Shout-out to @midnight-in-santa-carla! I saw your tags on that post (we all know the one) and thought why not? Here's some NSFW Michael and David for you, and I hope you enjoy. :)
Also on AO3
***
"I'm gonna get you for this, Emerson."
Under other circumstances, this might have been intimidating, but as it is, Michael is barely even impressed. Maybe it's the pitiful, frustrated whine that has taken the place of David's usual devil-may-care attitude that does it. Maybe it's that Michael has been working him over with hands and mouth for ages now and it's hardly the first time the threat has been issued that takes the sting out of it. Maybe it's that every time Michael thinks this is surely it, the moment when David finally goes over the edge, his eyes flash yellow and his fangs lengthen dangerously and yet there is never any release.
What Michael does know is that this is a lot more fun than he'd anticipated.
Blame it on Sam and those cheesy comics he'd left lying around. Michael had caught a glimpse of a panel featuring a cartoonishly frightened damsel in distress and a wizened old man assuring her in a cramped little speech bubble, "Don't worry, miss! Vampires can't come inside without permission!" And in his own defense, how was he not supposed to put it to the test?
David and the rest of the boys showed up after dark and it took some work to convince Marko, Paul, and Dwayne to head out without them, but Michael won in the end. David, on the other hand, needed almost no convincing to stay back and fool around, especially with the rest of the Emersons out of the house and out of their way. Michael played it cool, waiting until they were both half naked and half hard before he asked, "Is it true?"
"Is what true?" David replied before leaning down to nip at Michael's neck. Not a serious bite, but enough to get his heart racing that much faster.
Michael unzipped David's fly and reached into his pants to wrap a hand around his cock. He let out a long sigh at the first touch but his breath hitched after only a few strokes, and Michael had to resist a self-satisfied smirk. "Can vampires come inside without permission?" he asked.
"You had to invite me in, didn't you?" He let Michael carry on for a bit, then drew back enough to narrow his eyes in suspicion. "Why?"
Michael pushed him back onto the bed then climbed after him. "You'll see."
There's no telling how long it's been since, and Michael has yet to get bored of this. David is past curses and threats and has finally started begging, but Michael isn't about to let him off the hook. After all the teasing and hazing and other bullshit, David has earned some payback, and Michael is more than happy to oblige.
It's about time that cocky bastard got what was coming to him.
Michael finally rolls onto his back and David takes the hint. A few moments to maneuver and then he's sinking deep, with one hand flat on the bed for balance and the other between their bodies stroking Michael in time to each thrust of his hips. Jesus, it's too good... Michael isn't going to last long like this...
"Michael," David says, the word raspy and breathless, "stop fucking with me, please, you gotta let me..."
He's almost there himself, right at the edge and ready to go over...
"Michael..."
He opens his mouth, the words right there on his lips--
The rumble of an old engine and the blare of an off-key horn horn cut him off.
Michael shoves David away with enough force he falls off the bed, landing with a loud thump and a shocked expletive. Ignoring him, Michael bolts to the window and peers through the blinds in a panic to see headlights pulling up the driveway. Grandpa is home early.
"Michael, what the fuck?" David demands, picking himself up off the floor and following to the window. "Who is that?"
Michael abandons the window and starts searching for discarded clothes. "You gotta get out of here," he says. "Hurry up, before someone sees you."
"Are you shitting me?" David catches the shirt Michael flings at him and puts it on, too distracted to notice it's inside out. "You're just gonna string me along all night and then kick me out before either of us gets to finish?"
"I didn't plan it that way," Michael insists, still throwing David's clothes at him. "And don't act like you didn't like it."
David grins midway through getting his pants back on. "You're right. I kinda did."
The door slams shut downstairs as they move to the window again. Michael eases it open slowly so it doesn't creak and gestures out into the night. "Go. I'll catch up with you later."
David steps onto the sill and pulls Michael in for one last kiss before giving him an impertinent pat on the cheek. "Next time I see you, you're in deep shit," he says.
"Next time I see you, I'll string you along even longer," Michael replies.
David smiles. Not his usual devilish, arrogant grin, but one of the rare, softer ones with more warmth and sincerity. "See you around, Michael." He steps out of the window and there's a rushing sound as he disappears into the night, and Michael stares after him before turning away to get dressed. Hopefully, Grandpa won't notice him sneaking out. If he dawdles, he'll never catch up, and he doesn't want to keep David waiting.
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There is no stars or moon overhead, their shining faces blotted out under heavy, sunken clouds. Weather is coming in, bitingly cold. The sky is blind to all below it.
Max stands before him, his face shadowed and blank. His suit is pressed, shoes immaculate. His face is blank, and David cannot guess at what he wants. It's been months, and he still cannot tell the swing of Max's moods.
"Come here, David," he says quietly.
David stands, rooted to the spot. His body cannot shiver any more, that involuntary response dead with his humanity. But he feels the night air eating away at him. He's empty.
"I- I'm sorry-" David mumbles.
"I didn't ask you to apologize," Max cuts him off, still the same low, level voice. "I said-"
He reaches out, a finger curling into a long claw. Hooking into David's mind. His blood.
"Come. Here."
David's body is moving out from under him. His legs move as automata, the muscles and bones and ligaments pumping under someone else's pull, David alone in his head, suspended in his body. He staggers forward at Max's beckon, until he reaches an unspecified few feet from his sire.
The dead deer lies at his feet. Bloated from days of decay, half frozen in the new winter.
David looks from it to Max.
His face is just as blank as before. There is no light in his eyes as he looks down at David though spectacles he doesn't need. His gaze is as flat as the deer's.
"What did you do, David?" He asks.
David breathes. "I killed."
Max raises an eyebrow.
"...without your permission," he finishes.
Max nods.
"And what did you do after you killed?"
David searches Max's face. Looking for something that isn't there. An answer. A hope.
He swallows. "I drank."
Max moves. He reaches a hand out, a single finger, the same that he had drawn David to him with, tracing a line down David's face. From his fore head, to the shell of his ear, down the curve of his jaw to his lips. The finger lingers there, feeling their shape. It presses, once, at the seam, and David opens. Enough to let it rest just past, to feel his breath.
Max leans in. "Did I say you could?"
"No."
The word is barely more than a whisper.
Max closes his eyes. He removes the finger, drawing his hand back to fold into each other.
"Well. It seems by my estimation, I have been a very poor sire to you. Letting you go so hungry as to resort to such dire straits as going against our rules, and endangering everything we're building, here. How careless of me."
David stands as still as he can. His mind races, but. Goes nowhere all the same. He can only wait. Wait and wait.
Max rubs the finger he'd held to David against his thumb.
"I'm amending that now. You may have your fill."
He gestures down at the deer.
David blinks. The carcass is small, likely bore late in the season. Half the fur on it's legs are gone, it's belly set to split if the weather would only warm a little. A white and brown crust fills its eyes and mouth, and David knows that if someone were to lift it, none of the bones would bend. Complete rigor.
He licks his lips. "I can't-"
"You can," Max says, still in that light, unconcerned voice. He tilts his head. "You are hungry. Aren't you, David?"
He is. It had been a month. Max had made sure of it. And Max sees that in his eyes.
He points to the deer a third time. "So drink."
On numbing knees, David kneels. The ground is hard and cold under him, rocks and earth and cut stems of plants digging into his skin through the thin pants. He comes close, and the deer's scrawny neck comes closer. He opens his mouth, willing his fangs to come forward. He tastes his own blood before anything else. Maybe it will numb this.
The first breech of teeth through the flesh is like a dull needle through hard leather. Old, still fur fills David's mouth, itching under his tongue. The old skin bends, flaking off. But he bites down.
The first wash of blood into his mouth is rot.
Rot and mold and the leavings of putrifier's leavings. It's barely blood, so thick David can't swallow, instead painting the inside of his mouth in a pasty smear. It's worse than empty.
It's dead blood.
David makes a noise and tries to pull away.
"No, David," Max says above him. "I said drink."
His jaw locks in place as though sewn together with steel. His throat convulses as it works, around a bitter mouthful of old, dead blood. David's scream is muffled by the carcass's flesh in his teeth.
He can already feel it rotting his own gut.
A hand comes down to the top of his head. Gentle and petting back the stray strands of hair that work free as he writhes.
The ultimate power move in a vampire/fairy rivalry would be the fairy inviting the vampire over for tea. The vampire has natural dominion over anyone who invites them into their home, the fairy has natural dominion over anyone who violates the laws of hospitality, and neither can refuse the appointment without showing weakness, so it’d just be a constant headgame of the vampire trying to manoueuvre the fairy into a position where the obligations of hospitality allow the vampire to eat them, and the fairy trying to trick the vampire into doing something that would allow the fairy to declare them a poor guest.
next paradox
-faeries have power over those who eat fey food
-vampires have power over those they feed on
even should the vampire successfully bite the faerie theyre still at square one
"Why is Armand attracted to that old man? He is old???" Is a very funny reaction I've seen people have to Devil's Minion.
Because on a surface level, it does seem thematically interesting. You could talk about vampires forever looking the age that they died, aging, and the natural fetishization of aging an immortal being might have and how that might present, especially in a character like Armand etc etc etc. But also, there are people who want to fuck Daniel Molloy right now.
Like actual normal aged mortal humans. Most of them are significantly younger than 72 year old actor Eric Bogosian. Like ok you can't really argue that Armand wanting to fuck that old man is weird when a large chunk of people came out of IWTV thinking "I want to fuck that old man"
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Paul is losing, and that's when he starts asking inane questions.
"Hey, what's the worst weather you've ever been through?" He asks.
Dwayne sighs. Paul was likely going to play his last knight, which would mean Dwayne could use his bishop to take his queen...but not until Paul actually took his turn.
"I don't know," he answers. "Probably a blizzard?"
Paul raises an eyebrow. "Where?"
"Ontario."
"Hm." Paul looks down at the board, thinking. "Ever been in a tornado?"
David speaks up from where he's resting his eyes in his chair. "I have. Nasty shit."
Dwayne prods David in the bond, hoping to not encourage Paul's diversion tactics. But when has David ever listened to him.
"Didya see it?" Paul asks.
David nods. "Mm. They're always freakier then you think. Clouds moving on their own like that. Wasn't that big, but then again with tornadoes any size is too big."
Dwayne turns to face David more fully. "When was this?" He doesn't remember living through that.
"Kansas, sometime in...I think the late 1890s?" David opens his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. A far away look to them. "I don't remember much, but I do remember that."
Disney, in the bond, a sense memory hazes in and out. The scent of dirt and potatoes from huddling in a root cellar. The deafening roar of wind that sounded like a freight train above them. It's haunting.
"Neat!" Paul chirps. "Anyway, I moved. Your turn, Dwayne!"
Dwayne blinks and looks back to the board. Paul has indeed moved his knight. Dwayne smiles. He reaches for his bishop-
I based Dwayne's external steadfastness/internal screaming off the actor XD I remember vaguely reading an interview where Billy mentioned that he was internally panicking when being given vague action, so he threw up the finger guns before dropping down the bridge. That's why I love to think outside of the group Dwayne's seen as this ✨️tall, dark, and mysterious✨️ guy everyone's intrigued by but in reality he's a complete dork who very rarely knows wtf he's even doing half the time
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Makes me happy that 'autistic Dwayne' is catching in the fandom hell yeah my man is not stoic, he's just not catching social cues and can't be fucked to give a fuck
OK, if Kiefer Sutherland and his hot girlfriend asked me to join their vampire polycule and live along the California coast, I wouldn't be pissing and moaning about it. Because I'm built different
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level 2: the lost boys follows a not uncommon horror movie trend where monstrous and villainous characters are associated with alt fashion or other counter-culture signifiers, which may also call to mind an association with queerness as it exists in conflict with cishet cultural norms. this, intentionally or unintentionally, helps to position queerness as an evil threat to the status quo in the minds of viewers. while a lot of queer people end up seeing themselves in these characters in a positive way, its inappropriate to talk about how cool gay vampires are without at least acknowledging the implications of this in relation to the long history of queer-coded villains in film.
level 3: the lost boys is actually all a clever subversion of the aforementioned trope; while on the surface michael is positioned as the classic disaffected youth, child of divorce (this and him being in the care of a single mother helping to introduce the idea that his vampirism ie latent homosexuality starts with this initial failure to uphold conservative family values), falling in with the wrong crowd who corrupt him and creates a rift between him and his family, the twist of the movie reveals that the vampire gang exists under the authority of the head vampire who himself has all the signifiers of the wholesome middle class all-american dad figure. this recontextualizes the queer-coding of the vampires from a gang of wild subversives to a group of kids who, like michael, were most likely struggling with some sort of instability in their home lives and were groomed into vampirehood by their sire, the symbol of the father they perhaps lacked. the precious but fragile unity that exists among these outsiders cannot survive, not because a more normative family structure has some special thing they lack, but because they are chasing an idea of family that despite their counter-cultural leanings hasnt been meaningfully disentangled from patriarchy, as embodied by their literal patriarch.
