Kill Your Darlings

"Visitors?" Pete asked, sitting up, the mattress squeaking underneath him. The bloodied sheets stuck to his body slightly and he tugged them off before finding a clean blanket to wrap around himself. He quickly crossed the room to Mikey and nuzzled into the warmth of Mikey's own uncovered body.

Mikey jutted his chin in the direction of the front porch, almost invisible from their vantage point on the second floor. There were four of them— three were dressed similarly, suits and hats and a garish embellishment; the fourth, however, was laying on the brick steps instead of standing, and he wore modern clothes, jeans and a black sweater. One of the three— one with a fox-fur shrug draped elegantly around his shoulders— looked down at the man on the ground and said something to him, making the man shrink back and bury his head in his arms.

Then, the frightened man looked up, and the moonlight caught his face just right, highlighting his sharp facial structure and gray eyes. "Patrick!" Pete gasped, his hand flying up to cover his mouth. "They've got him. They've got Patrick." Then, everything seemed to click into place for him and Pete cried: "Oh, it's them! William and the others! They've found me!"

"Pete, love, it's okay," Mikey said quietly, clutching Pete's head to his chest so that Pete couldn't see the sevens before him. "I'll never let them hurt you. I promise."

"I love you, Mikey," Pete said into Mikey's chest. "I love you so much, Mikey."

"I love you too, Pete," Mikey said quietly, placing a kiss on the top of Pete's head. "Stay here, and I'll go take care of them. Okay?"

Pete nodded, reluctantly letting go of Mikey. Pete sank back onto the bed as he watched Mikey get dressed, his fumbling fingers buttoning his shirt wrong. Before Pete could try to get up to help fix it, Mikey turned and looked at him, surrounded by the blood-slick sheets, the two small holes on his neck visible. The sight of so much blood forced Mikey's fangs out, yet he controlled his eyes from changing.

"Here's what I want you to do," Mikey instructed quietly. "Lock the door when I leave. Change the bedsheets and hide the bloody ones, then get in bed and wait for me. If you fall asleep, that's fine, but I just want you to stay here. Understand?"

Pete nodded. When Mikey turned to leave, Pete had a thought and said: "Wait, Mikey." This stopped Mikey in tracks and he turned just in time for Pete's lips to crash onto his own. The blanket slipped down from around his shoulders and pooled at their feet on the ground, and Mikey pulled Pete closer to him.

"Please be careful," Pete whispered once they pulled away. He said something else but the door bell rang again, drowning out his words. But Mikey knew what he had said.

"I love you too," Mikey said, the tips of his fingers tracing Pete's heart-bat tattoo. He placed a delicate kiss on Pete's forehead and left the room quickly.

The two men had made a fatal error, however, one they didn't even realize they were making: they didn't close the curtain.

William watched Mikey peek out the curtains, then turn his head to talk to someone out of sight. Then, Pete came into view, a darkly colored blanket around his shoulders like a cloak.

"Look at this," William said upon noticing that the blond man was, in fact, Pete. "Peter is here." He looked down at Patrick and said: "It turns out you were telling the truth. Now, your reward is watching Brendon, Spencer, and I tear him to bits."

Patrick whimpered and shrank away from William. He said nothing, though, his mouth gaping like a fish out of water.

A few minutes of silence later, the front door swung open to show Mikey. He smelled of blood, sweat, and the sweet aroma of sex, and his hair stood out in small tufts from where fingers had pulled and tugged the locks. A small stubble covered his upper lip and his fangs pushed out, the tips barely showing from out under his top lip.

"Dearest Michael," William said softly, cupping Mikey's hand in his own. "I offer my deepest condolences about Peter. You seemed to love him so."

"Thank you very much, William," Mikey said and William seemed surprised that Mikey knew his name. "It is difficult, knowing that the one you love has been taken."

William made a sound of agreement, then said: "Yes, so you miss Peter, yet you are still sleeping with other people? Poor Peter would be heartbroken to know."

Mikey was going to ask just how William knew, but his hair answered his question for him. "We have already established the fact that I am quite the lecher. May I sleep now?"

"I think not," William said. "I would like to ask a few questions about Peter."

"Come back when the sun is up," Mikey demanded. "Until then, I won't answer any questions."

"The sunrise is at 6:40, in a little more than five hours," William said. "To keep the peace, we will wait until 7:00. It will give you an extra twenty minutes, and I do believe we would all benefit from at least a short nap."

Mikey nodded and closed the door in William's face. He locked the door and quickly found a chair to place underneath the door handle, in case William had the thought to break in.

Mikey didn't go to Pete first thing; he went to his brother. "We have to leave right now," Mikey told Gerard. "William from Los Angeles is here right now and he want to either kill Pete or turn him, and I cannot tell which is more likely."

Gerard chewed on his bottom lip, thinking. "We have five hours until you must negotiate?" He asked and Mikey nodded. "Here is the plan. First, you must disguise yourself— color your hair, put on glasses, whatever works. Step two is escaping through the garden in the back; Pete knows the way, I guarantee. Step three: get to a safe place as soon as you can. It does not matter if it is in California or even a few miles away from here. Keep Peter safe."

Five hours later, Pete's hair shone a dark brown, almost his natural hair color, and Mikey's hair was the same way, almost his natural hair color. Mikey also wore the glasses he never had to, since vampirism came with perfect vision. They were dressed in dark colors, with a single bag each full of other clothes.

"Pete, you're shaking," Mikey observed and ran his hands down Pete's arm, the canvas material of his black coat rough underneath his fingers. "You'll be safe, I promise."

"God, I hope this works," Pete mumbled.

"It will," Gerard said from the other side of the den. Lindsey was still asleep. "Lindsey and I will help keep them off, if the need arises."

"Thanks, Gee," Mikey said. He took Pete's hand in his own and looked the man standing next to him, his hands shaking with anticipation. "You know they way?" He asked Pete.

"Did Hans shoot first?" Pete asked, glancing up at Mikey and laughing softly.

"Okay," Miley said and opened the back door slowly so that the hinges didn't squeal. "After you, my good sir."

"Shut the fuck up and be serious for one second here," Pete said, smiling as he crossed into the back.

Wordlessly, Pete led Mikey to the garden. They pushed through the flowers and weeds carefully, hoping they were well concealed with the darkness of the night.

The garden gave way to a small forest-like area and they continued on until they heard it: a car horn's beep. "We're near the interstate," Pete observed, stopping for a second. "Where are we exactly?"

"About thirty minutes from our apartment complex," Mikey said. "Gerard lives in one of those insane, oranate houses you always see but never see anyone in."

Pete nodded, thankful for knowing his location finally. "So, should we try to hitchhike or... What?" He asked, looking at Mikey.

"We could try," Mikey said and glanced up at the sky, the dense tress blocking it slightly. "The only way to tell time in the 1700s," he began, scanning the sky. "Was to look at your position in relation to the stars. Based on the placement of the North Star and Saturn, I'd say it's about... Half an hour until William talks to nobody."

"You can really do that?" Pete asked, awestruck.

"Yeah," Mikey said, dropping his head back down to see Pete. "It was either a sundial or the stars, and the stars are more helpful at nighttime."

"That's awesome," Pete said and gripped the straps of his bag. "You said we're hitchhiking?"

"We are," Mikey nodded and the men continued pushing through the thick foliage until they reached the edge and burst out to see the somewhat desolate interstate.

"You'd have to nuts to be on the interstate at six in the morning," Pete stated as the two made their way to the edge of the road. Mikey dropped his bag, bulging with clothes, and searched around him for something.

Finally, he found a bit of cardboard close to them, the piece a bit bigger than his bag. Mikey dig around in the pocket of his jacket before saying: "Check the right pocket of your jacket. I put a marker in one of our pockets and—"

"Here it is," Pete said and handed Mikey a silver permanent marker, who quickly uncapped and wrote in big letters: LA OR BUST!!

"Two exclamation points?" Pete criticized as Mikey handed him the marker back.

"One's not aggressive enough; three is too aggressive," Mikey explained, picking his bag up once more, holding the sign in his left hand and taking Pete's hand in his other.

"You have the worst sex hair I've ever seen in my life," Pete said, picking at Mikey's hair like a chimpanzee. He giggled and said: "I did that, Jesus Christ."

"Yes, well, I did this," Mikey retaliated, and poked Pete's chest through his shirt, knowing that viscous love bites stood out against the skin. "And hickies stick around longer than sex hair, so I win."

"In the contest of worser off after sex, I definitely win," Pete said. "My ass hurts like hell, and every time I move my left leg, little bursts of pain race up my ass and spine and it sucks major dick."

"You know, you've never sucked my dick," Mikey said.

"Yes, well, you see, the thing is that I suck at it— no euphemism intended. My beej's are horrible."

"I'll be the judge of that when we get to Los Angeles."

"If," Pete corrected. "If we get to Los Angeles."

"No, you asshat, when," Mikey said, smiling at Pete. "We're getting to LA— one way or another."

"Don't call me asshat. You're the asshat."

"Honestly, Pete, between the two of us, I'd be the one eating you out. You'd be a literal ass hat," Mikey explained, trying not to laugh.

"You'd really want to do that?" Pete asked. "Give me a rimjob?"

"Of course," Mikey answered. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been on both ends at one point or another, and, not only does it feel heavenly, it... It really just feels heavenly either way."

"Michael Way!" Pete cried, faking scandal. "Such debauchery! And to think this is coming from my sweet little dude's mouth. You aren't that sweet— I need to change your nickname."

"Sweet little dude?" Mikey asked, cocking his head.

Pete looked down at his boots, the toes scuffed and slightly big on him, and a red blush overtook his face. "Yeah... When I first saw you, the morning after Ryan Ross was killed, I didn't know your name and I just called you Sweet Little Dude, which I would shorten to Dude."

"You know, I watched you wrestle your mattress into the apartment," Mikey told him. "My initial thought was 'God, I wonder what his moans sound like'. I swear to God, I was at half mast when I fed on Ryan."

"Poor dude was probably like 'The fuck? He's about to kill me and he's got a boner?'," Pete said and laughed with Mikey.

"That is fifty shades of fucked up," Mikey said.

"Oh, Fifty Shades!" Pete cried. "I was once mistaken for E.L James! I was at a signing for Gray and this person thought I was the author of that book and I was just like 'Yeah, dude, no. I wrote this angsty bullshit that I'm surprised people read; I didn't write poorly-written porn'."

"It's not bullshit," Mikey said as a few cars passed by. He lifted his sign, but none of the cars even slowed to read it. "It's amazing. It's so deep and emotional and, just talking to you, I can hear your voice in the words. It's so obviously you, it's like you imbedded your soul into the words."

"Very poignant for a man who was just asking to tongue-fuck me."

"You know what? You laugh now, but you'll love it."

As soon as Mikey finished his sentence, a silver minivan pulled up next to the two and the passenger window rolled down to show a man in the driver's seat. "You guys trying to get to Los Angeles?" The man asked.

"We sure are," Pete said, Mikey's grip on Pete's hand tightening. "Whatever it takes to get there— however many car rides or train rides it takes."

"I'm only going as far as Missouri, but I can take you guys there," the man said. "I'm Dallon, and you can't see them, but my kids are the way back."

"Dallon," Pete said. "Thank you so much. You have no idea how helpful this is to us. I'm Pete and this is Mikey, my... Boyfriend."

"Well, Pete and Mikey," Dallon said. "The second row is all yours. I should also mention that gay marriage's been legal in all 50 states since the summer, but you guys don't seem very... Up on social media."

"We've been a bit predisposed since about July," Pete saidz "And even then, we never watch the news."

Dallon on fiddles with the buttons above his head for a drowns and the back door of the van popped open, sliding open and allowing Pete and Mikey in. "Thank you so much," Mikey said. "This is so nice."

"I've lost my niceness long ago," Dallon laughed. "You two just seemed kinda... Broken. It's the least I can do."

"Thank you, Dallon," Pete said and smiled at Mikey. It seemed as if, for that moment, William and his cronies were no longer an issue.

Notes

Can you tell I'm horny as fuck? ;) I also love conversations that never follow one topic; NSFW to domestic shit to laughing about a dude's last thoughts... I love it. Also, as of this chapter, this is Mikey (because I'm mikeywayfucker69 and I love his glasses) and this is Pete.

xoøli