Dead and Loving it

They sit in silence for a long time before Patrick braves a question. “If I’m your mate, why are you taking me back?” he asks quietly.

Peter tightens his grip on Patrick’s hand before releasing it completely, leaving both their palms feeling suddenly cold. “Patrick…I have to look after you. You being here means that you’re in constant danger. I can’t let you be in danger.”

Patrick blinks. “How am I in danger?”

“Because you’re with me!” Peter yells, jumping to his feet.

“You know what, Peter? I think you’re scared,” Patrick replies, not even flinching at Peter’s anger.

“Me? Scared? Of what, my sweet?” Peter replies, voice dripping with false sweetness like an overfilled honeycomb.

“Of not being alone,” Patrick says simply, looking up at him from the bed.

“Oh, am I? Would you like to shine some light on my newfound fear, Patty dear?”
Peter grins mirthlessly, turning to walk to the large window beside the bed.

“Certainly,” Patrick says briskly, turning onto his side and propping himself up one one elbow. “First off: don’t call me Patty. Please. And, secondly: I think that you’ve been alone for so long that now you’re terrified of having me, because losing me would mean being alone all over again.”

“If you’re so smart, then answer me this: if I’m afraid of being alone, then why am I taking you back home?” Peter asks softly, a note of ice in his voice as he turns away from the view of the garden and moves back towards the bed with slow, deliberate steps.

Patrick just watches Peter’s battered boots move slowly towards him, his heart hammering in the pit of his throat. “Because…because you’re scared,” he chokes out, a sudden anger rising in him. “Have you been listening to me at all?”

“Yes, I have been listening to every foolish word that has fallen from your sainted lips, my dearest Trick,” Pete tells him coldly. “I truly have. And I will say this: I am not afraid of being alone. I simply refuse to be the one to kill you.”

“I never said you were afraid of being alone,” Patrick points out. “I said you were afraid of not being alone.” He pauses, thinking for a moment. “You won’t kill me. You won’t hurt me,” he says innocently, words ringing with complete and total confidence.

Peter slides onto the bed and begins crawling slowly towards Patrick, amber eyes locked on the boy’s blue ones. “My mistake,” he whispers. Movements still slow and deliberate, he continues forward, making Patrick scoot back. “Are you scared, my love?”

“No.” Patrick stares at him, swallows hard, scoots back further as Pete’s musky scent gets closer and closer.

“Then why are you backing away from me?” Pete asks, pausing to stare deep, deep into Patrick’s eyes, like he can see right into the back of his head.

Through a purely superhuman effort, Patrick forces himself to stop sliding backwards. And Peter almost jumps onto him, pinning his wrists to the mattress. “Are you scared, Patrick?” he asks in a voice that’s odd and rough, running his tongue down the trapped boy’s hot ivory neck.

“No. You…you won’t hurt me,” Patrick gulps, tilting his chin back and trying to keep his heart from pounding out of his chest through some magical power of telekinesis.

“Your heart tells a different story.” Pete laughs, moving up to kiss the corner of Patrick’s plump mouth. Dry lips lingering on soft, full ones for a moment before being lifted off an inch or two.

“How do you know that it’s fear?” Patrick manages, silently cursing his beating heart.

Peter smiles, a slow, lazy, predatory grin that only needs a set of pointed teeth to be totally wolfish. “Is this you trying to tell me that you want to stay? Do you want to be a captive? Because god knows I won’t let you leave later on down the road,” he murmurs, dragging his lips across Patrick’s cheek to his ear, making the boy shiver as he growls softly: “And I mean that. I will hunt you down if you run away from me. Do you really want to stay with me?”

“Maybe,” Patrick whispers, voice faltering slightly as Peter places a kiss to his neck. Instinctively, he tilts his head back further, baring more of his neck to Peter. Probably stupid, probably dangerous; at the moment, he couldn’t care less.

Peter grins.