So here's to my very first Lost Boys fic; after watching the movie and witnessing Michael and David's undeniable chemistry, I decided that the film was just BEGGING for fanfiction. This is pretty much just going to be some snippets of David's point of view during the movie, as well as his point of view during "deleted" scenes, lol. If I get feedback I'll write a sequel or something, Stephanie Meyer style.
Disclaimer: I don't own it!
Warnings: Explicit language, mild slash David/Michael

*** Chapter 1 Meeting***

It has been ages since my night has had any purpose other than my own pleasure. Even now, surrounded by gaudy carnival lights, my entourage, and the various veins of human foot traffic, I do not feel like a son on an errand for his father. I feel like I am hunting. This dulls the sting of servitude a bit, but not much, especially when I consider Max's little assignment completely asinine and sentimental…

"David. There is new blood in town;…I am interested."

"Oh really? What, are you looking for another pretty boy to decorate the boardwalk? He needs to be able to ride a motorcycle."

" Not this time. No…there is a woman. She's been exploring ineptly for a few days now, and I find her to be absolutely charming. David…I have been a monster for a very long time;…I forgot that when listening to her giggling laugh and simple thoughts. She makes me feel human."

" Christ, who would want that?"

"Give it a few centuries, and ask yourself that question again."

"Heh. Whatever you say. Tell me I don't have to call her mother, because I'll eat her first, I don't care what kind of nostalgia kick she's got you on."

" Haha, no David…however, I want you to make her son a brother. Bring him over, David; it will help convince her, when the time is right, to join with us."

" Tch. I KNEW this had to do with a pretty boy."

"Partially, my son. But this one's not for me…no, not for me at all."

Those last words had held a not-so-subtle implication, one that I scorned as he transferred Mother and Son's image to me with the barest brush of his mind against mine. He thought this vapid Jim Morrison look-alike, this Michael, could be the mate of my immortal life. A true romantic, Max. Made me sick, but hey, he cared about my happiness, however misguided his efforts were. I am not so callous as to undervalue friends or sires.
Lovers, however, are another story.
Give me blood.
Give me heat.
Let me fuck your brains out and lick away your tears and take in your sighs and feed on your breath, but fuck love. Fuck this holding hands on the boardwalk nonsense. Morose Dwayne, flamboyant Marko, sultry Paul, even my little fallen Star; all tedious beyond belief, unable to see anything but beautiful, glamorous David the Vampire, all more than ready to open their legs and their hearts to me.
I take a drag off my cigarette and continue following Star's movements in the crowd, confident in her effectiveness as Bait (even if Michael is a faggot he's going to ask her where she bought her skirt.) The gang surrounds me, talking and laughing, but alert and prone to any eventual order I should give; tedious, yes, but loyal, useful, and utterly enamored. I like it this way.

Finally Star parts the crowd, Michael following eagerly behind. I have to admit, Max's memory did not do him justice. His jeans hug every possible muscular curve, and he walks with a confident, determined stride. Lustrous, thick brown hair comes down in rough waves to his shoulders, partially shading chocolate brown eyes that gleam with intelligence and single-minded concentration. My heightened sense of smell picks up the scent of musk, ashes, and aftershave…an honest to God, formidable, (if merely human) man.
This first impression is reinforced when he gives me and the coven a quick but appraising look, straddles his motorcycle, and then smirks flirtatiously at Star…who walks towards his bike.

"Where are you going, Star?"

She meets my leery expression with one of defiance, a first for my little half demon. Her voice, when it answers, falters only a little.

"For a ride."

When she begins to straddle his bike, I make my tone warning; she may only be a silly girl, but she is in my entourage, and I will not be embarrassed in front of my prey.

"Star."

That does it. As she walks back over, I smirk, but my amusement is halted momentarily by Michael's unapologetic challenging stare. No fear, no admiration, just…annoyance, and a more than idle curiosity (desire?).
Perfect. More than perfect. Not what I was expecting, but I can definitely work with it, and, as the biking challenge leaves my lips, I realize I want to work with it. I want to show off, draw him in, make him forget about Star…
As we ride I fly on his emotions and thoughts like a high. First that intoxicating machismo as he accepts…his fear when he encounters the steps, his frustration, exhilaration, and competitive spirit…the night carries all of these things of his to me as if they were meant to be mine. Eventually he gains on me so that we are neck and neck, he keeps staring, provoking, challenging back. Alright, Michael, you want to play like that? Our bikes careen closer and closer to the cliff; his fear is on the back of my tongue, hell, my fear is on the back of my tongue, a leftover instinct, a burst of dead adrenaline,… but I like how fear tastes. Finally, the saner of us, meaning he, skids to a stop, and forfeits this particular victory. I halt soon after with ease, and feel his terror ignite instantly into rage, pride, strength, and that same rash determination he exuded while pursuing Star.

"WHAT THE ARE HELL YOU DOING, HUH?!"

I smirk and prepare to make some snide comment…but then his fist makes contact with my face, throwing me off balance. "JUST YOU. COME ON; JUST YOU." He yells, repeats those words again and again like a mantra, and stares at me, "just" me. All barbs, all man, all power. I take an unprecedented moment to collect myself, then meet his gaze flirtatiously, tasting the blood he drew in my mouth.

"How far are you willing to go Michael?"

It does not matter how he answers, because I know how far I am going to take him. Michael will be mine.