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kat_lair***
Title: my smile is not a lie (it’s all teeth)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kat_lair/ Mistress Kat
Fandom: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Pairing: Implied Patrick/Pete
Genre: Dark, AU based broadly on ‘The Young Blood Chronicles’ music vids
Rating: R
Word count: 389
Warnings: Dark and disturbing, but no more than vids that inspired it
Disclaimer: Not mine, only playing
Summary: What they did, cannot be undone.
Author notes: It’s Friday, so I closed work files an hour early and instead ate an ice lolly and wrote this. I consider this an entirely justifiable life choice. This will only make sense if you’ve watched the ‘The Young Blood Chronicles’ vids so far.
What they did, cannot be undone.
Patrick had accepted that about the same time the cleaver cut through his arm with a sound so clear and sharp it shattered something in his mind, making a far less clean a job of it compared to his wrist. He had accepted it, but he hadn’t moved on. Not then. Not until later, until the drugs and the sweetness of blood, maybe not until the fire.
He thinks maybe it was the pain, but he can’t be sure now, the memory of that turning black and curled like a paper slip fed to flames. They’d offered him a mirror, after, and he could smell the ripe arousal of their excitement, the trembling ready-to-burst anticipation of all the things Patrick now was that he hadn’t been before.
Patrick had not looked and when one of them tried to force him, he’d lifted his hand to caress her wet cheek, marvelling at the open-mouthed the way she’d leaned into the touch for the two seconds before he’d ripped her throat out. He saw himself then, reflected not in a mirror, but in their eyes, wide with fear and, still lingering, the helpless desire.
They’d set out to make a toy dog and ended up with a wolf. It wasn’t the wolf’s fault if he did what wolves do, if he liked it, if he howled and fought when they put him on a leash.
So now Patrick is waiting. It’s not difficult. He has a lot of memories to sort, some for fire, some for keep, and somewhere close by he can smell something, someone, delicious. Someone very afraid. There is a face to go with the scent, a ghost pressure of a body pressing against Patrick’s back, lips open and seeking over his neck.
Patrick thinks about tasting all of that, about sinking his teeth in, and he shudders, hungry and feverish. It is not often that prey comes crawling to the wolf, but this time Patrick thinks he will.
So Patrick waits. It is still true; what they did to him cannot be undone. But that’s alright, because Patrick likes the way he is now just fine. Better, even.
He flexes the fingers of his remaining hand, watching the easy way his nails gauge grooves into the hard wood. Yes, much better.
***
Title: my smile is not a lie (it’s all teeth)
Author:
kat_lair/ Mistress KatFandom: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Pairing: Implied Patrick/Pete
Genre: Dark, AU based broadly on ‘The Young Blood Chronicles’ music vids
Rating: R
Word count: 389
Warnings: Dark and disturbing, but no more than vids that inspired it
Disclaimer: Not mine, only playing
Summary: What they did, cannot be undone.
Author notes: It’s Friday, so I closed work files an hour early and instead ate an ice lolly and wrote this. I consider this an entirely justifiable life choice. This will only make sense if you’ve watched the ‘The Young Blood Chronicles’ vids so far.
What they did, cannot be undone.
Patrick had accepted that about the same time the cleaver cut through his arm with a sound so clear and sharp it shattered something in his mind, making a far less clean a job of it compared to his wrist. He had accepted it, but he hadn’t moved on. Not then. Not until later, until the drugs and the sweetness of blood, maybe not until the fire.
He thinks maybe it was the pain, but he can’t be sure now, the memory of that turning black and curled like a paper slip fed to flames. They’d offered him a mirror, after, and he could smell the ripe arousal of their excitement, the trembling ready-to-burst anticipation of all the things Patrick now was that he hadn’t been before.
Patrick had not looked and when one of them tried to force him, he’d lifted his hand to caress her wet cheek, marvelling at the open-mouthed the way she’d leaned into the touch for the two seconds before he’d ripped her throat out. He saw himself then, reflected not in a mirror, but in their eyes, wide with fear and, still lingering, the helpless desire.
They’d set out to make a toy dog and ended up with a wolf. It wasn’t the wolf’s fault if he did what wolves do, if he liked it, if he howled and fought when they put him on a leash.
So now Patrick is waiting. It’s not difficult. He has a lot of memories to sort, some for fire, some for keep, and somewhere close by he can smell something, someone, delicious. Someone very afraid. There is a face to go with the scent, a ghost pressure of a body pressing against Patrick’s back, lips open and seeking over his neck.
Patrick thinks about tasting all of that, about sinking his teeth in, and he shudders, hungry and feverish. It is not often that prey comes crawling to the wolf, but this time Patrick thinks he will.
So Patrick waits. It is still true; what they did to him cannot be undone. But that’s alright, because Patrick likes the way he is now just fine. Better, even.
He flexes the fingers of his remaining hand, watching the easy way his nails gauge grooves into the hard wood. Yes, much better.
***