"Possessive, Mike/Henry" for the LJ comm. smallfandomfestRating/Warnings:
Non-explicit slashy thoughts, USTDisclaimer:
I hired a pack of ninjas to kidnap the owners;they were threatened with hot poker torture, chainsaws, and an exorcism. I now own all. Thank you. *Doctor's Note: Patient exhibits delusions of grandeur and any claims of ownership are pure fantasy. No harm is meant. Seriously, it's better than her throwing rocks at people.*Author's Note:
Title comes from the song "Possession" by Sara McLachlan, who is Canadian, like the show! With the prompt being "possessive," I got the song stuck in my head. This is my first fic for this fandom, so I hope this is okay.
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It was all fucked up. Rationally, Mike knew nothing would be solved if he beat his head against the wall. But in the dark of his small apartment, seated on the counter next to his fridge, he was seriously considering it. He gripped the bottle in his fist, staring at his palm through the green glass. He swirled the warming contents before drinking down the remainder of the bitter liquid. He set the bottle on the counter next to the other empties, then pulled open the door of the fridge. Without even needing to look, he pulled out another beer. As he settled back against the cupboards, he pressed the glass against his forehead, sighing as the cold seeped into his skin. He focused on the cold, futilely hoping to cool the burning in his veins. Maybe if he was really lucky, the cool glass would help him get back the sanity he'd obviously lost. It would be better than a self-inflicted brain injury.Henry lay on his bed, awaiting the coming dawn. He stared at the ceiling, remembering the taste of Mike's blood, the feel of that strong body bucking under him, trying to push him away. He could smell the frustration, the desire that surrounded Mike whenever they met. It had been there from the beginning, since their first meeting. He wondered how much longer he would have to wait to take what was his. He'd tasted Mike, drawn deeply from his throat. The throat was a place vampires bit to feed from and to kill. But it was also a place where vampire bit to claim a human, to mark them as their property. And Mike Celluci was a human he wanted to claim.
He'd gone to see Vicki only a few hours ago. He thought maybe they'd get some take-out, talk. While they weren't lovers or partners anymore, they were still friends, and Mike didn’t have a lot of friends. But he'd arrived only to find Henry holding court, telling amusing tales to a rapt audience consisting of Coreen and Vicki. Jealousy had flooded heat through is body while a different heat had burned low in his belly. It was all fucked up. Because, to his shame, Mike knew that his jealousy hadn't been toward Henry, but toward Vicki and Coreen. A primitive instinct had reared its head, demanding that Mike take what was his, to go into that room and pull Henry out. He wanted Henry, wanted him for himself. And then Henry had leveled a gaze at him, predatory, eyes gleaming with lust. Mike had mumbled out an excuse before fleeing Vicki’s office. Henry was intrigued by Vicki, drawn by her strength and beauty. But while he was intrigued by Vicki, he was slowly becoming obsessed with Mike, partially because he could see how strongly Mike's passion matched his own. The desire Henry felt for Vicki was sweet, something light and easy. But his desire for Mike was darker, an all-consuming passion. He'd spent many nights slaking his desires on a woman or man, wishing it was Mike begging him. He'd spent hours drawing sketches of Mike based on what he'd seen of the man, imagining he body and the way it would look underneath him, writhing. Amidst Mike's passion and strength lay vulnerability. Henry could see it in Mike's every move, the way that Mike watched him with Vicki. His smell, his eyes, the beating of his heart; it all gave away Mike's lust. But beneath it all lay submission, the desire to have someone want him, all of him.
Mike was still haunted by that night, when he and Henry had gone to save Vicki at the school. They were blocked by that door, and Mike had been terrified that he wouldn't reach her in time. Frantic, he'd run down the hall. Then he’d heard the crash, and turned to see Henry standing amidst the shambles of the door. A solid door that Henry had torn through like paper, a cocky smirk twisting Henry's perfect lips. Then Henry had shown Mike exactly what a vampire was. Those black eyes and sharp fangs, the unnatural strength. Rationally, Mike knew that Henry was a predator, a killer of humans, but that didn't stop him from dreaming of Henry. His dreams were what caused Mike to later help Mendoza almost kill Henry. It was a vain, final attempt to purge Henry from his thoughts. But no matter how much he wanted Henry, the vampire still terrified him. Not because of what he was, but because Mike knew that whatever Henry wanted to claim as his, he would keep it, own it. And the most fucked up part of it all, was that Mike would let him.