William first sees Pete Wentz because of Gabe. No matter how far William tries to stray from him, no matter how many cities and state lines exist between Gabe and himself, it still seems that so many things in his life can be traced back to him. Not just his life, itself, but events, people, places--sometimes William looks around at his surroundings and, even though Gabe has never cared for Chicago and only ever sets foot here to visit William, feels as if the whole city is a construct of Gabe's imagination. Shaped by him, given to William as a gift.

On this particular visit he announces his presence by walking right into William's bedroom, no warning. "You need to hire a fucking interior decorator for this place," he says, his loud voice waking William. "Your walls are all bare and this furniture is practically rotting, jesus."

"What?" William says muzzily, blinking awake. The sun is barely set, and everyone in his nest *knows* not to wake him this early.

Gabe kicks the foot of his bed. "Up, out," he says, and actually claps his hands. "You're going to take me somewhere, I'm fucking *bored.*"

William snarls and sits up quickly. His hand goes to Gabe's shirt, fingers clenching in the fabric, before he realizes who it is and the violent motion turns into an embrace. He pulls Gabe in, hard, laughing as Gabe does, burying his nose in Gabe's hair when Gabe's fist pounds his back.

"How come I always have to come visit you, motherfucker?" Gabe says, a grin in his voice. "Huh? What, you allergic to the East Coast?"

"Mmm." William inhales deeply; he's always liked the way Gabe smells. "Maybe because I know you're always willing to come to *me.*"

Gabe pulls away and his eyes flash, reflecting a metallic light from the streetlamp outside the window. He bares his teeth, his canines. "For now. Dude, come on, I'm *hungry.*"

William has no preference for clubs or other human gathering places, but he knows Gabe's tastes and takes him to one of the trendier places near their nest. It's full of scene children, with their creative hair and piercings glinting in the poor lighting, just the kind of meal Gabe prefers.

Not that Gabe appreciates it. "I don't know what we're doing in a *human* club." He sulks, toying with the straw in his drink and radiating sullen boredom. "Except for how, oh, *that's* right: you don't have any other *kind* in this shit-hole city, so you've got to rub elbows with them every time you want to have a good time. What a lap of luxury you live in, huh?"

William shakes his head. He's used to Gabe's disdain for anywhere not on the East Coast or in Europe; truthfully, he's surprised Gabe ventured so far inland now. It's been years, and William definitely was not expecting him. "We're here to eat. Why would we want a vampire joint for that?"

Gabe sighs. "My point remains. I don't know what you're doing *here,* forced to hide who you are and walk around like you're human when you could come rock with me in Jersey. We have whole settlements there, cities that make Sunnydale look demon-free. It's a non-stop party." He smiles and takes a sip, turning the touch of his lips to the edge of his glass into something obscene.

William presses his lips together, looks away from him. So this is Gabe's intention. It's not the first time he's come here solely to try and entice William away from Chicago, but William keeps hoping he'll tire of it.

He's spent time in the cities Gabe claims are non-stop parties. It is a relief, certainly, to live freely amongst a whole population of your own kind, rather than in nests with a few, hidden within human civilization. But William was born here almost a century ago, and doesn't plan to leave now that he's finally returned--Gabe will never understand that, the concept of home.

And more vampires would mean more competitors, beings older and stronger than him to try and make him bow down. William's uninterested.

"You also have Gerard Way. I like my head on my shoulders, thanks, I don't want it to get sliced off. Besides, that would mean living in *Jersey,*" he says.

"Oh, Gerard, what*ever,*" Gabe scoffs, turning his attention back to the stage.

Gabe might act disdainful of Gerard, but William has heard stories. Most of which come from idiots in their first decade who still scare easily, so William takes the tales with a bucketful of salt, but. It's worth noting that neither Gabe nor any of the other older vampires in the area have tried to take Gerard out yet, despite the fact that he's begun carving out his own territory, going on the offensive instead of just defending himself and his friends.

The disadvantage of dropping all pretenses of humanity and actually taking power from them is that there will always be those few resourceful ones determined to take that power back, and occasionally they're competent enough to win. William likes his low-stress life, and living in the human world is not yet inconvenient enough to warrant making an effort to change things.

He follows Gabe's gaze to the stage, the band playing. It's not to William's music taste, at all--his music tastes run more along the lines of the blues and jazz that was popular when he was young--but they're very pretty.

"I don't know if I'm in the mood for musicians," Gabe says, sipping his drink. "Although the singer might be tasty, all nice and plump." But he's already scanning the crowd, looking for some tall skinny tattooed kid, always his favorite. Better yet if they're blonde.

"Mm," William says, agreeing. He's distracted by the one who *isn't* singing, one of two boys who seem to like spinning around with their guitars more than they like playing. He's charismatic, always talking into the microphone in between songs, grinning and flirting with the audience. He gets people engaged and wanting him even though most of the people here could care less about this band, more interested in their drinks and the people they're here to try and fuck.

When the song ends and he grabs the microphone, he catches William's eye and winks. William *has* been staring, and the boy has drawn the entirely natural conclusion that William wants to fuck him.

"Oooh, he likes you," Gabe says beside him. "If he looks good to you we could always wait to eat until they finish--I don't mind sticking around. I might grab their singer."

William smiles and looks away, back at the crowd. "No, I'm hungry now. But he's--" he glances at the bassist again, who is now screaming in the microphone to back up his singer. "I might come back to him later."

Gabe snickers. "Whatever, Billiam, don't be all *shy* on me now. You have a craving, so why not indulge?"

William raises an eyebrow and Gabe blinks at him, then says "You *dog,* I get it, you fucking want to turn him! Okay, I--" he turns back to scrutinize the musician, then gives William a grin. "Yeah, you know, I can see that. He *would* be awfully pretty as one of us."

William nods. "It would be rude to take the time to do it when I have guests," he says, shrugging. "And I kind of feel like working up to it, you know?" He smiles and leans back, enjoying the way Gabe's line of sight slides down his body, noticing him. It's been years, and even though William knew it would be like this, it still makes him more than a little smug to see that Gabe still wants him. "Maybe I'll go see a few more of his band's shows, go to their parties, befriend him first."

Gabe snorts. "What's the point? That's so time-consuming."

"Not everyone sires bastard vamps in every town they pass through without a second thought," William says. "Maybe, unlike *some* of us, I want to do it right."

"*Ouch,* darling," Gabe says, standing up and downing his drink. "Okay, I'm fucking famished. Let's just grab a couple snotty club kids and drink."

They choose a couple, a blonde man and a girl with hair dyed pink and a pierced nose. Gabe seduces them off the dance floor with a grin and a snap of his hips, and they follow them outside the back of the club convinced it was their idea all along.

Gabe grabs the boy leaving William with the girl, limp in his arms. William makes a face because she's wearing far too much makeup, even on her *neck,* and he hates the taste. There are drugs in her bloodstream, though he can't tell exactly what--nicoteine and marijuana primarily, with other things mixed in. Someone probably gave her a joint spliced with something else.

Gabe just drops his body to the floor when he's done with it, and doesn't remember until William gives him a Look.

"Oh, right," he says, already distracted, picking up his meal and breaking the neck swiftly. William breaks the neck of the girl, as well, tosses them in a pile together. The need to disguise the kills at least a little bit to look like something besides vampirism is annoying, and possibly unnecessary, but William doesn't want to take chances.

"Seriously, so annoying," Gabe huffs.

William pats his arm. "Yeah, your life is difficult. C'mon, let's go."

"Sure you don't want to stare more at your boytoy?" Gabe glances back inside at the band still playing. "You don't even know his name."

William shrugs. "His band is Fall Out Boy. I'll find them again. I just have more patience than you."

"I have no idea what you're implying," Gabe says, throwing his arm over William's shoulders as they walk back to the warehouse.

William laughs and leans into him, feeling full and buzzed from the blood. This always makes him horny, and he contemplates shoving Gabe against the wall, fucking him here in this alley instead of waiting until they get home. He wonders if Gabe would let him or just get cross, not wanting to go along with it just to be contrary. Gabe always likes to think he's in control, doesn't take well to flat-out domination or being told what to do; when William wants him to do something he has to bring it up subtly, usually in bed, manipulate Gabe while he sucks him off.

Gabe's arm tightens around his shoulders, pulling William in to press against his side, and William knows that Gabe is feeling it, too. He notices William glancing at brick walls and shakes his head.

"Let's just get back to your little clubhouse," he says. "I'd rather fuck you on your knees on a bed. It's too dirty for me out here."

"You're so finicky," William says, but he quickens his pace along with Gabe.

Gabe never falls asleep after sex, sprawling on top of William instead and babbling at him, sleepy and often incoherent murmured stories about his time in Uruguay in the 19th century, told half in spanish and half in english. The stories are always outlandish and implausible and William is fairly positive that most of them never happened, but it's weirdly comforting to hear Gabe spin his bullshit. These are the stories that drifted through William's life those first few months he was turned, back when all he knew was Gabe, and hearing them again is sort of like revisiting a childhood lullaby or favorite book.

William hooks one leg over Gabe's hips and tucks his head under Gabe's chin and listens. He can feel it when the sun starts to rise even though all the windows in this room are shuttered against the light, and he drifts to sleep to the sound of Gabe describing a time he defeated a coven of South American witch doctors all by himself.

The next time William meets the pretty frontman he wants to bite, it's a complete coincidence--he doesn't even need to seek him out. Brendon drags William to this human party, an opportunity to feast on people so wasted they won't notice when a few of their members get dragged outside and don't return. William gets bored with these parties fairly quickly, but Brendon *loves* hanging around humans, partying with them. He seems to find it endlessly fascinating. William would worry that his second-in-command was getting soft if he didn't know it was more bored curiosity than genuine affection. Toying with humanity is Brendon's Discovery Channel.

William is already fed and waiting for Brendon to get done with the two high school girls he'd taken out back when the bassist flops down on the couch beside him, his shoulder knocking into him and making William spill his drink.

"Oh, sorry," he says as he sprawls back, taking up far more than half the space on the couch.

William turns to snap at him and recognizes him, blinks. He turns the recognition into a double take, grinning wide. "Oh hey, I know you! You're uh, you're in that band--The Fallout Boys?"

"Fall Out Boy? Oh, yeah." He sits up, makes the motion look sinuous and liquid. He grins back, and his knee nudges William's. "I'm Pete."

Pete. Fantastic, William thinks. "Hello, Pete. I'm William." He lifts his legs and puts his feet in Pete's lap, settling back comfortably.

Pete raises an eyebrow at the sudden physical intimacy, but his smile doesn't dim and he rests a hand on William's ankle. He isn't drunk, William can tell, but he does think William is. "William, huh? Can I call you Bill?"

William pouts a little. "I *prefer* my full name, thank you. Although I could make an exception, maybe, if you're just *dying* to call me by a nickname."

"Yeah? Well, Bill it is then." Pete's thumb idly touches William's leg right above his achilles tendon, lingers there; William doubts he's even aware of the touch. He seems naturally tactile, although perhaps that's just wishful thinking on William's part--but if he isn't, William's certain he can train him to be.

He's prettier up close than he was onstage, and looks smaller, too--boyish. William wonders how old he is. Does he live at home? Will his parents miss him when William takes him?

He lives with his bandmates, William finds out, and just broke up with his girlfriend, and is getting ready for a big tour. Before he can discover anything else Brendon stumbles back in, a goofy smile on his face. He looks inebriated, and William isn't sure whether it's on blood or booze.

"Hey, William, ready to burn this muthafucka down? --Oh." Brendon stops when he sees Pete, then smirks. "*Oh.* Uh, should I just leave without you?"

And William.... he could stay longer, make Pete attached to him tonight, lure him back to the warehouse in a few hours and finish this. But that would feel like rushing things.

He shakes his head and takes his feet off Pete's lap, standing. "Nah, I'm coming. Hey, Pete, it was nice to meet you."

Pete stands with him. "Oh yeah, totally." His hand touches William's elbow, a goodbye gesture, and William thinks, yes, naturally tactile.

"But I'll probably see you around, I imagine we have a lot of the same friends, right?" William grins and leans against him, using the drunkenness he supposedly feels as an excuse to touch Pete more.

Pete shifts next to him and makes a pleased sound. "Definitely. Stay in touch, Bill." He emphasizes the 'Bill,' lets it roll off his tongue like some kind of obscene word.

"Oh, I will," William calls over his shoulder, lets himself smirk as Brendon pulls him away.

"So what was *that* all about?" Brendon bounces a little next to him, his cheeks flush from--William guesses--dining on three different girls. "You looked all interested in him."

William smiles. "He's fun. I'm going to bring him into the fold, I think."

Brendon takes a step at that, his eyes sharp. "You're--oh. Are you sure? *Why?*"

There's hurt in his voice, and William feels a touch of sympathy: William hasn't sired anyone since Brendon, two years ago, and Brendon probably thought he was special. William remembers how it felt decades and decades ago when he first stumbled across another vampire of Gabe's, the betrayal, how furious he'd been to think that Gabe had transferred his affections to this vapid weak idiot who didn't deserve to be a predator. Never mind that William had been apart from Gabe for years at that point; never mind that the vampire in question was clearly someone that Gabe had sired and quickly dropped, that he hadn't taken nearly the liking to him he took to William--William still saw it as infidelity. He'd killed that vampire because he could, and he doesn't think Gabe ever found out, nor would he care if he had.

William touches Brendon's elbow. "Because I feel like it," he says firmly, ignoring the way Brendon's face crumples. "He's piqued my interest, I think he would be a good asset, he's charismatic and smart--but mostly? Because I feel like it."

Brendon looks away, sullen. "You want your own little rock star vampire? Lame."

William grabs Brendon's jaw and forces him to look back at him. He uses force, doesn't bother being gentle; sometimes Brendon forgets who he belongs to. "It's not really any concern of yours, is it? I'm taking him regardless, and I haven't time for your jealousy. Deal with it."

Brendon cringes and tries to move away, twist out of his grip but William holds on, digs his fingers in, enough to crack the jaw of anyone human. "Okay, geez, geez, I get it. Just--just let me go, you're *hurting* me."

William narrows his eyes, exasperated because yes, of *course* he's hurting him but Brendon never fights back, never tries, never tests his own strength against William like the others have. William believes it speaks of a weakness of character, and if Brendon is going to be truly useful to him, someday William might have to make him fight back or kill him.

But he releases him now, steps back and smiles when Brendon rubs his jaw.

"So then why are we leaving the party? Don't you want to go back and grab him?"

"He's special," William says, ignoring another flash of hurt in Brendon's eyes. "I want to befriend him first. Get to know him."

"Well, aren't you the gentleman," Brendon snaps, but his voice is slightly deflated, not as spiteful as it could be.

***

William first hears about Travis McCoy when Spencer comes back from a hunt practically carrying Ryan, with a deep gash in his forehead already healing. Ryan is limping, a bruise fading over his eye.

"We had just started drinking when these *others* showed up," Spencer explained, sounding more annoyed than hurt. "There were four of them and they wanted the women we were biting, and we got into a scuffle. They *claimed* that the South Side is their territory, which--that's bullshit, isn't it?"

William frowns. "Who the hell *were* they?" The South Side can't be their territory, because there's no one else *in* this city aside from William to make a claim like that. William is the oldest vampire around and he's only in his eighties.

"They mentioned a name," Ryan says, straightening up and wincing, but his injuries look almost healed. "Travis McCoy?"

And, oh. William hadn't realized that Travis had *stayed* in Chicago. He remembers him vaguely--they'd met only once, through Gabe when Gabe had passed through town with Travis on his arm a few years ago. William remembers that Travis was from back East, that Gabe had turned him about a decade ago, and not much more than that.

And now Travis is, what? Starting his own gang in William's city? Why?

Spencer still looks pissed, and William runs his fingers over the gash marring his forehead, thumb smoothing over the blood. Spencer flinches back, and William frowns, kisses the broken skin. "Mmm. Don't worry your pretty little heads about this. Keep out of the South Side for now, and I'll handle it."

"If you say so," Spencer mutters, but he looks resigned. Ryan is still pouting, and William turns to him, traces his bruise lightly and kisses him.

"Just put it out of your minds," he murmurs, biting Ryan's lips. "I hope you boys aren't still hungry?"

"We fed enough," Ryan murmurs, relaxing against William's body. William nods and slides his other arm around Spencer's waist, guiding them to bed.

William hasn't visited the parts of town Spencer was hunting in in years. Truthfully, he has no idea what Spencer and Ryan were doing there in the first place, it's so *not* to his taste. Junkies who are already starving and drugged and desperate for death have less flavor, aren't nearly as fulfilling as biting someone who's full of life and happiness.

But when he gets down the street Spencer identified as the spot of the scuffle, he gets it. Oh, this is--it's beautiful. The area is *much* different than it was the last time William was here, and William doesn't know if that's Travis's fault or if Travis is just reaping the benefits, but--

His kind is everywhere. Two women are sucking on a young boy completely out in the open, under a streetlight; a girl runs past William, screaming, a small gang of vampires leisurely chasing her, grinning and laughing amongst themselves. Across the street a policeman is casually leaning against a wall, deep in conversation with a vampire, and when he catches William staring he grins, flashing a pair of fangs himself. One of the cars on the street is blasting music with a heavy beat, infecting the street and coming up through William's toes. There's blood on the concrete.

William can't believe this is his city. He can't believe that just a few blocks away, he and his have to carefully cover their kills for fear of being caught. He never thought that Chicago could take this kind of desecration, not without imploding. Vampires are parasites, and a good parasite does not kill its host--William has kept his own nest so quiet because he never thought he could have this, not without destroying his home. But this is a new reality he's walking through, a new *paradise,* supporting itself and growing.

William feels a touch on his elbow. "I thought we made it clear enough to your boys that we don't need you messing things up around here."

The voice sounds more curious and amused than angry, and when William turns to see who's speaking to him it's a black vampire he doesn't recognize. He isn't smiling, but he doesn't look confrontational, either; he's just watching William intently, waiting for an answer. The vampire beside him with skin a shade lighter looks more threatening, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.

William smiles and tips his hat in greeting. "Oh, the message came through. I'm not here to hunt, I merely wish to speak with Travis."

"What makes you think you can just--" The angry one bursts out, but stops when the vampire whose hand is still touching William's elbow glances at him, frowns and shakes his head.

"We'll take you to him," he says, dropping his hand from William's arm and nodding his head in the direction, William assumes, of Travis's haunts.

The scowling one walks behind William, as if to keep him from escaping, and William finds it a little charming. Both of these vampires' ages put together probably don't even equal five years; William could eat them for breakfast, yet they don't appear to know that at all, treating him as if it's natural for him to be intimidated. He grins a little and bounces on the balls of his feet as he walks.

Travis is sprawled on a cushioned bench outside of a club. The club is run-down but full of very enthusiastic people, lots of lights and loud music and debauchery going on inside. Travis has a red-headed girl on his lap who doesn't look to be quite dead yet, just very close to unconscious, draped over him. He's nibbling on her neck, and doesn't look up until his henchman--the nice one leading the way--says "Hey, Travie," and motions at William.

"Whoa, man, I haven't seen you in ages. Billy, right? How's it goin'?" Travis's grin is lazy and pleased, and he hands his girl off to his henchman with a nod. "Thanks, 'Sashi."

William is dead certain that he killed the last person who called him Billy, and he also knows that's exactly why Travis chose that particular nickname. "Right. And I do know who you are, of course." William has always had good instincts for this sort of thing, and he knows it will reward him eventually to flatter Travis now. "It's going well, although obviously," he smirks and gestures at the riches surrounding them, "it's going *fantastically* for you."

Travis chuckles and cards a hand through his hair. "Yeah, you know, it's all right. We're keeping it good for ourselves, nahmsayin'?"

His eyes are half-lidded, unfocused. William wonders what chemicals are in that girl's blood. In Disashi's arms she moans a little, her eyelids fluttering.

"Mm. I have to admit, I'm intrigued; the changes to this part of town seem like a recent development. How long have you resided here now...?"

And Travis looks up sharp at that, like even through his drugged stupor he can tell that the question isn't entirely innocent. But he licks his lips and answers, "Feels like forever, man. But I guess I first stuck around a couple years ago, you know, when Gabe brought me around." He laughs again. "The neighborhood's gone totally downhill since then, right?"

God, he knows exactly how good he has it, William thinks. He *made* it this good for himself. Fascinating. "Noticeably so, yes." William stretches his arms up over his head, rolls his neck and hears it crack, and he knows without looking that Travis is staring at the skin exposed when William's shirt rides up. He yawns.

"So, I've been thinking. The way you interrupted my boys' dinner last night was incredibly rude, but I believe in taking the high road. There's plenty of Chicago to go around, and we're willing to let you keep your piece of it and we'll keep the rest. How does that sound?"

Travis snorts, and drags his gaze up from William's navel to look him in the eye. "My people are growing, man. Soon this neighborhood won't be enough for us to feed on. It's the rules of population growth, you know? It's just the way it is."

William shows his teeth. "You seem awfully certain that your numbers will increase rather than decrease."

Both Travis and his henchmen perceive the threat there, and Travis stands up, frowning. "Yeah, I *am* pretty sure about that, and if you're gonna try and change that around--"

William holds up a hand in a peace gesture. "I didn't come here looking for a quarrel. I came here to give and receive respect, but if you're too stoned to understand that, I'll take my leave."

Travis sneers at him. "Nah, man, you're talking out of both sides of your mouth and not saying anything. I'm not too stoned to get *that.*" He walks closer to William and crosses his arms, his elbows brushing William's chest. "So why don't you come out and tell me what the fuck you want, yeah? I kinda wanna see if you're even *capable* of cutting the bullshit."

William shrugs, then loops an arm over Travis's shoulders, hugging him close. He smiles when Travis tenses under him, surprised. "I'm capable of *anything,* friend. All bullshit cut: I'm a fan of what you've done here, and I don't care about treading on your turf. Keep your people in here and away from mine, and we're good." He leans in and smacks his lips against Travis's cheek in a wet, friendly kiss. "You can tell how amiable I'm feeling because I'm not ripping out your friends' throats for attacking my boys," he murmurs, for Travis's ears only.

Travis snorts, and doesn't move out from under William's arm. "Yeah, *thanks.*" He's quiet for a few seconds, considering, but William knows he's going to agree even before he says, "Yeah, okay. We're good."

William beams and squeezes Travis's shoulders again before letting go. "Wonderful. Well boys, it's been grand, but I'm afraid I'm needed elsewhere." He tips his hat and winks at Travis, running his tongue over his lips, and Travis raises his eyebrows, smiles back.

On his way out of Travis's hood, William allows himself one snack, grabbing a teenaged boy running past. He doesn't bother being neat, rips the boy's throat out instead, lets the blood spill and spurt over his chin, spotting his jacket and gloves. He drinks his fill and lets the body drop in the gutter, feels a rush, feels *decadent.* This must be the way Travis and his cohorts feel all the time, free to do whatever they please whenever they want to, almost entirely consequence-free.

But why confine that to the ghetto? Chicago is already corrupted, full of sin and humans fighting with each other on every level, ripe and waiting for someone to steer its debauchery. William was born here and lived here on and off for most of the last several decades, and he can't believe he hasn't seen this before. He can take this city, make it into his, mold it the way he wants to--he was thinking small before, focusing on his own little band of miscreants, when he could have been seeing the big picture.

But Travis has opened his eyes. William takes his lace kerchief out of his pocket, wipes his lips and mouth, and drops it on the corpse--not to brand it as his own and insult Travis, but rather as an invitation, an offer. William will see whether Travis is perceptive enough to see it as what it is, and then--then, maybe, this could turn into something.

He whistles on the way back to his own neighborhood, the sound echoing off the graffittied walls.

***

The next time William sees Pete is at another one of his band's shows. William notes that the venue is bigger than the first time he saw them, with more people who are clearly fans, as opposed to club-goers who don't mind the music. The music still isn't to William's taste, but he continues to admire the way Pete works the crowd, the way he makes them scream for him. Vampirism, William knows, will make him even better--if he's this charismatic as a human, as a vampire he could be just the asset William needs to expand his power base.

He notices William in the shadows in the back of the room, catches his eye and smirks at him as he plays. William smiles back and leans against the wall, pushing his hips forward, and he knows Pete notices that, too.

William approaches him afterwards, as they're packing up their equipment. Pete grins and bounds over to him, sweaty and radiating energy.

"Hey! It's Bill, right?"

"Yeah," William says, smiling shyly--there'll be time to remind Pete what he should call him later. "Man, you guys were really great, that was like--wow."

Pete laughs. He has a nice laugh, full and light, making his smile seem even brighter. "Oh, thanks. I totally fucked up on the bridge of Grenade Jumper, but yeah, that was a pretty fun show, wasn't it?"

William nods enthusiastically, his eyes wide. "God, yeah, it was *amazing.*" He knows Pete will hear 'you' instead of 'it,' hear the intent.

Pete invites him to accompany the band to their favorite diner, "We always come here afterwards if we're playing a home show, they've got the best cheese fries in town," and William ducks his head and nods, coy, reaching up to rub the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. Pete has to stand on his toes to put an arm around William's shoulders and hug his neck, but he does so anyway, his touch enthusiastic and reassuring if William actually felt the shyness he conveys.

"Hey, it's not like the guys in the band are real rock stars or anything. If any of us is a diva, it's me, and me you already know," he says, lazy smile counteracting only a little of the low intimacy in his voice.

William listens to snatches of conversation as the boys scarf down gardenburgers and milkshakes, hears about the tour, Pete's practical jokes, rivalries with other bands. Pete is clearly their ringleader, the one who laughs loudest, the one who brings out smiles and eye-rolling in all the others. He sits next to William the whole time, his hoodie riding up and his pants riding down so that a narrow strip of skin touches William's side at all times. Sometimes he'll bump his knee against William's, keeping the contact for a few seconds before moving away again.

He touches the others, too, draping an arm over the singer or reaching across the table to grip his guitarist's shoulder for emphasis while telling a story, little touches here and there. William recognizes the behavior: he's reminding them that they're his, using the contact to ensure their loyalty. It's not deliberate, he probably doesn't even realize he's doing it--it's clearly force of habit. It makes something tingle at the base of William's spine.

William isn't the only person there who's not in the band, who just tagged along after the show; he doesn't stand out, they won't remember him. But Pete will.

Later, when William sends Brendon out to grab a couple of the others in Pete's circle, he comes back with two of the boys William heard mentioned that night at the diner, Nick and Jon. Ryan and Spencer and Brent also have their own orders to be bringing in more new blood, to choose some of their victims to turn and bring into the group--William needs more people. But the more time William spends around Pete, the more he can tell that Pete isn't going to be just another minion. He's going to be powerful, he's going to be William's eventual partner, and so William needs to ensure that things are just right when he turns him. He needs to have people Pete knows already on his side in case Pete needs something familiar to feel at home, to give himself completely to this.

"Why are you worrying so much about this?" Brendon says, exasperated. He's lounging on William's bed, still naked and sweaty, and seems vaguely insulted that sex hasn't calmed William at all--William is on his feet, pacing, musing aloud about what to do with Pete.

"He's different," William snaps. The night before William visited Pete's home, his parents' house. Pete no longer lives there, but it's accurate to still call it his home--it's obvious from the way his manner relaxes while he's there, and from how often he visits. "He's so--he's connected to so many people, makes these connections so easily. It worries me."

"So? I thought that was why you wanted this guy in the first place, to help you in your whole--power bid thing." Brendon waves a hand dismissively.

"Yes, but he's so *attached.* I feel--what if he's unable to let go of this life he's built?"

"Oh, come on." Brendon sits up, crosses his legs under him. "You remember how this works, right? You bite him, you turn him, he dies and wakes up and it's like automatic evil. Who cares if he has a mommy and daddy that he loves very much? That just means he'll probably want to snack on them when he becomes one of us." Brendon clicks his teeth for emphasis, grinning.

"It's not always that simple," William snaps. "I just get this feeling from him, as if--" he combs his fingers through his hair, frustrated. "I need to be more prepared for him. He's special."

Brendon blows a raspberry. "Dude, he's just another stupid human! You're working yourself up over nothing."

William shakes his head. Maybe he *is* too fretful about this, but his intuition is rarely wrong. "You've turned those friends of his already?"

"Nick and Jon, yeah. We left their bodies for the humans to find--the funeral will probably be in a couple days."

William nods. "He'll be there, I'm sure. I'll do it then; it will be a good time to take him."

Brendon snorts. "Okay, you're turning him into a vampire on the night of his friends'--who are also going to wake up vampires--funeral? Man, that's just poetic. Or, you know, lame."

William raises an eyebrow. "When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it."

Brendon pouts at that, and William walks over to him, stands at the edge of the bed and reaches out to pet him and run his fingers through Brendon's hair. Brendon scoots forward, his eyes level with William's navel, and reaches up to stroke a hand down William's hip.

He looks up, a hopeful smile tugging at his lips. William pushes his thumb between his lips, running his finger over Brendon's teeth. He pushes back to feel his molars, his canines sharpening under William's touch, and Brendon lets him. His hand clenches slightly on William's hip when William applies pressure to his teeth, but doesn't move; after several moments, William takes his hand away and lets Brendon sigh and move in to kiss the skin beneath William's navel, licking hesitantly at first before he moves down.

***

For some reason, William finds himself wishing he could watch Jon Walker's funeral. He knows that Pete is there grieving, along with all of his friends, and--he wants to see it. Wants to see them lined up somber and unsmiling, possibly considering their own mortality, possibly angry at a world that allows two barely-adult young men to die at once, possibly trying to puzzle out what happened. But it's a bright, sunny day and the funeral is out in the open; William would be ashes.

William seeks Pete out as soon as dusk falls. He's at a friend's house along with others that were friends with Jon, still in his funeral attire. He's not drinking like many of the others are, but he looks like he'd like to be.

He's sitting on a window seat in the living room when William finds him, staring out the window. He looks up when William enters the room, a half-smile forming on his lips. "Bill. Hey."

"Hi." William perches on the edge of the window seat, and Pete swings his legs down to make room, sits next to him with their shoulders touching. William doesn't need to say a word about Jon Walker's or Nick Scimeca's untimely demise; it's obvious that this too-gloomy-to-be-a-party's purpose is to mourn and honor their memory, mostly with alcohol.

Jon and Nick should be rising, soon. Brendon and Spencer should be at their gravesides.

William doesn't have to wait long for Pete to speak. "Things like this aren't supposed to happen in my life," he says, voice abrupt and clipped. "This is like--like something from a movie, or the newspaper, you know? Both of them at the same time, it's like--"

When William looks up at him again, his jaw is clenched shut, and his features look very young. William sighs and reaches out to stroke down Pete's neck, his shoulder. "It's awful. I just--I didn't know them very well, but." He bites his lip, ducks his head a little, again. He doesn't want to overdo it. "I can't even imagine how hard this must be for you."

Pete snorts. "Yeah, poor little *me.* I'm not the one that's six feet fucking under, am I?" There's a snarl in his voice, but he doesn't push William's hand away. William strokes a finger over his collarbone.

William smiles, a little. "I'm sure I'm not the first person to tell you this, but--beating yourself up about this isn't going to bring them back, you know? You shouldn't--don't be hard on yourself about it. It's *not* like you could have done anything."

"They were my *friends,*" is all Pete says, miserably, and William feels a little thrill. He wants to see Pete's face when he sees his friends again, walking and talking and more alive than any of these humans, when he realizes.

He's suddenly wildly impatient--he doesn't want to wait one more second to take Pete away from this. He tugs on Pete's shoulder, makes him look up.

"Come home with me," he says, forgoing subtlety. "I know that--well, this probably sounds so fucking crass, but seriously, it will make you feel better. It doesn't have to *mean* anything, just..." he leans forward until his forehead is touching Pete's, and when Pete doesn't look away, he kisses him chastely on the lips.

Pete hesitates, breathing in puffs against William's mouth. "I--I don't know," and that just makes it better.

William strokes his skin again. "We don't even have to do anything, if you don't want to," he whispers. "I just... I hate seeing you like this, man. And I'm just me, I don't--sex is the only way I know how to help."

Pete laughs a little at that. "I guess it would be life-affirming."

"Right," William says and kisses him again, a little harder this time. He stands up, and Pete stands with him.

Pete touches someone's shoulder as they leave--William recognizes him as Pete's drummer. "I'm heading off," Pete says, nodding in the direction of William.

The drummer looks at William, meets his eyes and gives Pete a skeptical, narrow-eyed look--he doesn't approve. William grins at him.

But all he says is "Yeah, okay. See you around, man." He and Pete exchange a quick hug as William takes Pete's hand, lacing their fingers together.

William drives back to the warehouse quickly, and Pete starts kissing him the moment the engine cuts off. William drags them out onto the sidewalk, stumbling. Pete's kisses and gropes get more heavy and desperate, his breathing harsh and stuttering against William's cheek.

Everyone is out, either hunting or under instructions to retrieve Jon and Nick when they awaken, but William still hurries Pete into his bedroom before he can see any of his surroundings. Shoves Pete down on the bed and Pete laughs, breathless and surprised.

"Wow, you know, I've thought about this, but I didn't think you'd be, like." Pete stops talking when William strips off his clothes, swiftly and efficient, and straddles him.

"I am," William says, and catches Pete's bottom lip between his teeth.

Pete moans when William pushes his formal jacket off his shoulders, then unbuttons his crisp white shirt and throws it to the side. He's pleased to see that Pete is beautifully marked, the thorns on his chest deliciously appropriate, and he scrapes his nails over the strange design below his navel, leading down to his groin. Pete's hips jump when he does so, his legs falling apart, and William smiles.

"Fuck, my nice clothes are going to get all sex-ruined and my mom's gonna kill me," Pete says, a strain of nervous laughter running through his voice. He's licking his lips now, not as playful as he tries to pretend, and William wonders if part of him can tell, if he has instincts that are kicking in. He slides a hand into his pants.

"*Oh*--" Pete says, pushing his cock against the touch of William's fingers, and William squeezes the base. Gets the zipper down and pushes the black pants off of Pete's legs, impatient. Pete makes a gurgling sound in his throat when William leans down, sliding the length of it into his mouth.

Pete is slick and warm in his mouth, familiar pressure on his tongue. William hums and sucks, rubbing his fingers over the tattoo on Pete's abdomen, feeling Pete's flesh jump and buck under his hand.

"Wow, Bill you're--jesus, *fuck.*" Pete is a loud one, seeming to talk or pant or groan constantly, sounds falling from his lips in the same rhythm he's pushing up into William's mouth. He makes a harsh, sharp sound when William pushes two fingers into him.

"Ow," he says, wincing when William looks up. "That's--that's a little too--"

"So sorry," William says, and pushes his fingers in further, fucking him and spreading his thighs. Pete cries out and arches against the bed, his head falling back, showing his throat, his Adam's apple. William presses his own erection against the mattress, anticipating.

"Oh, ah, god I--" Pete's voice stutters, keening, and William moves to cover his body, kissing his mouth hard. He reaches behind Pete's head to grab the lube off the headboard, twisting the cap off one-handed while his fingers keep moving inside him.

He kneels between Pete's legs, finally taking his fingers out to slick himself. Pete watches his movements with wide eyes and an open mouth, breathing hard. He stares and William meets his eyes, smiles. He doesn't know if it comes off as reassuring or not, but Pete shudders and scoots his ass forward, spreads his legs wider, willing.

William pushes himself in quickly with no pretense, thrusting hard and Pete thrashes in response, twisting, throwing a fist back to bang against the wall. William digs his fingers into his hips, using close to his full strength and pulls him in rough, going harder when Pete yells.

"Fuck, you, yes, *fuck,*" Pete is saying, almost chanting, practically incoherent as William rides him. He pulls on Pete's cock, stroking him in time, and Pete's hands grab and clutch at William's shoulders. Pete's muscles are clenched and hot around his cock and William loves this, delights in it, has been *waiting* for exactly this and oh, it was worth it. Worth it to make him truly savor the way Pete's grunts get higher in pitch every time William thrusts all the way in; worth it to see Pete finally run out of noise, his mouth open and lips stretched in a silent scream.

William bows his head when Pete comes, messily on William's chest and on his own. He bares his teeth and leans into it, into Pete, hitches Pete's legs higher around his waist and bears down.

He comes too hastily, greedy because he can't keep himself from closing his eyes and letting go, letting himself take all this because he *can.* He hears Pete's panting get more frantic as his own thrusts become more and more frenetic, and then the liquid blazing feeling as the orgasm washes over him, leaving him sprawled and spent, bent protectively over Pete.

He pulls out and rolls on his side, not moving far. After a few moments of silence, save for their heavy breathing, he feels Pete move next to him. Pete wants to leave, he can feel it; he doesn't seem to be the type to fall asleep next to casual fucks, no matter the intensity. William touches his arm and only has to use a slight amount of suggestion to make Pete settle back down, his mind nudged back towards sleep.

William smiles and squeezes his arm before letting go, falling asleep himself.

***

William wakes up the next morning, earlier than he normally would have, stirred by Pete's movements next to him. William opens his eyes slowly, blinking the sleep away, watches as Pete sits up and stretches, starts looking around for his clothes.

Pete notices William, after a few moments of staring. He grins back at him, the expression changing his face entirely, removing some of the boyish vulnerability. "Hey. I was just about to shake you awake."

He's lying, of course; he was planning to grab his clothes and go, as is customary with one-night-stands. William smiles back, careful not to show his teeth. "Good morning."

Pete turns his back to him again, putting his shoes on judging by the movement of his legs. "So, I had fun last night. We should--" he covers his mouth on a yawn. "--do that again."

William sits up, kneels behind him. "Definitely. I know where to find you."

"Heh." Pete glances to the side, eyeing William out of the corner of his eye, before bending down to tie his laces. "Yeah, and how about you? Where *is* this place? I wasn't, you know, exactly paying a ton of attention last night when you dragged me back to your cave."

"Oh, this is just where I bring all my victims," William says, his voice light, and Pete laughs. His hair is just barely long enough to brush over the veins in his neck, William notices, and he reaches forward to brush it to the side. Pete smiles, leaning into his touch, and William pulls his head back to expose his neck and bites down.