Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > A Little Less Lost Boys, A Little More Light

On and On

by ingrid 1 review

Singing ... and praying.

Category: Fall Out Boy - Rating: R - Genres: Erotica, Fantasy, Horror, Romance - Warnings: [?] [X] - Published: 2006-04-11 - Updated: 2006-04-11 - 1895 words

A Little Less Lost Boys, A Little More Light IV - "On and On"
by ingrid


They never seem to get enough sleep, at least on nights like this.

Luckily everyone's schedule is just as backwards as Pete's is; if he were awake and alone all through the night, he has no idea how he'd survive.

During the day, Patrick slumbers on a couch near the vault where Pete sleeps - or dies - whichever it is, every night. It's been two weeks since his turning and Pete notices the couch edging a little closer every time he wakes up, until now it's hard to open the tomb door without hitting it.

He knows Patrick won't ever join him in there; he's got claustrophobia bad enough to make him nervous in elevators, but there's something comforting about Patrick being a few feet away while he's out cold.

It doesn't take all the horror away -- the fact that he has to spend the rest of life sleeping in a fucking tomb is something he can't quite wrap his brain around -- but it's something to cling to, a little hope that keeps him afloat for one more day.

Patrick's singing helps too. He's taken to belting out old soul tunes, the way he used to in high school. "Just My Imagination" and "Let's Get It On" and it makes Peter smile to hear his strong, beautiful voice carry through the rooms.

He can close his eyes and the joy washes over him as Patrick sings, making him forget for a minute or two, making him ache with happiness ... desire ... love.

It's nice to spend an evening chilling on the couch, even better when Patrick makes him shove aside and lies beside him, humming.

Peter rolls over with a pleased noise. He edges closer until he's snuggled against Patrick's chest, tapping out the rhythm of Patrick's heartbeat lightly along his ribcage.

Patrick laughs and starts singing an old Gladys Knight song, "You're the Best Thing (That's Ever Happened To Me)" and he gives it a reggae lilt, which makes Peter smile broadly. It's a great song, even better when Peter lets his imagination pretend that Patrick is singing it to him, as egotistical as that might be.

He wishes he could be that person for Patrick. Maybe someday ...

When it's over, Pete looks up, enthralled. "That's fantastic."

"So says the completely unbiased opinion, but thank you anyway." Patrick pulls his hat down a little lower, tugs Pete a little closer. "Why don't you sing something to me?"

"I can't think of anything," Peter lies, not wanting to spoil the mood. Somehow he doesn't think his rendition of "Shout At the Devil", a song that's been running through his head for days, will go over that well. He doesn't even know why that shitty song is stuck in his head -- maybe it's part of the vampire's curse. "You sing some more, please?"

"You'll have to start paying me soon," Patrick jokes. He launches into "Sexual Healing" and it's an incredibly raunchy version, making Peter squirm against him.

When it's over, Peter can't help himself. He leans over and kisses Patrick, sloppy and hot, letting his tongue slip inside and explore, enjoying the way Patrick's breathing quickens, the way his chest rises and falls beneath him. It's a leisurely kiss with promises of more and Pete is annoyed they aren't alone so they can take it all the way.

Not that he's sure Patrick wants to go that far, things being as they are now, but ...

He slides his hands under Patrick's shirt, feeling skin that's as hot as his own as he stretches out further atop him. There's a few seconds of hesitation before Pete sits up and tugs off his shirt, eliciting a hiss of approval from Patrick below.

It's his hands that rove now, thumbs skimming over Pete's nipples and Peter can't help but close his eyes against the pleasure, letting himself undulate under the touch, rising with the arching movements of Patrick's hips.

God, that's good, so good ... almost worth living for, Pete thinks, leaning down to bite softly at Patrick's lower lip.

Patrick's hands are in his hair ... down his back ... clutching at his ass and the kiss turns frantic when Patrick's hand sneaks to the front of Pete's jeans and he really has to hold back from crying out as Patrick's hand starts to do amazing things to his cock.

Okay, we can do this ... oh, please, just let us ... please ... Pete thinks, burying his face in Patrick's shoulder.

Not his neck, God no, nowhere near his neck and Pete clamps his mouth shut for more reasons that just noise. It feels so incredible, with Patrick saying all these soothing words, words like yes, like that ... it's okay ... let go, I have you -- oh God, he was going to come.

He murmurs a warning but Patrick speeds up instead of stopping and Pete comes hard, harder than he has in a long time. It takes every ounce of effort he can muster not to bite into Patrick's shoulder ... his mouth ... or his neck, but he succeeds, panting harshly when the urge has passed.

"Fuck," he says quietly and Patrick nods in agreement, tangling together in another kiss and it's Peter's turn to reach for him. It doesn't take long, Patrick's right on the edge and he's so hot and slick in Peter's fist, making wonderful little choked noises with every stroke.

"You're beautiful," Peter murmurs, nipping at Patrick's ear, licking hungrily at the salty damp sheen covering his cheeks, the movement of his hand continuous. "I want to be with you, all night long. You don't even know all the ways I picture us being together. The things I'm going to do to you. So come for me. Come for me right now."

Eyes screwed shut, Patrick obeys, his hands fisting at his sides. "God!" he cries and it's the best prayer Pete's heard in a long time.

Afterwards, it's a little messy but Peter's too happy to care, moving only when he hears Andrew shuffling around nearby. Not that he'd care, but it's kind of rude to be lying out in the open like that with everything sticky and flopping around, so Peter cleans them up the best he can and pulls his shirt back on over his head with a couple of quick yanks.

Patrick looks ready to fall asleep and Pete can't help but kiss him tenderly on the mouth. "I'll be back in a few," he promises, finding a nearby blanket to tuck around Patrick's snoozing form.

It's at that moment Andrew waltzes in. "He's here to see you," he announces. He's shirtless and holding a stake in each hand, obviously practicing his kill moves.

"Who's here?" Pete asks.

"The Priest," Andrew replies and with a lightning fast throw, pins the stake into a target some twenty-five feet away. "Heh, not bad," he says, pleased with himself.

Pete is disturbed. No one's called for the Priest and the idea of him checking up on Pete's "progress" isn't a pleasant one. Still ...

"You're drifting to the left," he tells Andrew, before taking the other stake and throwing it. It whizzes to the target and shears Andrew's stake clean in half. "Try not to let go so soon."

Andrew stares after Pete as he leaves, then at the shattered stake lying on the floor. "Well, shit," he says, before going off to retrieve his broken weapon.


The Priest is waiting for Peter at the door, his wide-brimmed black hat still atop his head.

He's an intimidating figure for some weird reason and Pete shuffles nervously while offering to take his coat, which the Priest declines. "I thought you might like to talk for a bit," he offers, as Pete ushers him to a seat before taking one himself. "If tonight's a bad night ..."

"No, not at all," Pete replies quickly.

Tonight's better than most nights which have been fraught with vicious hunting that lasts almost until the dawn. This is a bad night only because he wishes he could be curled up next to Patrick instead of sitting here, but he's willing to sacrifice a bit, if it means he can be cured.

The Priest tilts his head toward Pete. His eyes are dark with curiosity. "Tell me, how has the blend been working?"

Pete swallows harshly at the thought of the vile concoction he's been mixing and drinking every night, the second he wakes up, using it to try and save what's left of his humanity. "It's been working, I guess. I mean, I don't feel particularly hungry after I drink it, so that's something."

"That's good. Have you been putting in the special ingredient I gave to you? In small amounts?"

The "special ingredient", the oil of Extreme Unction the Priest slipped to him a week ago has been what Pete's been counting on to save him.

"Yes. I followed your directions exactly." He stares at his hands. "That was smart putting it in a nail polish bottle, Father. If the punks ever bust in down here, they won't know what it is."

"It's very important you never let them get a hold of it, especially the one who turned you," the Priest intones gravely. "Keep this in mind."

"I will," Peter promises, shuddering at the thought of losing what might be his only ticket back to human life.

"Now for the real reason I came here. Would you care to pray?" the Priest asks finally, leaning in close. "The Memorare might be good for this occasion."

Pete has to rack his brain for the words, but once the priest starts they flow naturally. He's never been a very religious person but in times of desperation, in a time where it's his very soul on the line, he's not adverse to doing anything that might help. Anything that will save him -- and Patrick -- from this misery that's infecting them all.

Heads bowed, they recite in unison and Peter mouths the words, infusing them with true longing, begging for help.

Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to your protection, implored your help or sought your intercession was left unaided.

The Priest reaches out and takes Pete's hand, holding it tightly, almost to the point of causing pain, but Peter is too distracted to care.

There has to be a way out of this mess. He can't go on indefinitely like this -- either he'll end up fully turned or dead, if something ... or someone ... doesn't intercede for him soon.

Inspired with this confidence, I fly to you ...

A few days ago death seemed like a welcome release, but now, being with Patrick, he no longer wants that. Peter wants life, life in the sunlight, wants to walk outside again, a free human being living happily in a world that hasn't gone completely insane.

A world with Patrick by his side.

... To you I come, before you I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in your mercy, hear and answer me. Amen.

"Amen," the Priest repeats. The smile on his face widens. "May God bless us all."


A/N: All reviews and comments are welcome and appreciated.
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