Fandom: The Lost Boys
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: incest, underage.  Here be dragons.
Archive: only with permission
Feedback: makes me go bump in the night: janestclair15@hotmail.com
Webpage: http://www.ravenswing.com/~mirrorgirl/door.html

Disclaimer: Warner and Joel Schumacher somehow got together and
produced a movie that just couldn't admit to its own gayness.  So
the rest of us helped.  But the flick's still theirs, and we're
still poor (having over the years given the bastards much of our
cash to keep watching).

Notes:
It was on TV.  I couldn't not.

*

Michael wakes up and finds Sammy curled asleep on the floor with
Nanook against him. Stripped down to his boxers and one of Michael's
t-shirts, because while this might not be Arizona, Grandpa's list of
necessary luxuries doesn't include air conditioning.  When they go
to bed it's always steaming hot.  The fact that it's cold by morning
doesn't really register until Michael's shivering and asleep.

It's still an hour or so before real morning.  Michael's not sure
whether Sammy woke him or whether it's just that he doesn't sleep
normally anymore.  The short, brutally weird vampire incident may
only have killed the vampires, but it disrupted his sleep cycles in
a way that's looking to be permanent.  It's one of the things he'll
get used to; by the time he's middle aged he'll just be another
California insomniac.  He should try napping in the sun during the
day to get the requisite state tan.  Take up night surfing.

Cliff diving, maybe.

Nanook shifts away from Sammy and stares up at Michael.  Michael
makes a mental note to find out if there were werewolves in their
old neighbourhood, because he's never really been convinced that the
dog is a dog.  Just a big, fluffy, possibly sociopathic guy who
likes to cuddle with Sammy.

Sammy reaches after Nanook and sits up when he doesn't touch
anything.  "Mmmmm?"

"Hey."

Sammy doesn't open his eyes, but he staggers over, drops into bed
beside Michael and burrows in.  He smells like shampoo and the dish
soap he uses as bubble bath.  His skin is cold.

It's October now.  Still unreasonably hot in the late part of the
day.  The heat's not something they have to deal with as long as
they're in school, where the a/c keeps them practically frozen and
Sammy's collection of cardigans fits him in with his new collection
of friends.  Very clean, very cheerfully media-fed boys and girls
with a taste for very bright colours.  Tiny birth stone earrings
seem to be their new, small, highly acceptable rebellion, but Sammy
got bored with his. Just this tiny, clean scar on his right lobe.

A very soft mouth presses into his neck, muttering things Michael
can't hear.

He knows, on some level, that Sammy's been kissed for the first time
recently.  One of his sweeter-faced fellow candidates for junior
yuppiedom.  Very pretty, soft boy with a taste for cologne that
Sammy's -- so far -- decided not to imitate.  He rides a very pretty
mountain bike and blushes too easily, and he and Sammy are newly
Very Best Friends.

Sammy came home maybe two weeks ago with very human looking bite-
marks on his neck. Since then, he's been slipping into Michael's
bedroom at night.  He doesn't climb into the bed until Michael's
awake, but when he does, he doesn't usually move again until full
morning. Then gets up, showers, goes off to school in full bounce-
mode, without Michael.

Michael goes after him, and he has the advantage of the motorcycle,
but he's always late.  Most of the time he wishes he could get high,
stay outside, lurk in the late-fall California sunshine. The
school's chemical chill reminds him of David.  Cold skin and coastal
fog.  That first utterly disembodied fuck, falling through the not-
quite dark with David's voice crawling over him.  The stretch in his
ass that didn't seem to be connected to any kind of body contact.
Long seconds when he didn't believe David would let him come, that
he'd hang in that air forever.  Then actually yelling when David
pushed him over, and when Sammy woke him there was dried semen on
his belly and an ache inside him that made it all not-a-dream.

Nothing since has been as good as that.  Not mornings when he beats
off fast and hard in the shower.  Not afternoons after school when
he tries to slide back inside his own skin, sprawled at the far edge
of the back yard, far enough into the trees that he's pretty much
invisible.  Not the two girls at parties, the one frantic night with
Star that barely got him off, that one hard kiss and rub-off with a
sort-of friend while they were both cutting class.

When Michael's in class, his fantasies keep morphing, from Star to
David to.  Sammy.  Slick-skinned and impossibly clean in the
bathtub.  The way Sammy smells against him in the early morning.
Sammy's mouth against his throat, and the occasional small hand
holding Michael's hip.  Teenaged-boy erections that Sammy never
acknowledges and never seems to worry about.

Sammy's lips slide across the back of Michael's neck.  It's not
Sammy's usual sleep-kiss: it's open and pleadingly erotic.  It
almost overwhelms the press of Sammy's cock against him.

"Michael?"

"Yeah.  Who else would it be?"

"Yeah, okay."

Still for a minute, and he's sure Sammy's going to go back to sleep.
Thinking maybe he should go for a walk since he's not going to sleep
again tonight.  But Sam kisses him again, more carefully, right
behind the ear.

Pinning Sam down is a patented big-brother move, faster than the
speed of brat.  Heavy on top of the squirming boy in his bed, not
quite threatening enough for Nanook to dive in and take Sammy's
side.  Sammy should be fighting the hold, but he's not trying to get
loose.  Just moving. Against Michael.

Until.  This fast twist wraps Sammy completely around him.  Legs
around his waist, hands holding Michael's face, and the kiss is
fiercer than anything Michael could have expected.  It's wetter than
anything any of the girls he's fucked have offered him.  The push of
Sammy's hips doesn't need any response from him.  It's frantic and
mostly self-interested.  The tiny breaths against Michael's neck
don't resolve into sound until the moment Sammy groans out loud, and
Michael's left with wet skin and clammy boxers against his still
mostly-dry ones.

"Jesus, Sammy."

"Oh god, Michael."  Pause, then, "Oh jeez.  I'm sorry," but softly.
Without really sounding sorry at all.  Just.  Relaxed.  Happy and
limp and settling in to nuzzle Michael until morning.

Michael's still hard.  He didn't notice getting that way, but it
aches now.  Sammy's hand around the base of his cock feels very,
very good.

There's this soft, clean boy against him, wiggling out of his shirt
and shorts and working Michael out of his clothes as well as he can.
Straddling him, naked over Michael's thighs, still holding Michael's
cock.  Half-hard again already.  Sammy strokes them both and waiting
for Michael to say something.

What comes out of Michael's mouth is, "Get off."

Sammy shatters.  He scrambles off instantly, on the wrong side of
the bed to be able to get out the door.  Crouches with his hands in
front of him and chews on his lips like he's going to cry.

"On the bed."  Even from a distance, Sammy smells sharp and sour,
like sweat and semen and adrenaline.  "On your stomach."

"Oh man, Mike."

"You want this?  Do it."

"Yeah.  I want it."

"You know I love you."

"You're my brother."  Sam folds himself down, still braced on one
knee but pressing his face against the blankets.  "I love you too."

"Good."

This perfect baby ass offered to him.  Clean and nearly hairless,
shaking a bit but not enough to make him believe that Sammy doesn't
want this.

Michael says, "When he kissed you, what did you do?  Together."  He
rubs both his thumbs along Sammy's tailbone.

"We just.  We made out."

"Where did he kiss you?"  Breathes on that same path of skin.

"On the mouth.  On the neck.  He sucked on one of my nipples."
Michael mouths him.  "He twisted it too."

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah.  A lot.  Enough that when he, uh, stopped, I kissed his
dick."

"You sucked him."

"I'd suck you if you wanted me to."

The thought's enough to make Michael ache all over.  He'll ask Sammy
for that, later.  In the afternoon, in the yard, in the sun, when
Grandpa's in his shop and can't see them, he's going to unzip and
watch Sammy kneel between his feet and suck him off.  Make Sammy
wait, don't let him come.  Then pull that skinny, sexy body into his
lap and jerk him off and kiss him until he yells.

Later.  Right now, Michael has a naked boy offering him just about
anything in his bed, and if they're quiet . . .

"Shut up."  Michael bends, spreads Sammy's ass cheeks, and licks
him.  Right *there*.  The moan he gets is enough to make him do it
again.  He's clean here too, just tastes like skin and salt.
Pushing his hips back into Michael's face.  So.  He tongues and
licks, working Sammy open and making him spread open like a perfect,
tiny slut.

"Michael . . ."

"Shut up."

The first finger goes right in.  Spit-slick and hot, and Sammy's ass
is the tightest place he's ever been.  He rubs the little hard bump
and Sammy wails.  It's muffled by the pillow against his face, but
he's still loud enough that Michael freezes.  Thinks what'll happen
if he gets caught with his fingers in Sammy's ass.  Death.  Then
taxidermy.  Unless, in a post-vampiric world, this is a state of
weirdness that won't even invite comment.

"Sammy, you have to *shut up*."

"I'm trying.  It's just, jeez, Michael, I've got you in my *ass*."

"Not yet."

Two fingers, fast enough that Sammy doesn't have time to yell again.
And as long as Michael doesn't rub him again, he's gonna stay quiet,
probably.  Three fingers, and even Michael can feel that stretch.
Sammy's panting now, blond head shaking between his arms.  Loose
hair in his eyes.

Tight and dry like this isn't going to work, though.  He's got slick
somewhere, that he uses for the few times he risks jerking off in
the house outside the shower.  Jelly on his fingers, inside Sammy,
and this time the moan sounds a bit less frantic and a bit more oh-
yeah-do-that-again.

"Get up on your knees.  Bend over."  Their baby.  His Sammy.  This
virgin body he's going to work over until it gives out completely.
Make Sammy feel it all day, while he's trying to sit still and look
all bright eyed and bushy tailed in class.  "Breathe out."  Warning
nobody gave Michael before David took him.

Slick on his cock, slick inside Sammy.  Michael holds Sammy very
still while he pushes in, while Sammy pants through the stretch.
Cock in his baby ass.  "Oh man, Michael.  Oh wow."

In deeper.  In so far Sammy's ass pushes against Michael's stomach.
In so deep he's sure Sammy can feel this all the way to his heart.

"Michael . . ."

"Hold on."  Michael pulls out, holds there for a second.  Lets Sammy
feel the space where he was, then goes in hard.  And fucks him.
Deep and hard, bending Sammy as close to double as he can get.  Like
he could crawl inside that smaller, cleaner skin.  Mark Sammy up in
ways that'll look so much like his post-new-wave mutant-alien
fashion sense that no one will believe he's naked.

Michael pulls out.  "Roll over."  Better, maybe, with Sammy looking
at him.  One of those barely-tanned legs on Michael's shoulder, one
around his waist.  In hard and deep and clinging to this boy under
him.  Tongue in Sammy's mouth.

Very, very quietly, like he hasn't got any breath left, Sammy
whispers, "Michael?"

"Yeah?"  Hard in, working his body over Sammy's.  God, perfect skin.

"I love you."

And.  Just like that.  Michael comes so hard he can feel it in his
ass, like the burn in Sammy is sliding back into him.  Sammy wraps
around him and kisses him frantically, all over his face. Tiny, soft
mouth surrounded by the too-soft skin of a boy who doesn't even
shave yet.  Maybe too slick-clean to shave ever.

He holds steady over Sammy while he shakes his way back to a state
of brain-in-body.  Pulls out just before his whole body gives out
and he collapses.  Slides off without moving Sammy's leg first,
which means Sammy rolls with him.  Both of them on their sides while
Sammy kisses him and pants and twists and jerks himself off again.
Maybe two strokes before he's sticky fingered.

"Mmmph."

Sammy drops one very careful, strangely dry kiss on Michael's mouth,
then touches his fingers to it.  Wetness that Michael licks away
without thinking about it.  And then has to think about it, the way
Sammy tastes.  Soft little cock against him that he could have taken
care of, if his brain had been working just a bit better at the
time.

Michael lets the fingers go and Sammy crawls off him. Stretches in
the early-morning too-bright light.  Naked belly showing every flat
muscle.

His whole face is raw from kissing Michael.  No one's going to miss
their guess on what happened to him, unless makeup is the latest
addition to the almost-girl look Sammy's friends have going.

"C'mere."  Michael pulls Sammy over his hip.  Rubs his ass and
spreads it.  The hole he touches is warm and slick, wet and leaking
a bit.  Sammy whimpers when he rubs it.  "Hurts?"

"Not really."

"Are you gonna feel it?"

"Yeah.  All day.  Oh man, school."  And he's gone, out of bed and
moving fast, and oh yeah, time flies.  It's later than it should be,
late enough that Mom's going to come looking for them in a minute.
And Sammy needs another bath.  Shower.

God.  Naked, slick boy in the shower with him.  He could probably
take Sammy again, and nobody would even hear them over the water.

The bathroom door's shut when Michael reaches it.  Not locked, since
there isn't a look, but the hook-and-eye latch at the top is closed.
So.  Very quiet recon, just to be absolutely sure that Grandpa and
Mom are downstairs.  After which he can lift the latch with the
spine of a comic book and be in before Sammy even feels the draft.

Sammy's in the shower.  Not his usual, but bathtime and late-for-
school don't combine the right amount of fun, probably.  He's
hunched under the water and bent slightly, looking down at his
cock like it's some interesting animal.  Rubbing his stomach like it
feels really, really good.

Michael pulls the shower curtain back, and Sammy stares at him.  And
then smirks.  Slides out of Michael's first grab like he was waiting
for it.  Grinning like an idiot, clean like he might just run out of
the house naked.

Whil Michael's off-balance, Sammy darts in and hugs him.  Wet boy-
mark on Michael's clothes, kiss on his currently bare chest, and
Sammy's gone.  Running, trailing a towel, like someone who's been
waiting his whole life to be hunted.
 

End