Outcast by Te February 2000 Disclaimers: If they belonged to me, the movie probably wouldn't be much slashier than it already is. Fandom: The Lost Boys Spoilers: The Lost Boys Ratings Note: R, I'd say. Guaranteed to be disturbing to a large number of the people who read it. Summary: Michael's trying to put things back in order. For anyone out there who has never seen the movie or doesn't remember it, Jason Patric played Michael, pouty-lipped teenaged angstpuppy, Corey Haim (I know, I know) played his equally pouty-lipped younger brother Sammy, Jami Gertz played the not-very-pouty-at-all Star, and Kiefer Sutherland played David, the pouty-lipped vampire who worked very hard to welcome Michael -- and, by extension, Sammy -- to his pouty-lipped perpetually teenaged posse. Author's Note/Acknowledgments: Why isn't there LB slash out there? Why why? To Linda and Viridian, for not slapping me around whenever I had These Thoughts, and to Woodinat, for fine audiencing in the face of creep. * Three weeks after it had all ended, Michael still felt that odd sensation of waste when he would wake up and find that he'd slept the entire night away again. There was no longer anything but the tiresome carnival atmosphere of Santa Carla to call him out into the night, and yet... There should've been more than that. Or less. Three weeks after everything from the sublime to the grotesque, and now there wasn't anything but day after day of warm California sunshine, the constant creak and slam of Grampa's rebuilding process, and... life. Just life. Not too different from the one left behind in Phoenix, really. Michael had never really figured out just what a person had to do to make friends. There had been women, there had always been women, but he'd never developed the knack for keeping those relationships as friendships, either. He hated sports, TV was just... there, he rode his bike but he wasn't interested enough in the *idea* of motorcycles to make that his niche, and he'd never been into dressing up like an elf and rolling an 800 sided die for hours every night. Michael, being a teenager, had a love/hate relationship with his outcast status -- it made him just angsty enough to hold onto it bitterly. Greedily. When he was older, they would understand... whatever there was to understand about him. However, in the practical sense, all being an outcast had meant was that he was either vampire bait or just another weirdo lurking on the edge of town with a fucked-up look in his eyes. And since the vampires were all dead... Flash of David grinning confidently into his eyes, and then not so confidently. Flight and blood -- his own and others. Whispers in the fog, caresses. David's softness in death, and the way Michael had been able to *feel* it even though he'd only looked. Star hadn't wanted to give Laddie back to his own family. He remembered the way the slim muscles in her forearms had bunched and writhed just under the skin when Michael told her that he'd called the hotline number, the desperation. Later that night he'd caught her heading into town on foot, half-dragging a sleep-dazed Laddie behind her. When the boy's parents arrived the next morning he'd plastered on his best school photo smile and gripped Star's hand hard enough to leave bruises until the family was safely in their car and on the road. The next day she was gone, too. They'd never made love as humans and apparently they never would. Michael wished he could remember if she'd ever said anything specific about her home, or her family, and tried not to wonder where she was. His mother was working as a secretary for some entertainment law firm, and had gotten them all tickets to the upcoming Tears For Fears concert. Neither he nor Sammy had had the heart to gag openly... they would go, and maybe there wouldn't be so many shadows in her eyes after. Michael remembered the way his mother's name had sounded coming from Max's mouth and pushed down a wave of anger and something like guilt. Hotter than guilt, more invading. More like shame than anything else and also something like the way it was to lie there in his bed at ten in the morning waiting for absolutely nothing. Music suddenly blared from next door. Nothing but Sammy, that is... His younger brother played Concrete Blonde at full blast. Michael knew Sammy was far more of a pop fan, and he also knew that the music was really for him, anyway. Just another one of the little habits Sammy had picked up recently, like looking vaguely pained whenever Michael didn't clean his plate and clutching at him now and then, when they were alone. It should have been annoying, he was sure, but it was Sammy... Michael still remembers the way he would wake up in the middle of the night and toddle/stumble over to his old crib and just stare at his new brother, and also how it had been later, when the yelling coming from downstairs had sent Sammy into Michael's room for a hug, or a stupid story. Flash of chaos slowly resolving itself to and unresolving itself from Sammy's room, of letting his eyes rove crazily over every piece of furniture again and again while *he* clutched Sammy and begged and cajoled and tried to comfort and felt Sammy's heart beat beneath his palm, drank in the rough, frightened breaths and he had been so *hungry*. There were boundaries around Sammy in his mind now, places he didn't dare go, or look at too closely. Michael was almost sure that one day he would be able to believe that all of the boundaries were new ones. They'd always been too close. Michael had always pulled Sammy in too close, and he *had* known it was too close but it had been so easy. Necessary. The music stopped mid-growl and cautious footsteps paused outside his room. Michael watched the shadows shift beneath the door, breathing through his mouth so as not to make a sound. As was now usual, Sammy continued downstairs without coming in, or even knocking. Michael closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to catch some hint of his brother's scent. He knew he no longer had enhanced senses, but it felt natural and right to try, anyway. Catch Sammy's living, breathing essence and hold it inside him, perhaps against all the things that might have happened... When the hunger first hit it had doubled Michael over with need and suddenly the world had clicked into crystal clarity around him. The moon, the wind, the cold milk pooling around his fingertips, and the strangely warm thudding that had been blanketing him for what felt like forever. Sammy's heartbeat, strong and steady. Above him. Waiting for him. Needing him there, like always. The great solid *yes* of it pulled him upstairs by his heart and by his dick and the shame just made him flush harder. He can't stop remembering the strobic flash of images that had taken over his vision, and the way he had known -- known -- how warm, wet, naked flesh would feel against his own as he ducked his head to nuzzle, and bite, and drink... "... god..." Michael sucked a breath in through his teeth and held it until the pound of his own heart obliterated everything else, until the black flowers had strangled the images utterly. He gave his cock a vicious squeeze and settled back into his sheets. He wondered if it would be like this every morning, and shook. End.