raptureofthemoon: (Default)
Title: A Taste of Life (1/1)
Characters/Pairing: Peter/Charley
Rating: M
Notes: Just a little, gratuitous scene between the boys sometime post-movie. I just needed to write something in fandom. This was the first thing finished.




Funerals make people want to fuck, he’d once heard.

As Peter shoves him against the bedroom wall, Charley thinks the same must be true for near death experiences. (Or near un-death experiences.) Being so close to death makes you crave a taste of life: a warm body, damp skin, the tang of sweat and come on your tongue.

Peter mouths over Charley’s pulse, sucks at the skin as if he could suck the heartbeat right into his mouth. (And maybe there’s a part of him that wants to.)

“Fuck, Peter.”

“That’s the idea, Charley,” Peter says. “A long…hard…fuck.” Peter curls his tongue around Charley’s ear, blows air along the sensitive skin.

Peter slips a thigh between Charley’s legs and pushes up until the boy’s bare toes are scraping for purchase. Not for the first time, Charley’s bemused at the amount of strength in Peter’s lanky frame, his domineering touch.

Peter gets like this when things go out of his control. The drunken insecurity is swapped for a hard-edged, often foul mouthed, bravado. You can see it with the way he deals with his manager, the orders he snaps at his stage crew when they blow a piece of the show. In the way he likes to fuck Charley when they’ve nearly lost one another.

This time, it was Charley who was nearly turned. Trapped underground, in a windowless room off the basement of what was once a buzzing hotel. Chained to the wall by steel manacles around his wrists as the vampire they’d been stalking knelt between his legs, tore through denim, bit into the soft flesh of his inner thigh.

The pierce of fangs and pull of blood left him reeling. For a moment, he wasn’t certain he’d ever see the sun again and then there was Peter all fire and sober rage, sending a bolt through the vampire’s neck and driving the blessed stake through its heart as it flailed like an injured, bloated tick.

And here Charley is now, watching the sun sinking toward the horizon as Peter licks a wet swathe across his neck and bites down on his shoulder.

The burn of pleasure shoots straight to his crotch and Peter is there to catch it, one hot hand cupping Charley through the fabric of his underwear. Charley’s not sure when his jeans went missing. But with a flick of Peter’s wrist, he watches the underwear receive the same treatment.

Peter’s mouth is like magic, warm and wet and pulling all of Charley’s focus to a single, bright pinpoint of pleasure that goes suddenly nova, turns the blackness behind Charley’s eyelids to white. With a gasp that’s half moan, half choked off scream, he comes into Peter’s mouth.

“Oh, you beautiful boy,” Peter rasps a moment later, leaning his forehead against Charley’s hip, long magician’s fingers stroking the bandaged wound on his thigh. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”



.

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dreaming through the noise

September 2015

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