Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/74807.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Bandom, Fall_Out_Boy
  Relationship:
      Patrick_Stump/Pete_Wentz
  Character:
      Patrick_Stump, Pete_Wentz
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-03-27 Words: 2974
****** Let The Right One In (You've Got Red On You) ******
by Slashy_Goodness_(allmadhere)
Summary
     Pete has loved biting Patrick since the day he cornered the boy at
     some scene show by bands he'd forgotten the second he stepped into
     the venue.
Notes
     written from a prompt on anon_lovefest.
     Prompt: "bb!Patrick/Vamp!Pete; Red/Blood play; Pete loves the color
     red against Patrick's soft pale skin"
Pete has loved biting Patrick since the day he cornered the boy at some scene
show by bands he'd forgotten the second he stepped into the venue. Patrick had
been a perfect victim, soft and pale and young and looking just a little lost
in his horrid argyle sweater. Pete would have been a fool to pass up a gift-
wrapped meal like that. So he'd done what any self-respecting vampire would do,
what he did best, and smiled at the boy from across the pit before pushing his
way towards him. Patrick had looked like he might bolt and the opening act on
the stage had been winding down, a perfect opportunity to run. Pete just pined
him down with a look like a collector would give a rare butterfly specimen, the
young man's eyes glazing over. When he reached Patrick, this perfect and pale
little morsel, Pete had let out a shaky breath he hadn't even known he was
holding and Patrick followed suit like he couldn't help himself.
"You're beautiful you know?" Pete hadn't been asking so much as telling with
his whisper, making sure the boy knew in case it became the last thing he
heard, as he ran a cold finger over a cheek quickly staining pink. Patrick's
bright green eyes had gone wide, like he had never heard that in all his young
life, but no words came. Pete and his dominating look had made sure of that.
The only response had been a shuttering breath and Pete had smiled before
capturing Patrick's lips in a kiss. If the boy had felt how cold Pete's touch
was, you could never tell from his zealous reaction. His eyes had fluttered
shut and Pete could feel the lashes graze his face, causing desire to curl in
the pit of his stomach. Their hands glided into new positions, Pete's removing
the pageboy hat so his fingers could tangle in the strawberry blond locks and
Patrick's restless far into the kiss before finally settling at Pete's hips.
They had stayed that way for a long moment before pulling slowly apart as
Patrick's eyes drifted open to half-mast. They were still close and Pete could
fully appreciate the warm red flush of his cheeks that flowed down his neck.
The ball of lust furling in Pete had tightened.
"Wow," Patrick had breathed musically, "umm, what was that?" Pete grinned
widely at him, teeth and fangs alike exposed, but it didn't matter because the
boy couldn't seem to see them. He had just given a hazy sort of smile in
return.
"Come on, let's go back to my place," Pete had whispered as he leaned in to
place a kiss just below Patrick's ear. "I want to get to know you better,
sweetheart." Patrick had nodded, still smiling, and he'd looked like an angel.
Pete had ignored the urge to write the boy a sonnet.
"Sure, sounds great." Pete had led the way out of the venue and into the
parking lot, his beaten up old van not even turning a head. Normally, he'd
drink his fill from the kid, not enough to kill him, and leave the body for
venue security to find. No matter the countless times he'd used that same line,
none had ever made it to his apartment but this one, this time, had been so
very different.
The entire drive was filled with the sound of their heavy breathing and an ill-
tuned radio. Pete had tried hard to ignore the boy squirming in the passenger
seat trying to find a comfortable way to hide the hard-on pressing at his
jeans. Sometimes, Patrick would move in a way that made him gasp and Pete's
hands would clutch the wheel just a little harder. He prayed they'd arrive at
his apartment complex none the worse for wear, but Patrick was making that less
likely with every melodic moan.
"God, I don't even know your name, " Patrick had muttered, voice rough, and
fuck, they'd never make it back if Pete doesn't do something now. He had pulled
off to the side of the road and roughly grabbed his chin with one hand, the
other palming Patrick through his jeans. Patrick had arched into the touch and
moaned into the kiss and Pete could feel him teeter at the edge of an intense
orgasm. He'd just given him a little mental push and physical squeeze and
Patrick had made the most delicious sounds as he trembled in the seat. Pete
drank the sight in, taking careful note of the flush and doing everything he
could to hold himself back from biting him then and there.
They had only just made it through the door before Pete had the boy shoved
against it. He had refused to break the skin yet, had nipped and licked to
soothe away the pain when Patrick's whimpers had sounded more distressed but
nothing more. His hands roamed everywhere, just as Patrick's had in that dingy
venue. They had ended by tugging at the ugly sweater, urging it slowly upward
and frustrated by the cotton barrier that remained underneath. Patrick's hands,
soft and delicate spiders that they were, had tangled in Pete's short black
hair, grazing the scalp and pulling whenever Pete bit hard enough. It was pure,
torturous bliss and Pete couldn't wait to take this one. He had dwelled on it,
thinking of the moment when he'd plunge his fangs into that pale tender neck.
He had urged his blood to flow south, so he'd be able to fully enjoy it when
the time came. He wanted to take everything from this boy, all in one single
intense moment. Those sort of bites were always the best.
It wasn't long before Patrick came again, knocking his head hard against the
wooden door and tugging at Pete's hair. In that same moment, Pete had let his
fangs break the skin, just a little so he could taste the sweet prize that
would come later. It was more delicious than anything he'd ever tasty in life
or unlife, a heady mixture that made him reel back, eyes closed in intense
pleasure. When he had finally been able to open his eyes again, Patrick's
fingers were grazing the area around the wound and smearing the blood a little.
The sight had been enough to get Pete fully hard without any conscious effort,
something that hadn't happened since he had last sired someone. He wasn't
exactly eager to repeat the entire experience.
"Patrick," the young man had breathed, his green eyes glazed and blown, "my
name's Patrick." He had offered Pete his bloodied fingers, managing to be
innocent and devious all at once. Pete had taken them in his mouth and licked
them clean, careful to break neither eye contact nor skin. When he was done,
he'd let the digits go with a wet pop before cleaning the rapidly healing wound
with his tongue.
"You," Pete had declared, suddenly aware that this all might be a bit much,
even for a teenaged boy, "need to rest a bit. And probably eat too." Patrick
just nodded, swaying slightly on his feet and probably still feeling the
effects of Pete's thrall and the blood loss. Pete had made sure he was settled
comfortably on the sofa, running his fingers fondly through that silky hair
before retreating into the kitchen. It hadn't offered much beyond some ramen or
a bowl of the sugary sweet chocolate and peanut butter cereal Pete loved. He
had grimaced before pulling out the cereal and checking the milk. It was
thankfully a new carton. Pete would have never been able to tell otherwise,
having long since forgotten what sour milk should smell like and just brought
more when it hit the date on the carton. He had made a bowl for Patrick, taking
it and placing it on the coffee table for him. Patrick had raised an eyebrow in
question, but Pete had given him a serious look in response, and Patrick began
to eat. Pete watched, fascinated by the red lips curling around the spoon and
the darting tongue that occasionally preceded it. Sure, watching had certainly
stoked the fires, but he had some restraint. He could wait.
"Just wondering, why are you making me eat?" Patrick had looked at him
sidelong, eyebrow raised again. "You can't possibly have just realized that I
might need some food, right?" Pete had looked around shiftily, glad that not
only could he not blush without more blood but that he could control that blush
to an extent. Otherwise, Patrick probably would have laughed in his face. "I
think," he'd continued, voice markedly lower than it had just been, "you just
want to see me do things like this." Patrick had pulled the spoon from the
dregs still in the bowl, tilting his head back and lapping the milk that fell
from it as he watched Pete in the corner of his eye. Then he'd swirled his
tongue around the utensil and Pete had to grip the sofa to keep himself under
control. Patrick had just smirked at him as he drew the spoon into his mouth,
holding it only a moment before taking it out and putting it back in the bowl.
Pete had taken that as his cue and leapt at Patrick, growling low in his throat
and latching on to his neck with their bodies aligned. The skin had broken
easily beneath his fangs and both had sighed in pleasure, knowing that this
wouldn't last very long for either. Every touch of skin radiated intense
pleasure from the spot that had nearly burned. Patrick, in his hyper-stimulated
state, had come first and bucked up into Pete with a keening moan. Pete had no
idea if the young man had done it intentionally or not, but the slow drag of
their cocks against each other, even through two pairs of jeans, and the warm
splurt of sweet blood in his mouth had him tumbling soon after.
Pete had licked lazily at the wound as they came down from their orgasmic high,
stopping to appreciate the colorful contrast it made with Patrick's skin every
now and again. Patrick had groaned under him, more tired now than anything
else. "I'm Pete," he'd muttered, nuzzling at the still drying wound at
Patrick's neck. "I can't take you home tonight. It's nearly dawn. Stay with
me?" Pete had pulled back at this, worried somehow that the young man might
still bolt if given the chance. Instead, Patrick had yawned, smiled, and nodded
sleepily.
"Bed though, Pete," he'd murmured. "No couches. You have a bed, right? Not a
coffin?" He had reached up, wrapping his arms around Pete's neck and pulling
him down for a particularly lazy sort of kiss that he might never tire of. God,
was Pete ever glad he let the right one in.
He had smiled down at Patrick, brushing his hair from his eyes. "Well, I guess
you'll just have to find out," he had joked, hoping his smile assured that he
did in fact have a bed big enough for two. Patrick had started to take a swat
at him but his fingers somehow became entangled in Pete's hair instead. He had
almost pulled Pete in for another kiss before he'd stopped them, trying to
catch his breath. "No, really, we need to get to bed. We can, like, cuddle and
whatever else in there. Just... not here, okay?" Pete had felt the start of the
slow building sluggishness that signaled the end of his night.
Pete had carried Patrick into his room, a windowless and completely closed box
but well decorated, laying him gently on the plush bed before pulling out
shirts and boxers for them to sleep in. He'd wash Patrick's clothes before
taking him back home the next night. When he'd turned back, however, Patrick
had already fallen asleep, snoring peacefully. Pete hadn't had the heart to
wake him and had simply redressed them both, snuggling next to Patrick under
the heavy comforter, breathing in the scent of his nape until the sun stole his
consciousness.
The next night, Pete had awoken knowing Patrick was no longer in bed with him
and his heart had sunken into the floor. It had only made too much sense that
Patrick would bolt at the first real opportunity. That was when Patrick had
padded in, still in the boxers and tee shirts and sporting one of Pete's red
hoodies. The crimson fleece fabric had stretched tightly over his arms and Pete
had thought he could never look better in any other color. The boxers and tee
hadn't even come close to fitting properly, the hem of the shirt ridding high
with the boxers slung low. There was this enticing strip milky skin framed by
the bright red of the hoodie and Pete had needed to do something to it right
that very moment.
"Pete," he'd said softly, breaking Pete's potentially disastrous train of
thought, "you're out of cereal and I refuse to eat ramen more than once a day.
Can we, I don't know, go out to eat or something?" Pete had blinked at him
slowly, in a way he knew had to be creepy and had just stared in a way that he
could keep an eye on that strip of skin.
"Of course," he'd said finally, trying hard to smile instead of leer, "anywhere
you want to go?" Pete had stretched, like a cat the way he always does, and had
let the comforter slip down until it pooled in his lap. Patrick had only let
his eyes stray downward for a moment before he'd smirked and stretched himself.
Pete had drawn in a hissed breath and bitten at his own bottom lip.
"Hmmm, how about IHOP? I kind of want pancakes and strawberry syrup." Slow,
tentative, and simultaneous smiles had broken across their faces. "But I need
to wash my clothes first, okay?"
 
At this point, a year and change into their relationship, his fascination with
Patrick, blood, and red has grown into an obsession. Three nights a week and
sometimes more, Patrick comes to his apartment looking just as virginal as he
always has and wearing a red hoodie. At the sight of all that red near his
creamy skin, Pete can never hold himself back and Patrick always comes once
somewhere between the front door and the living room floor. Pete always leaves
him in a panting heap so he can put their dinner on the table. Patrick drags
himself into the nearest bathroom to clean up and they would eat. Pete can
hardly ever eat, eyes glazing over at the sight of Patrick's pink lips curling
around his fork and his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. It isn't as if
Pete needs to eat and Patrick knows the meal is really only a tease. The things
he does to those forks, knives, and spoons should have been illegal in at least
a few Midwest and Southern states and it left them both gagging for it.
What comes directly after dinner could change depending on how badly Pete wants
it. Sometimes, they make it back to the bedroom and it's a slow seduction and
slower love making. Lovemaking is exactly what it was, even Pete had to admit.
He loves this boy. Other times, they could only get as far as the hallway and
Pete takes Patrick against the walls. Those would be the times when he thanked
whatever higher power there was that vampire strength wasn't just a myth. Other
times, it would be a bit like that first night but slower because they know
they have plenty of time now and neither is going to run. In the end, he always
bites Patrick, drinking just a little but it's filling in ways that nothing
else has ever been.
By then, the morning is right around the corner and Pete makes sure they're
both in clean clothes before they retire for the night. They always snuggle
close as they rest, their limbs a tangle of contrasting colors. When night
comes again, Pete is usually alone but Patrick is hardly ever far away.
Sometimes, he's in the shower and Pete will join him and they'll go somewhere
to eat. Others, he's walking back through the front door with some sort of
takeout for them both. Still other times, he's trudging his cursing way through
breakfast. He might not be the best cook but Pete swears it's delicious, if
only because Patrick made it.
After eating, they usually go somewhere, show or bar or club, and Pete hunts
while Patrick enjoys whatever where they is meant for. Once Pete's done, he
wraps his arms around Patrick from behind, kissing and nipping and raising
little red welts on his pale skin. He can never help himself, help the rutting
into Patrick's ass as the young man grinds back and they both bite back moans.
Sometimes, he'll take a little sip too, just a tiny one, and Patrick covers his
mouth to muffle the moan as he comes. Generally, no one notices but they always
head back to Pete's apartment in any case. Patrick sometimes leaves after that
and sometimes he stays. Pete smiles to himself. Patrick has stayed for the past
several nights, wearing red every single day. Deep down, he's sure it's not
just him, that something must be going on in Patrick's life that would make him
stay but he doesn't care. He has his Patrick, at least for now but...
"Hey, 'Trick?" He looks up, a question in his green eyes, and Pete just smiles
fondly. He can't do it, not yet. "You know what? Don't worry about it. We can
wait." Maybe if he stays just a little longer, then he'll know.
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