David continues, but he sounds more concerned than angry, “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
“I don’t really need an escort.”
“Oh come on Michael, since when have you protested me in your bed?”
There was the David he knew best.
“Fuck off.”
Michael feels his face betray him as the telltale blush works its way up his neck and to his cheeks. Michael has never been good at saying no to David, and the connection between them simmers the way it always has since the moment they met. It plays in the background of every interaction, every touch - quieting all the noise in his head until it all goes fuzzy.
So he trails behind David to his bedroom, small and cozy in the far corner of the ruined building. His sheets looked entirely new and out of place amidst the aged decor, but Sam had picked them out for him. A blue cover with white stars, glimpses of yellow galaxies, and red planets. It had made Michael smile when he saw them, even when he knew he’d be teased at least a little bit when the others saw. It had unlocked a soft memory, of a younger version of them both - him imagining up adventure stories for Sam, full of rocketships and aliens and the hero always winning. That was back when where they were was the nightmare, and what they imagined could be was the dream. A reminder of what has changed, and what they’ve escaped.
He settles on the bed and unzips his backpack, pulling out two of the bags. David lays back on the pillows like he owns the place, which Michael supposes in some way he kinda does. He doesn’t comment as Michael slices the bag open, and for that he is grateful. Drinking the blood bags isn’t the same as feeding, but when he’s this hungry it’s all one in the same. He feels it the second the bloods in his mouth; the aches go away, his energy comes back, how alive he is.
He wouldn’t let himself go that long without again, he’d learned his lesson.
David watches him silently. Michael has no idea what he’s thinking, but thinks perhaps it’s better to not know.
He finishes the bag, and the tiredness is still there - but the pain and hunger is gone. He throws the empty plastic on the floor, too tired to even bother attempting to throw it away. David is still laying back on the pillows, making no moves to vacate anytime soon.
“Are you staying here?” He asks cautiously, not sure if he can handle the thought of David beside him as he slept; what if he drools, or sleeptalks, or worse - gets too close? Michael can at least partially control himself and his expressions while awake, and even then he embarrasses himself half the time with his reactions to David and his incessant flirting - what if they drifted together, what would he do then? How could he hide it?
“I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” David says, “Can’t have my fledging keeling over from starvation - I need to make sure you’re safe.”
Michael does not question it, but his last thought as he falls asleep (fully clothed under the covers, with David beside him laying on top of them) is that that is a lame excuse to stay. Even for him.
When he wakes the next morning, David is gone.
Michael doesn’t let it get that bad again, but he has a realization that makes the whole process significantly more difficult.
He can’t fly, or rather - he can’t fly well.
And he has never been an expert per se, but this is more a stamina issue than anything else. By the time Michael is up in the air with the others; he has a few minutes of enjoying the feeling, the weightlessness, the breathless speed, before he feels gravity tugging him back down. The effort it takes to keep him up making him tired. Although he is not hungry, his power feels muted. Not as sharp as the others. He does his best to try and make it so David does not notice, but if there’s one thing he knows of David - it’s that he always, always notices.
Michael manages to land softly on a rocky outcrop, near the edge of the cliff. He can hear the whoops and hollers of everyone else as they continue on their own. He leans over himself for a minute, just to catch his breath, and feels a presence behind him. Maybe he is as good at sensing David as David is at sensing him. He turns around, and although he wasn’t expecting David to be thrilled about this development, he also wasn’t expecting what he ended up seeing.
David is furious.
“Why are you doing this to yourself, Michael?” He snaps, “Why are you doing this to the gift I’ve given you?”
“I don’t really need to fly long distances. It’s not like we’re flying across the country.”
“Ha,” David scoffs, but there is no humor in it, “Funny. Don’t you think this is ridiculous? Keeping yourself trapped like this all for what - to save the lives of a few humans? Who cares?”
“Me!” Michael says back, his own anger surprising him, “I care. I care about the lives of humans - about not - about not fucking killing people just for the hell of it.”
“You’ll always be hungry, always be living a life of inbetween. It will keep you going, but don’t you want more for yourself than that?”
They are fully shouting at each other now, and Michael would have the mind to be afraid if he wasn’t so angry. David looks beyond dangerous; the moonlight illuminating his hair making him look otherworldly, his eyes so full of fire that Michael is surprised he isn’t burning where he stands. He wonders where the others have flown off to, if they’re listening from some hidden alcove above - laughing and watching as David and Michael finally tear themselves apart.
“I want to be able to look at myself in the mirror and know that I am not killing innocent people.”
“You can’t even see yourself in the mirror.” David replies snidely. If Michael was in a different headspace in this moment; he might’ve had the nerve to call David bitchy.
“It’s - it’s a metaphor. You know what I mean. I’m making this choice because I want to. What do you care?”
“I made you.” David says venomously, “You’re mine - I want you to thrive!”
Michael breaks.
“I didn’t get to make a choice!” He shouts with all the anger and resentment he hadn’t realized he was still holding onto, “You took that away from me! I never got to think it over and decide it I wanted to be a fucking..fucking hell demon. You decided for me.”
David’s face is stony and the fire in his eyes burns just as brightly, but he stays silent.
“This,” Michael starts, quieter this time, “The blood bags and the animals and the not feeling like it’s enough but maybe it’s good enough for me - this is mine! It’s a choice I’ve made, for me, by me.”
Michael is feeling exceptionally brave when he finishes with a strong, “Fucking deal with it.”
David is quiet for another agonizingly long moment. Michael prepares himself for the fact that David may in fact choose to kill him - he could do it, is the thing. Sure, Michael would put up a good fight, but David is stronger than him not only by proxy of being significantly older; but he has fresh blood from feeds running through his system while Michael only has a poor imitation.
“I’m sorry.”
Michael is so shocked that whatever angry retort he’d been forming in his head immediately dies. His mouth opens and closes uselessly.
“You’re right, I made that choice for you.” David doesn’t sound angry, but he also doesn’t sound particularly happy. He is suddenly a blank canvas, and Michael has no idea what any of this means.
Before Michael can say another word, David is gone.
Michael can feel every step between them like it’s a gaping chasm growing more and more by the second. A hole in him that is deepening with every awful moment that they are on opposite sides of this great divide. He tries to tell himself that he feels like this because David’s blood is in his veins, but it is a cheap lie - even in his own head.
He makes the long walk home alone.
A week passes, and things have shifted for the worse.
David no longer reaches for him, when they’re in the same room or otherwise. He comes back to the ironworks after work and David is not leaning against the doorframe waiting for him. David becomes a ghost, only appearing after late night kills that Michael can smell from a mile away. He barely spares Michael a passing glance.
And it is so much worse than he could’ve imagined.
The part that gets him more than anything, that he can scarcely admit even to himself, is how badly he misses it. How much he took it for granted. David’s constant hovering, incessant attention, Michael barely had to ask for it, so he could pretend that it was all for David’s benefit. He could sit in the comfortable lie that for whatever it was that David wanted from him, Michael did not want it just as much. And now he’s alone, and the lack of it feels like a gaping hole in his chest.
He’s leaving to go meet Star on the boardwalk, and all the guys are goofing around in the defacto living room. Michael can smell the weed and can assume they’re all pregaming before a night of hunting. David looks as devastatingly handsome as always, and barely turns his head when Michael walks into the room. Michael knows he can smell the blood bags waiting in his backpack, a gift for Star.
“I’m heading out, Star is already out there.”
“Have fun Michael,” David says, “Don’t get into too much trouble without us.” There is no usual bite to his words, no playful tease, and Marko shoots him a look that could almost be sympathetic as Michael grimaces and walks out the door.
He wanders for a good long while, and eventually finds Star, sitting on top of the same billboard from the night they met. The memory makes him smile, but then he sees the faraway look in her eyes and the packed bag next to her, and his blood chills.
She doesn’t wait until he sits down before she starts speaking.
“We could go, you know?” She says evenly. Michael tosses her the blood bags he’d brought as he goes to take a seat next to her.
“What do you mean?”
The night is still young, and he looks out at the boardwalk as it starts waking up for the evening. Children laughing, teenagers looking for a fight, older people taking a stroll, there is so much life here; Michael wonders if he ever would’ve truly appreciated it before.
“We’ve figured it out, the whole surviving on no killing thing, we don’t actually,” She paused, looking around as though the empty air around them had ears, “We don’t need them, Michael. We could go, if we wanted.”
“I don’t think I can do that.”
“Why?” Star asks, though he knows that she knows, in the same way that he knows she wants to hear him say it. She wants him to put the final nail in their shared coffin; either commit to life on the run, or set her free. The thought makes his chest ache.
“Because David….” Michael pauses, “I just don’t know. I don’t know if I can. Don’t you care about him? About all of them?”
Star shrugs, “Sure I do, at one point, maybe I loved them. But, we deserve to live Michael, as much as we can anyway, don’t you want to be free?”
Michael considered Star’s point. They could run away, to some other nameless shapeless city, he could get another midnight job somewhere and suffice with the bloodbags and rabbits and they could live, sure. Find some ratty apartment together, make a life, Star could keep playing her music and shine the way she always has. Alive and deadly in the stagelights; that bolt of lightning who had drawn him in like a moth to flame. She was a survivor, through and through. Star took what was given to her and made it into something electric, and Michael admired her so deeply for it.
But that wasn’t Michael.
Freedom; away from his mom, away from Sam, away from -
The thought stops itself before it continues. He feels himself getting a headache. Even in death you couldn’t always escape pain, this is something Michael has been learning more and more the last few weeks.
“I’m sorry Star, I just don’t think I can.”
“I see how David has been with you this week, do you really think he’ll get better? That he’ll ever accept us now that we don’t play by his rules?” She pushes, there is a desperate edge to her words, and he knows that this is hurting her in the same way it’s hurting him. That this road they have walked together is slowly but surely coming to an end.
“I don’t know, but even then. I can’t leave my family. I have to -” He searches for the right words, “Try. I have to try.”
“I’m sorry.” Michael repeats one more time, the statement feeling lame and unsatisfactory even to his own ears.
“I’m sorry too,” She whispers, “You know out of all of them, I’ll always love you best.”
Star slowly gets up and gives him a gentle kiss on the cheek. He watches as she puts the bloodbags he’d offered in her bag, and she goes down the ladder without lifting her head to look back at him. He watches for a long time, long until she eventually disappears into the night, and considers the space where she once was. He feels it for a moment then, that grief of losing her, of not being enough to keep her here, but he also feels the truth of the moment. She didn’t need them, she didn’t need him, and maybe Michael does.
Star didn’t say goodbye, but Michael knows her well enough to know that he probably will not see her again; not for a long, long time.
His mom had once said, with genuine excitement and resolve, that he would love the Pacific Ocean. Michael supposes he should give her credit, as these days it’s felt like his closest friend. He listens to the lapping of the waves on the beach, and if he concentrates hard enough; maybe he could pretend it’s speaking to him, hear a female voice whispering along the cold wind, and maybe he could try and speak back.
Instead, the silence grows. The lights of the boardwalk are far behind, and night continues to wrap around him - as much a comfort as a fact.
He smells David before he sees him. Him and the others must’ve been hunting, because David smells like death. Michael wishes that smell wouldn’t be so damn enticing, but his nostrails flare and his fangs ache beneath his gums - it smells sweet. Like every delicious thing you could ever think of, but tenfold. David was right about one thing when it came to vegetarianism, although it sustained his body, he was never be fully satisfied. He supposes it’s like giving a liquor drinker a beer, always on the edge but never quite enough.
Or maybe giving a drug addict a Pez dispenser.
“Michael!” David calls, his voice deep and level in that way that would be incredibly irritating if it didn’t make the bottom of Michael’s stomach drop in the familiar way it always does. How many times in the last few days had David actually addressed him by name? He didn’t want to give David the satisfaction of seeing a reaction, though he wouldn’t be surprised if David could feel the way his dead heart raced anyway.
“Where are the others?” He responds, pointedly continuing to look out at the ocean instead of turning to see the other vampire approach.
“Still on the hunt. Think Star is out, probably catching rabbits for you both.”
Michael stays quiet, and does not correct him.
David is almost right next to him now, and Michael allows himself a quick glance and immediately regrets it. David looks devastating in the moonlight, all edges and corners and skin. So much beautiful skin. But even worse is the remnants of his dinner still evident. Fresh blood is turning sticky down his chin and neck, soaking the front of his tank top crimson. The smell is unbearable. It’s incredible. Michael is in agony.
“Jesus, you couldn’t take it easy on them?” He asks, wondering how much shit David would give him if he covered his nose.
He can hear the grin in his voice when David responds, “I can’t help it if they get a little….excitable.”
It’s bullshit and they both know it. David has been dead long enough to know how to eat without making a mess. He’s doing this on purpose, trying to goad Michael into a reaction, trying to add sweet torture to the list of things he does to his wayward vegetarian fledging.
“It tastes better when it’s fresh, not too late to have a bite. She’s back there in the sand somewhere.” David continues.
“Stop.”
The sounds of the ocean get impossibly louder.
“I’m not changing my mind anytime soon, so can you just - let up? Just for a night? I already feel like shit about it.”
“Always such a buzzkill, Michael.” David replies cooly, but he takes a handkerchief out of his pocket, and wipes at his face. He places the bloody rag on the sand, on the side away from Michael, and unfortunately something tightens a little within him that David still is showing him kindness - even now.
He wonders if David hadn’t killed him during their argument last week, would tonight be the night he finally gives up on him? Would tonight be the night they push each other too far? David has always, in some ways, shown these small kindnesses to Michael, but Michael wonders how long until that kindness runs out.
It always runs out, in the end.
“When did it change?” He finds himself asking before he can stop himself. The gentle whispers of the ocean waves give him courage. It almost sounds like Lucy saying come on kid, it’s time for us to go.
Get in the van Michael. I promise it will be better.
David looks at him, clearly waiting for him to elaborate. Michael can feel the weight of his gaze, as powerful and mystifying as ever - and it occurs to him that this is the first time David has properly looked at him since their argument. Michael stares out at the ocean and the liquid moon reflecting into the waves, and takes another pointless breath before speaking again.
“When did it stop being about feeding Star, and start being about wanting me?”
“You say that like there was a clear moment.”
“I feel like there was.”
David makes a noise that Michael could have almost thought was a sigh, but sweeter. Something nostalgic and fond.
“When I saw that bruise, or maybe even before that. When I saw you protecting it even when you had no reason to think I knew. When you looked at me so defiant and unafraid, willing to fight us all down for the sake of it. I thought you were the most exquisite creature I’d ever seen. Something brave and beautiful and broken.”
Michael remembers that moment, and cringes a little internally. To him, it had been obvious how full of shit he was. Even then, posturing to be fearless when he was just uselessly scrabbling for control. It made him feel small, reminded him of Phoenix. The thought that David saw any beauty in that moment is lost on him, but it stirs something frightening and soft inside him anyway.
“When I saw that bruise,” David started again, “I felt like I understood a part of you other people couldn’t. I saw you in a way they never would. I wanted to protect that, I suppose. I wanted to keep you.”
“Have I -“ Michael starts talking and cuts himself off. Realizes that he is afraid, even now, of losing this. That he is still here clinging on to the bits of belonging he has left, even when he has failed as spectacularly at being a vampire as he did being a human. That this strange week, of silence and missed glances and solitude, has hurt more than he let himself know.
David keeps on looking at him, with that same unreadable intensity. Then, he surprises Michael by reaching out a cold hand and gently putting it on top of Michael’s own in the sand. The contact almost makes him pull away, after a week of feeling like he’s begging for scraps of their normal intimacy; David’s hand on his now felt real and frightening enough to burn. It felt like something deeper and stranger than brotherhood, hotter and more all-consuming than family. It felt like fire.
Michael releases a shuddering breath he did not realize he had been holding, and has the mortifying realization that his eyes are welling up with tears.
“Have I disappointed you?” He finally forces out, sounding bitter and ugly even to his own ears, “That version of me you saw, have I let you down now that you know me better? Now that you see me for who I actually am?”
He feels the tears falling down his face, and he could almost laugh that even in death he still has the shame within to be this embarrassed as he cries. He waits for the final blow. He waits for David to say what Michael has become sure about this past week; that David had made a mistake, that Michael wasn’t what he wanted after all, that Michael was some fucked-up failed experiment.
“No.” David says softly.
Michael turns to properly look back at David, his eyes are serious, deadly and intense like always, but they also look exceptionally sad.
“What do you mean, no?” He asks, voice quiet and small. Even the shame of his tears beginning to fade against the bone deep exhaustion. David holds his gaze.
“Every day since I’ve met you you’ve surprised me. You’ve proven over and over again you’re even more special than I thought you were.”
Michael is suddenly falling forward as David moves his hand from holding Michael’s, to instead roughly grip his neck and pull him into his own body. Michael lands awkwardly, face halfway hidden in David’s neck and hand clutching the leather of David’s jacket in an attempt to catch himself from falling. David gently shifts him slightly, guides Michael’s other hand so it’s resting lightly on his shoulder. The suggestion is there, if he wants to move closer, but David does not move to push him.
Michael is just grateful that David can’t see his face.
David is rubbing circles into the cloth of Michael’s t-shirt on his back. He can feel the contact through the fabric, can feel the five burning places along his skin where the ghost of his touch stays. He tries to regulate his unnatural breathing.
David speaks again, voice vibrating straight through Michael’s head and finding a direct line to his heart, “I thought you hated me, that you felt cheated out of a life you thought you could’ve had. I was trying to keep my distance. You are my fledging, my responsibility, and I worried I was failing you. That belonging to me was killing you.”
“I like belonging to you,” Michael whispered, “I just like belonging to myself a little bit too.”
There’s a long pause. The noise of the ocean gets even louder, Lucy’s voice in his head.
We will be safe here, I promise.
“I can do that.”
Michael feels all the weight of the last week shed off in one spectacular moment. He feels weightless, feels like flying, feels so much relief that he is crying again. Tears mixing with the salt on David’s skin and the blood he’d missed when cleaning up with his handkerchief.
“I know you don’t fully understand, the vegetarianism, why I am making things harder for myself when in your mind they could be easy. But living like this is what I want. I just want you to….accept it more. Accept me.”
David turns his head so his cool lips rest on Michael’s eyebrow, and he can feel the words against his skin when David murmurs, “I’ll always accept you Michael. To the end.”
It’s Michael, in the end, who pulls away first, creating distance so he can properly look at David and his beautiful, devastating face. It’s Michael, who leans forward. Michael who goes to close the distance between them. It’s Michael, who wants to let himself have what he has been wanting for so long but wouldn’t say, and it’s David who lets him make that choice.
When their lips connect, Michael’s brain goes fuzzy. David makes a soft noise against his mouth, and moves to pull Michael closer. Michael can feel ever point of connection between them like electricity moving against his skin, and it suddenly occurs to him that it isn’t blood that he’s been needing - it’s this. He just needs this, for the next however many years and more, and he can fly as far and as long as he needs.
David’s tongue presses against the seam of Michael’s lips, and Michael opens against him. Letting the hot slide of their mouths together lull him into the simple mindlessness of connection. He may not have kissed many girls before, but kissing a boy wasn’t that different - the mechanics were the same, except the insistent heat of David’s tongue and the light pain of fangs biting at his bottom lip. Michael let himself be led.
David’s hands are on him again, moving him up so Michael is laying in his lap in the sand, and Michael gasps at all the new ways they’re touching. It makes him feel dizzy with it, overwhelmed by the feeling of closeness and David’s eyes looking at him with something that Michael could maybe call lust.
“You’re so beautiful Michael,” David whispers, “I hated being so far away from you.”
Michael tries to form words but all he can do is whimper in a way he’ll be embarrassed about later, and lean in to kiss him once again. They move together, sliding against one another, and David moves his hands downwards - helping Michael grind his hips against his own, and the way that David groans into Michael’s mouth is enough to make Michael think that he might not survive this.
David pulls away from again, so their foreheads are pressed together and their breath is mingling between them. He kisses Michael again, but this time soft, almost chaste.
“I think it’s time to go home.”
“What?” Michael says dumbly, looking at David’s own swollen lips and mussed hair, “You want to stop?”
David smiles at him, wicked and warm in that way that turns Michael inside out, “You think I put out on the first date? You haven’t even took me out!”
Michael laughs then, loud and unabashed, and David smiles back at him. It occurs to Michael that he has never seen a more lovely sight. That he wants a million more of those smiles directed at him, that there is even more warmth within them then even the harshest heat of anger. They have the whole of this afterlife in front of them, and Michael does not want to waste any more time.
“Maybe we should get you some more blood bags,” David says wickedly, “After all, you’ll need to keep your energy up for what’s to come.”
Michael just smiles and leans in again.