Archaic ||Peterick||

Wear Your Heart On Your Chest

Pete cuddled up to Patrick's chest, wrapped his body around the younger boy like a koala. Patrick sighed softly.

"Should've known you were a cuddler.." he mumbled.

"Not a bad thing is it?" Pete smiled, making Patrick roll his eyes. Patrick pulled the string on the beside lamp, plunging them into a deep, inky darkness.

Patrick closed his eyes, letting out long deep breaths in the hope Pete would fall asleep sooner if he thought he was. Pete lightly closed his eyes and waited until Patrick was asleep.

He tightened his grip on the boy and slowly moved up a bit, fanging. He gently pressed the sharp canines to the soft skin of Patrick's neck, not wanting to 'wake' him.

He was still blissed out from his orgasm and wasn't in the mood for a fight. He was sure that if he bit him very, very gently, he wouldn't even notice until he woke up in heaven. With a face like that, he'd have to be an angel. Saint Patrick. The angel of eye rolls and death glares. He chuckled. Pete slowly prepared to puncture the skin, and finally cure the hunger that had plagued him, getting progressively worse, since the last time he'd done this.

Patrick's eyes shot open and he roughly pushed Pete off of him, sending the emo little shit flying across the room like one of the bats he so revered from the force of it. He hit the wall, knocking the back of his head off the paint, leaving a slight dent in the cheap magnolia-covered plaster.

He stared at Patrick in shock. He had not expected him to be able to do that.

"What the fuck?!" he scrambled up quickly.

Patrick's eyes widened. He quickly sat up, looking at the boy on the floor.

"Shit! Sorr-" he shook his head to clear it and attempt understand what had just happened. Once he'd got his facts straight, he aggressively stood up and stormed over to Pete.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" he demanded.

Pete suddenly felt small, despite their heights. The sudden assertiveness that Patrick had gathered up scared him slightly. As did the fact that he'd just been thrown across the room by a small ginger.

"I- how did you just do that?!"

Patrick rolled his eyes and knocked at Pete's forehead.

"You're not very bright are you?" he rolled his eyes for what felt like the millionth time that night. It actually hurt to do it at that stage. He remembered something that his nanny used to say.

"Keep rolling your eyes, and they'll fall out of your head!"

The situation warranted it. Pete wasn't slight, but he wasn't particularly heavy, either. Patrick had thrown heavier people, as euphemistic as that sounded.

He reached for the bag lying beside the bed, and knelt down in front of Pete. Pete gazed at him, his eyes a little unfocused. They focused a second later, though. His vision snapped in a matter of seconds from blurry watercolours to a sight as sharp as the double edged blade he was staring at. He felt the cold metal against his throat draw blood as Patrick slid it along his neck with facetious indifference.

He swiped at where Patrick had been with his talons, but the boy was no longer there. Pete looked around for him, and found him standing by the window, with his clothes back on.

"Too slow, Batboy." He sniped, flicking the knife between his fingers. Pete continued to stare, this time, his eyes filled with fear.

"Please don't kill me..."

Patrick threw the knife up in the air, where it spun, catching the light from the streetlamps outside. He caught it between his thumb and forefinger, and flipped it back into his grip. Time for some fun.

"You know what I am, Pete?" he asked, looking into the sparkling silver of the ornate knife. Pete's voice shook.

"Y-you're a hunter..."

"That's right. I am. Do you know what we do?"

"You k-kill vampires?"

Pete stood up, his whole body shaking worse than his trembling voice. He crossed his legs and rubbed his left arm lightly. Patrick looked at him. Vampires had been so terrifying when he was younger...

"Not just vampires." Patrick said, dragging the knife across the paintwork, leaving a long scar across the off-champagne cream. "Monsters. Killers with access to weaponry that the human mind can't even imagine. Demons. Shapeshifters. All kinds of unsavoury creatures. As you can tell, vampires aren't all that hard to deal with compared to those. They don't even place in the top ten."

Pete slid back down the wall, whimpering lightly. This had never happened before. He knew that there was something weird about him. He'd just never paid attention to it. He was too focused on sex and food. And now he'd pay the price.

"It's very simple, killing a vampire." Patrick said, lying horizontally across the bed, his eyes' wide cerulean innocence juxtaposed with the fact that he was pressing the dagger's point right into the tip of Pete's nose was probably the scariest thing of all.

The vampire gulped, his fangs pinching on his trembling bottom lip. Patrick smiled very, very slightly. He didn't want to come across as a psychopath, but he was really enjoying this. He tapped the tip of Pete's nose with the knife, and ran it lightly down to his chest.

"You just destroy the heart."

He jabbed the knife into Pete's chest. The vampire hissed at him, his hazel eyes melting into a sickly yellow colour, that wasn't really any colour at all. Patrick ignored him, and twisted the knife so there was a perfectly circular wound in the dead flesh. A black ichor that had once been blood leaked out when he pressed the knife in a second time, a little to the left, and began to do it again.

Pete snapped at his hand. His vision was clearer than ever, but he could see nothing. Everything was a blur of brain signals and adrenaline. The pain in his chest was searing, but there was something else, too. Something that felt familiar, like his life was being sucked away. There was a smell of burnt skin. Patrick began to cut again, and this time, the pain was agonising.

Patrick sat back on his haunches, admiring his handiwork. He wasn't usually so neat. He brushed some ash off the blistered skin. Pete was crying, the yellow gone from his eyes. Patrick flicked him in the forehead.

"It's over. You can look now."

Pete looked down at the heart-shaped hole in his chest and looked up at Patrick.

"You're the monster." He hissed. Patrick flinched, but quickly shook his head. No need to let insults get to him.

"I thought you'd love it." Patrick frowned with mock sadness. Pete growled.

"Get it over with, you psychopath."

"Oh, so you did pick up on that."

"No shit!"

They sat there like that, staring each other down, until Patrick stood up and walked over to the window.

"Get your clothes on. You're coming with me."

Pete glared.

"Where?"

Patrick turned around, knife still hanging by his side. The light glinted in his eyes the same way it did on the knife. Raw, powerful and dangerous.

"To my mom's house. Time to meet the parents, batboy. No biting."

He picked his bag back up by the leather strap, and wrapped it around his scarred wrist.

He kicked Pete in the ribs on his way out the door.