never expect your lives to finish at the same time
(1050 words) // (pg13)
for 8 may 07.
set in fall out boy's “a little less sixteen candles…” music video vampire world // pete&ryan
here's the video, just in case
Sometime during the night
the black sky turned to dawn
and we covered our eyes,
dizzy from being up all night.
You grabbed my hand,
we ran outside
to the city not quite yet awake.
Can we call it what it is?
We're running through alleys
and kissing in doorways.
I'm blinded by sunrise,
there's light in your dark eyes
-"Bullet Charm", Pretty Girls Make Graves
Ryan works his fingertips against the glass, breathing in the cold from the pane. And Pete, he presses his fingertips and his forehead there, because he always has to go that one step farther. He spreads his fingers wider so his palms push against the window, too. Ryan lets his hands slip away, staring at all the handprints left there. He wonders if Pete sits here everyday.
Every night, he reminds himself suddenly.
A car passes quickly, the lights sweeping over them, highlighting Ryan’s wide eyes and Pete’s pale, pale skin. Ryan wonders why he hadn’t noticed back in January, hell, back last October. Pete’s got even darker circles under his eyes now that he gets more sleep, and Ryan pieces together something he read when he was still a teenager, something about vampires not getting real sleep when they pass out. Or something about the sun draining so much of their energy that if they’re in it at all, they’re wiped. And of course, Pete still goes in the sun, probably can’t help walking the streets of Chicago when it’s daytime and there are so many people to watch and write about. Ryan wants to ask if it’s true, the people and the sunlight, but it seems like a bad time. Instead he focuses on the line of Pete’s jaw, the way his black hair falls across his right eye. Eternally emo, Ryan thinks, and fights the urge to giggle, because really? It’s an even worse time for that.
“And all of this?” Ryan asks instead, nodding out the window to the blurry city. Pete watches his mouth as he speaks, and Ryan feels something contract within him, has to refocus before he can continue. “It’s all Beckett’s?”
“Yeah.” Pete nods, finally looking away, nodding, then he’s looking again. “Yeah, it’s his. The city’s his.”
“Your city,” Ryan says, soft, feels like Pete could hear it if he only mouthed it.
“Yeah.” And Pete’s firmer this time, his jaw tightening, body tensing.
“Hey,” Ryan says, reaches over the space between them, slides his arm around Pete’s shoulder. “Hey, look at me. We’ll fix it somehow. Yeah?”
Pete grins at him, and it’s almost like his old smile, but there are fangs attached. Ryan always figured that the fangs would be where your canines are. It just seemed to make sense, but then, it would be a lot easier if they were the lateral incisors instead, he supposes.
Easier to bite, he realizes, and that something tightens in him again, almost out of fear, but not really. Really, it’s something else.
“You don’t even know, Ross, and you want to help. This isn’t a game.”
Ryan grips Pete’s shoulder harder. “I know I don’t know, but I get it. I get it and I’m helping you, somehow. I can’t not, you know that.”
He can feel Pete sigh against him, see him nod as he finally moves his head away from the window, sliding his hands down the glass, leaving more dirty fingerprints. His head falls on Ryan’s shoulder and Ryan basks in the familiarity he thought was stolen. Pete’s hand finds its way around Ryan, settling on his far hip, and the familiarity is smoldering into flame. When Pete’s clutches tighter, Ryan bites back a moan; it’s not the time, still, and God, will it ever be?
“I won’t let them get you, alright?” Pete reassures, lifting his head to stare at Ryan, somehow better at holding his gaze than ever. “Vampires will never hurt you,” he says, and Ryan laughs with him, laughs so he doesn’t cry or do anything equally pathetic, because this isn’t the end of the world, not really. Ryan can deal. If Pete can deal, Ryan can deal. Pete’s still Pete, he’s just paler and a little sharper around the edges, but that’s okay. His mind hasn’t changed, and that’s what Ryan clings to anyway. Has always clung to, ever since he first met Pete, before Ryan had ever recorded an album or gone on tour or, God, grown up. Pete’s twisting, contradictory thoughts are the same, that lyrical beat making its way out of his throat sometimes.
Pete’s still watching him, watching Ryan’s mouth as it forms half-thoughts and almost-whispers. “Can I-?” Ryan finally manages, swallowing past the cotton feeling. “Can we-?”
And Pete’s already moving in, gripping the juncture at the back of Ryan’s neck with his free hand. The fangs are an added hazard, but Pete seems to be used to them. It’s Ryan that’s not. Ryan who gets too enthusiastic (it’s been so long) and cuts his tongue. Pete holds him, tasting the blood, not letting him pull away yet. When he does, he apologizes fast, breathing harder than he should be. Wanting, but apologizing.
But Ryan’s shaking his head, saying it’s okay, moving back in, crossing lines and things he doesn’t understand, things that don’t matter, not to him. Pete goes willingly, dragging Ryan fully onto the carpet under him, not breaking their contact, trying not to break the kiss even when he’s pulling his own hoodie over his head, tugging at Ryan’s jeans.
Ryan is blinded by more headlights speeding past just as he climaxes, holding so tight to Pete, afraid that this isn’t real somehow. But Pete, he still kisses the same, still fucks the same, and that burning familiarity is all Ryan needs, because that’s real. Real as the pale expanse of Pete’s back as it arcs and he moans low.
Ryan wonders how Pete’s skin is still so warm, how he’s maintaining body heat if he’s technically not living, but then, is that a myth, too? But it’s still not the time for real questions, Ryan knows, so he opens his mouth to kiss Pete instead, relaxes back into his hold after Pete rolls off him, finds a blanket somewhere, and draws it over them.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Pete says, touches his lips to the back of Ryan’s neck in apology. Ryan shushes him, burrowing into his arms more. Ryan gets it, gets Pete. He understands that at least, even if he understands nothing else.
They stare at the window as their breaths even and shallow on that silver edge of sleep, Pete looking at the city lights, Ryan at the handprints.
note: danke to everyone who read. remember that constructive criticism is always, always welcome. this was my first time posting anything remotely sexual, and I'm considering doing more, but I'm not sure. the amazing writers over at
damnyouwentz have finally convinced me (in my watching) that porn can be done well, so maybe I'll try my hand?
for 8 may 07.
set in fall out boy's “a little less sixteen candles…” music video vampire world // pete&ryan
here's the video, just in case
Sometime during the night
the black sky turned to dawn
and we covered our eyes,
dizzy from being up all night.
You grabbed my hand,
we ran outside
to the city not quite yet awake.
Can we call it what it is?
We're running through alleys
and kissing in doorways.
I'm blinded by sunrise,
there's light in your dark eyes
-"Bullet Charm", Pretty Girls Make Graves
Ryan works his fingertips against the glass, breathing in the cold from the pane. And Pete, he presses his fingertips and his forehead there, because he always has to go that one step farther. He spreads his fingers wider so his palms push against the window, too. Ryan lets his hands slip away, staring at all the handprints left there. He wonders if Pete sits here everyday.
Every night, he reminds himself suddenly.
A car passes quickly, the lights sweeping over them, highlighting Ryan’s wide eyes and Pete’s pale, pale skin. Ryan wonders why he hadn’t noticed back in January, hell, back last October. Pete’s got even darker circles under his eyes now that he gets more sleep, and Ryan pieces together something he read when he was still a teenager, something about vampires not getting real sleep when they pass out. Or something about the sun draining so much of their energy that if they’re in it at all, they’re wiped. And of course, Pete still goes in the sun, probably can’t help walking the streets of Chicago when it’s daytime and there are so many people to watch and write about. Ryan wants to ask if it’s true, the people and the sunlight, but it seems like a bad time. Instead he focuses on the line of Pete’s jaw, the way his black hair falls across his right eye. Eternally emo, Ryan thinks, and fights the urge to giggle, because really? It’s an even worse time for that.
“And all of this?” Ryan asks instead, nodding out the window to the blurry city. Pete watches his mouth as he speaks, and Ryan feels something contract within him, has to refocus before he can continue. “It’s all Beckett’s?”
“Yeah.” Pete nods, finally looking away, nodding, then he’s looking again. “Yeah, it’s his. The city’s his.”
“Your city,” Ryan says, soft, feels like Pete could hear it if he only mouthed it.
“Yeah.” And Pete’s firmer this time, his jaw tightening, body tensing.
“Hey,” Ryan says, reaches over the space between them, slides his arm around Pete’s shoulder. “Hey, look at me. We’ll fix it somehow. Yeah?”
Pete grins at him, and it’s almost like his old smile, but there are fangs attached. Ryan always figured that the fangs would be where your canines are. It just seemed to make sense, but then, it would be a lot easier if they were the lateral incisors instead, he supposes.
Easier to bite, he realizes, and that something tightens in him again, almost out of fear, but not really. Really, it’s something else.
“You don’t even know, Ross, and you want to help. This isn’t a game.”
Ryan grips Pete’s shoulder harder. “I know I don’t know, but I get it. I get it and I’m helping you, somehow. I can’t not, you know that.”
He can feel Pete sigh against him, see him nod as he finally moves his head away from the window, sliding his hands down the glass, leaving more dirty fingerprints. His head falls on Ryan’s shoulder and Ryan basks in the familiarity he thought was stolen. Pete’s hand finds its way around Ryan, settling on his far hip, and the familiarity is smoldering into flame. When Pete’s clutches tighter, Ryan bites back a moan; it’s not the time, still, and God, will it ever be?
“I won’t let them get you, alright?” Pete reassures, lifting his head to stare at Ryan, somehow better at holding his gaze than ever. “Vampires will never hurt you,” he says, and Ryan laughs with him, laughs so he doesn’t cry or do anything equally pathetic, because this isn’t the end of the world, not really. Ryan can deal. If Pete can deal, Ryan can deal. Pete’s still Pete, he’s just paler and a little sharper around the edges, but that’s okay. His mind hasn’t changed, and that’s what Ryan clings to anyway. Has always clung to, ever since he first met Pete, before Ryan had ever recorded an album or gone on tour or, God, grown up. Pete’s twisting, contradictory thoughts are the same, that lyrical beat making its way out of his throat sometimes.
Pete’s still watching him, watching Ryan’s mouth as it forms half-thoughts and almost-whispers. “Can I-?” Ryan finally manages, swallowing past the cotton feeling. “Can we-?”
And Pete’s already moving in, gripping the juncture at the back of Ryan’s neck with his free hand. The fangs are an added hazard, but Pete seems to be used to them. It’s Ryan that’s not. Ryan who gets too enthusiastic (it’s been so long) and cuts his tongue. Pete holds him, tasting the blood, not letting him pull away yet. When he does, he apologizes fast, breathing harder than he should be. Wanting, but apologizing.
But Ryan’s shaking his head, saying it’s okay, moving back in, crossing lines and things he doesn’t understand, things that don’t matter, not to him. Pete goes willingly, dragging Ryan fully onto the carpet under him, not breaking their contact, trying not to break the kiss even when he’s pulling his own hoodie over his head, tugging at Ryan’s jeans.
Ryan is blinded by more headlights speeding past just as he climaxes, holding so tight to Pete, afraid that this isn’t real somehow. But Pete, he still kisses the same, still fucks the same, and that burning familiarity is all Ryan needs, because that’s real. Real as the pale expanse of Pete’s back as it arcs and he moans low.
Ryan wonders how Pete’s skin is still so warm, how he’s maintaining body heat if he’s technically not living, but then, is that a myth, too? But it’s still not the time for real questions, Ryan knows, so he opens his mouth to kiss Pete instead, relaxes back into his hold after Pete rolls off him, finds a blanket somewhere, and draws it over them.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Pete says, touches his lips to the back of Ryan’s neck in apology. Ryan shushes him, burrowing into his arms more. Ryan gets it, gets Pete. He understands that at least, even if he understands nothing else.
They stare at the window as their breaths even and shallow on that silver edge of sleep, Pete looking at the city lights, Ryan at the handprints.
note: danke to everyone who read. remember that constructive criticism is always, always welcome. this was my first time posting anything remotely sexual, and I'm considering doing more, but I'm not sure. the amazing writers over at
damnyouwentz have finally convinced me (in my watching) that porn can be done well, so maybe I'll try my hand?