(I Would Like To) Take You Home

The walk back to Kevin’s place is quiet, subdued, but at least they don’t get jumped by any other vampires. Kevin fumbles with his keys to unlock the door, but when he turns around, Mike’s still hovering a few feet away.

“Aren’t you going to come in?” he asks, a narrow line of confusion between his eyebrows.

“I can’t,” Mike says, flatly.

“Do you need, like, explicit permission from the owner in order to enter a place of residence or something?” Kevin frowns, mulling over this in his head. “Like in Buffy?”

Mike gives him a particularly scathing are-you-for-real look which makes Kevin’s cheeks flame. (Mike is embarrassingly good at making Kevin blush, even when he’s not particularly trying to. It’s kind of ridiculous.)

“I was just asking,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. When he looks back at Mike, there’s something desperate in his eyes. “Stay. Please? I’ll- I’ll feel safer if you’re here.”

And Mike should say no, he should leave right now before he puts the kid in any more danger than he already has, but he’s never been very good at doing the right thing, especially in the face of wide, fearful eyes and quivering, bitten-down lips and a bare, earnest plea not to.

“Sure,” Mike says, exhaling slowly, “I can stay a little while.”

(It’s almost worth it for the smile that lights up the kid’s face, then. Almost.)

Mike steps inside and kicks the door shut behind him. “You live here alone?” he asks, casting a cursory glance around. The apartment’s fairly small, but it looks like it’d fit two people nicely, maybe a couple more at a push. And Mike can smell someone who isn’t Kevin lingering on the furniture, but it could just as easily be a boyfriend, or a girlfriend. Mike’s teeth grind of their own accord; he really wants it to be a roommate, of the very platonic variety.

Kevin shakes his head, confirming Mike’s suspicions. “I have a roommate, Zac,” he says, and Mike exhales, “but he’s staying at his girlfriend’s tonight so we’ve got the place to ourselves.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” Mike says carefully. Liar. “Should I be worried about you molesting me against a wall?”

“Hey,” Kevin protests, brows drawn up in mock-outrage, “given your track record, I’m the one who ought to be worried about being molested against a wall here.”

“I don’t remember you putting up much of a fight last time,” Mike says, lips curved into an evil smirk.

Kevin looks away, face flushed. “Here,” he says quickly, shrugging off Mike’s jacket and holding it out to him, “you should probably have this back before I forget to give it back and keep it for myself.”

Mike takes it, stroking over the familiar folds of fabric. It’s warm like it never is after he wears it, and the smell of Kevin clings to every crease. He hadn’t even noticed Kevin was wearing it.

“You could,” he says, almost as an afterthought, “keep it, I mean. I’ve got loads, it’s not like I need it.”

“Oh,” Kevin says, startled. “Um, that’s really nice of you, but you don’t have to-”

“Keep it,” Mike says, more insistent this time, and holds the jacket back out to him. “Seriously. Consider it an apology for nearly getting you killed.”

Kevin takes the jacket somewhat hesitantly, like he’s afraid Mike’s going to snatch it back the minute he’s got hold of it. “It wasn’t your fault,” he says, eyes wide and serious, and Mike has no idea what he’s talking about for a moment.

“Yes it was,” he mutters, glancing away. “Brendon only wants to kill you because I- because I like you. He has a thing about fucking stuff up for people. He gets off on other people’s pain.”

The tips of Kevin’s cheeks turn pink and Mike just knows what part of what he just said the boy is fixating on. “You like me?” He sounds uncertain, like Mike hadn’t made this ridiculously fucking obvious already, what with not killing him and saving his ass from Brendon Urie, twice, and then offering to walk him home like a sixth grader on their first date.

“Duh,” Mike says, just about managing to not roll his eyes. “You’re a pretty cool kid, Kevin.”

“Well, thank you. You’re kind of cool too,” Kevin says, smiling shyly up at him. It’s suddenly very, very hard for Mike to remember why he can’t want all the things he inexplicably does when Kevin’s just looking at him like that, why this whole thing is such an awful, awful idea.

He forces himself to look away, snapping the eye contact in half, and clears his throat like there’s something stuck in it. “We should, uh, barricade the door,” he says, nodding hard. “And lock all the windows, just in case Brendon tries to get in through one of them. Yeah. Lock the windows.”

“Okay,” Kevin says, sounding confused, “but we’re three storeys up and the fire escape’s on the other side of the building.” Mike just looks at him, eyebrows raised significantly, and Kevin’s eyes widen. “Oh. Oh. Of course. Right. You got any other freaky powers I should know about?”

“We can sort of make you do stuff,” Mike says vaguely, shrugging. “You know. Like hypnosis?”

“Hypnosis?” Kevin’s eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his skull. “Wait, has Brendon ever hypnotised me?” He frowns, like something’s just occurred to him. “Have you ever hypnotised me?”

Mike shrugs again, suddenly uncomfortable. “Well, yeah. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Kevin squeaks, arms flailing at his sides. “How do you sort of hypnotise someone?”

Mike glances down at the floor, scuffing the heel of his shoe against Kevin’s floor. “When I saw you,” he mumbles, “at the club, remember, yesterday, and then you followed me out and- I did it then. Sort of. And today, but I had to get you away from Brendon so it was kinda for your own good.”

Kevin looks horrified. Mike sort of wants the floor to swallow him up whole. Or maybe to disappear into the shadows and never return. That’s a more vampiric thing to do, he thinks. (Dracula would certainly approve. Mike’s not sure William would, though; he has nothing but disdain for this world’s mythology concerning their kind.)

He smiles, a bland twist of his lips. “Still trust me?”

Kevin blinks rapidly. “Yeah,” he mumbles, biting his lip. “I probably shouldn’t, but- yeah. I do.”

“Do you have a sense of self-preservation at all?” Mike asks, incredulous. Kevin just shrugs, and Mike shakes his head at him. “Speaking of self-preservation, we should really get those windows. Are there any other ways in that you know of?”

Kevin thinks for a second, then shakes his head. “Just the door.”

Mike nods and motions for Kevin to bolt the windows while he makes for a tall, heavy-looking bookcase that he pushes over to the door with minimal effort.

“Huh,” Kevin says, when Mike’s shifted the shelf right up to the door. “Super strength as well? That’s just unfair.” Mike turns, grinning, and lifts his arm to flex the muscles. “And that’s just showing off.”

Mike drops him an exaggerated wink. “You know you love it, baby.”

Kevin flushes, his eye roll very forced and very faked. “So, uh, can I get you anything? A drink, maybe?”

“Unless you’re offering me your neck,” Mike says dryly, amused by the extremely swift and not at all subtle change of subject, “which would kind of defeat the purpose of this, wouldn’t it?”

Kevin gulps. “Yeah, of course, sorry, I forgot.” Mike waves a hand, a casual forget about it gesture. “Can you not have, like, any human food or drink at all?”

Mike shrugs. “It won’t hurt me or anything,” he says honestly, “but I can’t taste it, not any more. Unless it’s in your blood, ‘cause it changes the taste. But by itself...” He shrugs again. “Nothing.”

“That’s really sad,” Kevin says in a tiny voice. “I don’t think I could live without sushi.”

Mike’s lips twitch, but he bites back the smile threatening to form. “It’s really not so bad,” he assures the kid, because he feels like he should. “It’s been years since I tasted anything but blood. I barely even remember food. It’s fine.”

(Liar, a traitorous part of Mike’s brain whispers, but he ignores it.)

Kevin nods like he understands. “I guess you could probably leave now, if you want,” he says, chewing his bottom lip. “It’s pretty safe in here now.”

“I should probably stay a bit longer,” Mike says carefully, “you know, make sure Brendon doesn’t try and attack you in your sleep or something.”

Kevin cocks his head, sceptical. “Would he?”

Mike huffs out a laugh. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“I guess,” Kevin says, sounding unconvinced. “it’s just- will Brendon even be able to do anything tonight? You did hurt him pretty bad. Will he- will he be okay?”

Mike blows out an impatient – and unnecessary – breath. “I can’t believe you’re worried about him. He tried to kill you.”

“He’s a vampire,” Kevin says lightly, “I figure he tries to kill a lot of people. I’m nothing special. Besides,” he continues, grinning, “it’s the circle of life. It moves us all through despair and hope, through faith and love, until we find our place on the path unwinding. It’s cool.”

Mike just looks at him, confused. “Is that a quote or something?” he asks finally.

Kevin’s mouth drops open and he gapes at Mike for a few seconds before saying, “The Lion King,” like this is obvious. “Tell me you’ve seen The Lion King.” Mike just shakes his head. “Okay, that’s it, we are watching it.”

Mike eyes him warily. “It isn’t animal porn, is it?”

Kevin turns away from rifling through his admittedly impressive DVD collection long enough to give him a scandalised look. “No, Mike,” he stresses, “it is not animal porn. It is a Disney animated children’s movie and I can’t believe you haven’t seen it. It was my childhood, Mike. My childhood.”

“Huh,” Mike says, unconvinced. “It’s a kids’ movie?”

“Yes and it is awesome.” Kevin produces the DVD case with a dramatic flourish. “I have it on video too,” he explains, like he feels like he should, “but the DVD quality is better.”

Mike doesn’t really give a shit either way so he just shrugs, wondering absently what’s so special about this movie that Kevin is so adamant that he watches it.

When Kevin’s done setting up the DVD player – that kind of technology is still a mystery to Mike, who’s mostly just kind of proud that he’s managed to figure out how to use an ordinary remote – he comes back to sit next to Mike, curling up next to him on the sofa.

“You’re gonna love this,” Kevin promises, as the opening credits start to roll. “Trust me. You will love this movie, I guarantee it.”

Mike’s still dubious, but he figures he can give it a chance for Kevin’s sake. It can’t be that bad, he reasons, if a film major thinks it’s the best thing since sliced bread.

He changes his mind abruptly about half an hour later when the little lion cub’s father dies. There’s a lump in his throat the size of a golf ball and there’s something hot and wet and unfamiliar pricking at his eyes and he sort of wants to punch something, even though he has no reason to be angry.

He swallows hard, blinks a few times, and tells himself it’s ridiculous – absolutely fucking ridiculous – for a supernatural creature of darkness to tear up at a kids’ movie. Absolutely fucking ridiculous.

***

“So,” Kevin says, in the awkward silence that seems to follow the end of every film, “what did you think of it?”

Mike thinks for a second, trying to parse everything rattling around in his brain into something that makes some kind of sense. “It was pretty fucking intense for a kids’ movie,” he settles on. (William would probably say something about metaphors and microcosms and hidden agendas, but all he can think about is how Simba must have felt, when his uncle convinced him he’d killed his father. How fucked up it must have made him. Mike knows first-hand what that kind of thing can do to a person and it’s- well, it’s pretty fucking intense for a kids’ movie.)

Kevin cracks a knowing smile. “But you liked it, right?”

Mike shrugs non-committally. “It was okay.” He did like it; it was silly and ridiculous and not his thing at all but he had to keep biting back a grin every time the creatures burst into song and Kevin sang along. “Scar seemed pretty cool.”

“You’re only pretending to root for the bad guy because you feel like you should,” Kevin says, rolling his eyes.

Mike stiffens. “Why would I do that?” he asks, careful not to let his surprise show on his face.

“You’ve got this-” Kevin waves his hands around in a vaguely demonstrative gesture. “I dunno what to call it, a villain complex? You just- you feel like you have this role you have to fulfil, like being a vampire means you have to be cruel and mean and unhappy. But you don’t. There has to be more to you than that, there always is. People aren’t that simple.”

Mike narrows his eyes. “I thought you were majoring in film studies, not psychology.”

“People are just fictional characters with a heartbeat and life’s just a movie without a script,” Kevin shrugs. “I’m right, though, aren’t I?”

“I don’t have a villain complex,” Mike says firmly, because that’s just stupid. It isn’t a denial, though, and he knows it. Kevin knows it too; he smiles, eyes sparkling, but doesn’t push Mike any further.

“Hey,” Kevin says, suddenly, like he’s just remembered something, “you never said, before. Will Brendon be okay?”

Mike rolls his eyes. If he has a villain complex, Kevin has a fucking hero complex. Nobody is that nice. “We don’t bruise that easy, Kevin,” he says dryly. “He’ll be fine.”

“Right,” Kevin says, nodding to himself. “Good, I’m glad.”

“Really?” Kevin nods, but he isn’t looking at Mike. “You okay?” Mike asks, watching him carefully.

Kevin starts to nod but then he stops halfway through and turns it into a shake of his head. “I’m just, you know, thinking about Brendon,” he mumbles, biting his lip. “I’m just- worried. It’s not like you can protect me all the time, is it?”

(I would, Mike thinks, If I could do it, I would..)

“I can do something,” he says, slowly, carefully, because he’s not entirely sure this is a good idea. “Something that’ll mean Brendon can’t hurt you.”

Kevin cocks his head, curious, and motions for Mike to continue.

“I can bite you. Not drain you dry or anything,” Mike says quickly, before Kevin can get the wrong idea, “I just have to take some blood and give some back. Just a drop. Or maybe two. Nowhere near enough to turn you.”

Kevin swallows, hard. Mike watches the lump travel down his neck and thinks about licking him there, about biting him there, but he breaks out of that fantasy pretty quickly.

“The thing is, though,” he continues, because this bit is important, “if I do it, it’s, uh, it’s a marker of possession.”

Kevin’s forehead creases in a frown. “Possession?”

It’s Mike’s turn to swallow. “It would make you mine. Not officially or anything,” he says quickly, because Kevin looks sort of horrified. (Mike thinks he should be a little bit insulted but he gets it, he understands.) “It’s just a claim on your blood, so it means I’m the only one allowed to, you know-” Mike makes a vaguely demonstrative hand gesture supposed to represent blood-sucking.

Kevin laughs then and it doesn’t sound forced, which Mike is extremely relieved about, but he still looks nervous. “So it’s like peeing on the ground to mark your territory, basically?”

“Yeah,” Mike says warily, “I guess.”

Kevin seems to mull this over for a minute or so and then he says, calmly, “Okay, do it. Do you, um-” He breaks off, tilting his head back, his meaning clear.

Mike shakes his head vehemently so his fantasy doesn’t return. “No. Your wrist. Give me your wrist.”

“Oh,” Kevin says, ducking his head back down. He looks vaguely embarrassed and sort of... disappointed? What, did he want Mike to start gnawing on his neck or something? Humans are strange. Or maybe Kevin’s just strange, Mike doesn’t know. Standards of strangeness have changed a lot since he was alive. “Okay, yeah, here you go.”

He holds out his wrist and Mike takes it, closing his fingers in a narrow circle just below Kevin’s wrist bone, thumb resting just on top of the fattest part of the veins criss-crossing under his skin. He squeezes, just a little, and feels Kevin tense beneath his grip.

“You have to relax,” Mike says, voice scratching out of his throat. “Like with an injection, you know? It hurts more if you don’t relax ‘cause the skin’s stretched tighter.”

Kevin nods, ducking his head, and Mike can feel the muscles in Kevin’s arm loosen when he leans back into the sofa and closes his eyes. He- he closes his eyes, lashes fluttering against the tired purple skin beneath them, and Mike can’t help but stare at him in disbelief for a few moments because what? There’s a fine, delicate line between trusting and suicidal and Kevin hasn’t so much completely ignored it as leapt right over it and danced around the other side, grinning all the while.

One of Kevin’s eyes flick open and he squints up at Mike. “Not to rush you or anything,” he says cautiously, “but you’re kinda making me nervous. Do you have to, like, psych yourself up for it or something?”

“I’m psyched,” Mike assures him, a sharp, sardonic smile curling on his lips. “I am so psyched to be trading blood with you, you have no idea.”

Kevin rolls his eyes, which means he gets it was meant to be a joke, except... except Mike’s not so sure that it was. God, he is fucked. He is so, so fucked.

“You sure about this?” Mike asks, still sceptical, still kind of unable to believe that Kevin trusts him this much.

“Mike,” Kevin says, heaving a long-suffering sigh, “it’ll keep me safe, right? I am all for being bitten just once if it means it’ll protect me from potential future maulings, seriously.”

“Okay,” Mike mutters, “if you’re sure.” He raises Kevin’s arm to his lips, and Kevin shivers. It takes every ounce of willpower Mike has not to just tear into him right there and then, to croak out a mostly unnecessary, “I’m just gonna... yeah,” and clamp his flatter teeth down over Kevin’s wrist.

Kevin gasps, and Mike can’t tell if it’s out of pleasure or pain. He isn’t really paying attention, though; he’s entirely focused on the task at hand. If he loses concentration for even a second and manages to fuck this up, it could end up costing Kevin a lot more than just his life.

Mike bites down, stubbornly gentle, and two fang-sized holes open up beneath his teeth, but he doesn’t move his mouth to suck like he kind of really wants to. He can taste Kevin, sharp and sweet, and just the tiny dash of blood is better than every single person Mike’s fed on in his entire undeath. He’s not sure how but somehow he manages to pull away all of a centimetre to nip at the corner of his own mouth and draw a pinprick of blood which he licks onto his tongue and over Kevin’s skin. Mike feels him shudder, but he doesn’t take his mouth away from Kevin’s wrist until it’s completely clean.

“There,” he says, licking at the corners of his mouth to get at any excess blood. Kevin’s eyes are glazed but they focus in on the motion, fascinated by the movement of Mike’s tongue. “Sorry if I hurt you.”

Kevin shakes his head. “It didn’t hurt,” he assures Mike, his voice breathy and a little high-pitched. “Mostly it just tickled.”

“Good,” Mike says, nodding. “That’s good.”

“Is that it, now? Am I safe?” Kevin asks, anxious. Mike nods and Kevin smiles at him, slow and lazy and hitching up on one side. “Thank you,” he says quietly, and Mike ducks his head.

Kevin yawns, fist to his mouth to stifle it. (Being bitten makes you drowsy, something about a defence mechanism to make the kill easier. William explained it to him once, probably, but Mike mustn’t have been listening. He doesn’t listen to Bill much, if he’s honest.) “I’m gonna-” He makes a vague gesture which is probably supposed to convey fall into bed and sleep for the rest of time. “Thanks for staying with me.”

“No problem.”

“No, seriously. Thank you,” Kevin says earnestly, eyes wide to keep them from closing by themselves. “You didn’t have to.”

Mike shrugs, uncomfortable with the level of gratitude he’s receiving. He’s pretty much fucked this kid’s life up until Brendon gets bored, which could, feasibly, be anywhere from a week to the rest of the century; he doesn’t deserve it.

He’s sort of expecting it when Kevin stretches up the couple of inches Mike has on him and presses a kiss to his lips, but he’s not expecting Kevin to fist his hands in Mike’s shirt and pull him close and fucking moan into Mike’s mouth, the bastard. Mike’s entire body stiffens and he pulls away quickly with the little willpower he has because he knows if he doesn’t now, he won’t be able to stop himself.

“Think you’ve had enough excitement for one night,” he says softly, shaking his head. “Let’s get you to bed, yeah?”

Hooking an arm around Kevin’s shoulders, Mike pulls him to his feet and steers him out of the room. Kevin makes a vague noise of protest before burying his head in Mike’s shoulder, apparently too tired to fight.

The first door Mike tries reveals a bathroom, the next a room covered in posters of scantily-clad women in compromising situations. Mike’s just going out on a limb here, but he’s fairly certain it’s not Kevin’s, so he shuts the door pretty quickly and moves on to the last door at the end of the narrow hallway.

Shifting Kevin’s body off his shoulders, Mike sets him down carefully on the bed. He pulls the blanket up and over him, smoothing it down at the corners and tucking in the edges. Kevin looks so peaceful lying there and on impulse, Mike reaches down and brushes a loose curl behind his ear. Kevin makes a pleased sound and leans into it, a contented smile on his lips. Mike freezes.

“Stay,” Kevin mumbles, mostly half-asleep.

When Mike doesn’t move, Kevin tugs him down by his sleeve and pulls him close. Mike squawks in protest – he has never been manhandled in his entire life and he doesn’t intend to start now – but Kevin chuckles, breath tickling Mike’s ear, and suddenly he can’t bring himself to mind their position.

Mike waits until Kevin’s breathing evens out again before shifting to get comfortable and closing his eyes. He’s still fully dressed and there’s a blanket between them but right now, just for a moment, Mike can pretend they’re something other than what they are, and his chest almost aches with how much he wishes it were true. He doesn’t understand it, he doesn’t understand any of this, but he’s not so sure he cares.

Mike waits until the sun is just starting to peek out from below the horizon, until he can almost feel the burn of its rays on his shoulders. Careful not to jolt Kevin, he disentangles himself from the boy’s embrace and scoots away, watching him curl up into himself for as long as he dares.

And then he leaves, pushing the bookcase aside and closing the front door behind him with a soft click before he races the sunrise home.