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Pete sat in the passenger seat, chin propped in his palm, staring out through the streaky glass of Henrietta’s mom’s car. The others had gone into the gas station across the street, muttering about needing cigarettes and “real food”. Along with shipping stamps.
That left Pete with babysitting duty.
Mike Makowski was tied up in the backseat, wrists bound tight with duct tape, ankles looped together. He was slouched against the upholstery, but his mouth was free, unfortunately. He was gagged, but turns out his whimpering and whining against the fabric was more annoying than his words.
“So,” Mike piped up, voice way too chipper for someone who’d been kidnapped. “Do you do this often, or am I, like, special?”
Pete didn’t bother turning his head. “Shut up.”
Mike gasped dramatically. “Oh my god, am I special?”
Pete pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d been volunteered to stay behind. Well, more like pushed, actually. Because Michael didn’t trust him not to steal shit. Now he was stuck here, in a hot car that reeked of Henrietta's mother's cheap air freshener, with the most irritating vamp kid alive.
“You’re literally being shipped off to Scottsdale,” Pete muttered. “That’s not special, that’s pathetic.”
Mike only grinned wider. “I'm just too powerful, huh? You have to banish me. You're no match for Vampir!”
Pete finally turned his head, narrowing his eyes. Mike was grinning through a mess of uneven bangs, his wrists twisting against the tape like he thought he might Houdini his way out.
“You’re delusional.”
Mike leaned forward as far as the restraints would let him, grinning like he had some kind of upper hand. “Delusional, or dramatic? There’s a difference. Vampires are supposed to be dramatic. It’s, like, in the literature.”
Pete stared. “You’ve never read real literature in your life.”
“I read Twilight,” Mike shot back. “And Vampire Diaries.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“It totally counts!” Mike wriggled in the seat, tape squeaking against the vinyl. “You’re just jealous ‘cause I’m cooler than you.”
Pete snorted and turned back to the window. “You’re duct-taped in the back of a car, dude. Yeah, real cool.”
“Cooler than you,” Mike grinned like he’d won something. “You’re just, like... goth. Which is basically diet vampire. Lame vampire.”
Pete’s head snapped around again. “Excuse me?”
“Yeah!” Mike pressed on, delighted at getting under his skin. “Like, you sit around listening to sad music and smoking and saying the world sucks, but you don’t even commit to it. Vampires? We’re eternal. We’re, like, the real deal.”
Pete gave him a long, dead-eyed stare. “You had a nightlight in your room.”
Mike faltered. His mouth opened, then snapped back shut. His cheeks flushed, but he leaned back with a shrug, recovering quickly. “Immortality has to start somewhere.”
Pete groaned, dragging his hand down his face. “God, I hate you.”
“No you don’t.” Mike’s voice was smug. “If you really hated me, you’d sit in silence. But you keep talking. That means you care.”
Pete pinched the bridge of his nose again, trying to block out the high-pitched droning of Mike’s voice. “I do not care about your vampire bullshit, which you already admitted was a lie like an hour ago.”
“Oh, come on!” Mike whined, bouncing slightly against the seatbelt restraints. “You care. You care about me, don’t you? Admit it. You’d miss me if I was gone.”
Pete didn’t respond, staring at the cracked dashboard like it held the secrets of the universe.
“Fine,” Mike whined louder. “You’re totally pretending not to notice how awesome I am. You’re jealous, admit it!”
“I’m not,” Pete muttered, his jaw tightening. “You’re obnoxious, loud, and fuckin' insufferable. That’s all I notice.”
“Oh, sure,” Mike said, tilting his head with mock innocence. “That’s what all the vampire ladies say, too. ‘Totally insufferable, but we can’t resist.’”
Pete finally snapped. He turned fully, hopping up on the center console. “Fine. If you’re a vampire, then bite me.”
The words hung in the air. Mike froze, eyes widening as if the world had just tilted sideways. “What?”
“I said bite me,” Pete repeated, tone flat, but with an undertone of amusement. “If you’re really a vampire, then prove it. Bite me.”
Mike blinked, caught completely off guard. For the first time, the smug grin faltered, replaced by something closer to uncertainty. His chest rose and fell quickly, fingers fidgeting against the tape that bound him.
“Are... are you serious?” he whispered, voice cracking just slightly.
Pete tilted his head, eyes locking onto him. “Why wouldn't I be? I'm not a liar like you.”
Mike swallowed, heart thudding in his chest. “I... I don’t know if I...”
“Do it,” Pete pressed, voice low now, closer, commanding. “Or don’t call yourself a vampire.”
Mike’s hands twitched, indecision battling with his pride. Pete leaned forward slightly, a slight grin tugging at his lips, “Go on. Don’t think about it, don’t talk. Just do it. Should come natural to a vamp, right?”
The air seemed to close in around them. Mike’s eyes darted up, locking on Pete’s neck, then back to his face. He leaned forward, hesitant, and pressed his lips to Pete’s skin. A soft, testing touch, and then a sharp pinch of teeth.
Pete hissed, but not from pain. “Closer. Bite harder.”
Mike froze again, hardly processing what's happening. Pete’s hand moved to steady him, fingers tangling in the back of Mike's hair. “Don’t stop.”
Mike’s teeth sank deeper this time. Pete groaned softly, tugging roughly to guide him, “Fuck. That’s it. Right there.”
Pete was panting into Mike's ear at this point, his fingers tightening to a painful grip on Mike's scalp. Mike’s teeth dug into the curve of Pete’s neck, leaving faint, burning marks. Pete had crawled into the backseat by this point, pressing closer.
“Harder, idiot.” Pete growled. “Draw blood.”
Mike’s breath pulled back against Pete’s skin, heart hammering against his ribcage. “I, uh, I’m not sure I can--”
“Shut up, just do it!”
Mike’s breath hitched, cheeks burning as he let out a shaky hum, eyes darting away and then back, caught between embarrassment and something dangerously close to excitement. “I, I don’t... I mean... damn it,” he stammered, tugging slightly at the restraints as he squirms.
Pete crawled closer, pressing himself into Mike’s lap, the heat between them undeniable. “Shhh,” he whispered, shoving Mike's face back into his throat. “Bite. Now. I expect to bleed.”
Mike shut his eyes and gave in.
His teeth sank in harder. This time, the skin broke. Pete gasped, a sharp, hissed sound that turned into a laugh halfway out of his throat. Warmth welled up where Mike's mouth sealed, and Mike tasted the copper tang of it His stomach flipped. He hadn't actually expected to taste blood.
Mike let out a low sound, something like a growl or moan against Pete’s skin. He pulled back just enough to see what he’d done. His lips were red now. A thin smear at the corner of his mouth. His eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide.
Pete stared at him, chest rising and falling hard. “There,” he rasped. “Was that so hard?”
Mike’s tongue flicked over his teeth, dazed. “You’re insane,” he muttered, voice rough. “You’re actually insane.”
“Maybe,” Pete said, wiping at the blood on his neck with his fingers, then smearing it over Mike's lips. “But congrats, you're a fuckin' vampire now.”
Pete shifted, sliding all his weight closer. The cramped car and restraints gave Mike nowhere to go, Pete’s knees braced on either side of Mike, caging him against the seat. He pressed in deliberately, heavy, until Mike had no choice but to feel the grind of him through the thin barrier of denim.
Mike stiffened, eyes darting up. “W-what are you--”
“Shut up,” Pete murmured, low and close to his ear. His grip tightened in Mike’s hair, forcing his mouth back to the bite mark. “Drink my blood.”
The words slithered down Mike’s spine like ice. He squirmed against the duct tape, but Pete only leaned harder, testing, dragging his weight against him in slow, deliberate pressure. The motion was subtle, but impossible to ignore.
Mike let out a shaky breath, half a protest, half something else. “Pete, I...”
The door to the gas station banged open. Laughter spilled across the parking lot, followed by the scrape of plastic bags, the click of Girkle's heels, and Henrietta’s voice barking at someone to hurry up.
Mike’s breath caught, panic flashing in his eyes. He tried to sit straighter, but with the duct tape and the weight of Pete’s closeness still lingering, it was impossible to look natural.
Pete, on the other hand, just groaned and rolled his eyes. He pulled back, climbing over the center console once again and settling back into the passenger seat. Legs sprawled out, one arm dangling lazily over the window frame. His expression was unreadable, like nothing happened.
The car door yanked open. Michael climbed in with a half-crushed pack of cigarettes, tossing them into Pete’s lap. “Don’t smoke ’em all, jackass.”
Henrietta slid into the driver’s seat a moment later, the scent of cheap coffee clinging to her. She tossed a bottle of water into the back without looking, nearly smacking Mike in the shoulder. “Drink. You look pale. I don't want a murder charge”
Mike flinched, pressing back against the seat. His lips tingled with the copper tang of Pete’s blood.
“Pale?” Pete echoed with a snicker. He tilted his head, gaze flicking to Mike in the mirror. “He’s always pale. Comes with the territory.”
Henrietta raised a brow. “What territory?”
“Vampire territory,” Pete said dryly as he sparked his lighter over a cigarette.
Henrietta groaned. “Oh, Christ. He’s not a vampire, Pete, he’s just an idiot.”
“Take a joke.”
Michael lit a cigarette, blowing smoke toward the cracked roof upholstery. “Either way, can we please get the hell out of here before someone calls the cops? People probably saw the freak tied up in the back through the window.”
Firkle chimed in, “We could call it BDSM. They'd let us go.”
The goths burst into laughter, Henrietta shifting the car into gear. Pete only spared Mike a single glance.