Blonde {muke}

Chapter One: Orphic

a/n: hey there and welcome to my new story! as you hopefully are aware, this is a supernatural fic although we're going to keep it pretty steady and simple. there will be smut because honestly, that's all i know how to write, and a lot of italicized bits which are dreams.

this will be posted on archive of our own when it's finished although it will be posted as one story.

hope you enjoy, leave some feedback throughout! :)

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orphic: (adj.) mysterious and entrancing; beyond ordinary understanding.

Luke's gone to school with him for eleven years, heard the rumors and seen the way people steer clear of the infamous Michael Clifford. Stories have circulated around the school, stories of blondes who'd stumbled out of the Clifford house on wobbly legs with dopey smiles on their faces. They had absolutely no recollection of their time spent inside the house.

He's noticed how Michael keeps to the shadows when passing through the school, head held high - despite the way he slinks through the halls. He's tall, has at least half a head on Luke, and sports a different hair color every few months. The soft dirty blonde color Michael had when he was younger is Luke's favorite, the natural tone had suited his fair skin and Luke had wondered how someone could be so exceptional. Luke had heard it all, every concerning story there was to hear. He didn't believe any of it.

Michael's across the field talking to a boy with curly hair. He has his hands stuffed in his pockets, and looks perfectly nonchalant. Luke wonders absentmindedly if Michael would ever wear any color except black. While the colour black definitely suits Michael's attitude, Luke can't help but think that a creamy white would look absolutely-

"... fucks sake, Luke." An exasperated sigh falls from Tyler's mouth and he snaps his fingers in front of Luke's face.

Luke tears his gaze from Michael, almost missing the moment the redhead's eyes meet his with uncertainty. He blushes and crinkles up the half empty potato chip bag on the grass beside him.

"Swear to god, Luke, stop it." Tyler pushes at Luke's hand on the chips and the younger boy pouts, finally acknowledging him.

"Leave me alone," Luke pouts, chewing at the inside of his upper lip. "They're just chips, I'll buy you a new bag."

His eyes flit back up to Michael. He's gone, the curly haired boy he'd been talking to now on the ground with another boy with dark hair. Luke slumps back, balls up the corner of the chip bag with a sigh.

"Stop fawning over him, he's just a problem." The hand's back in Luke's line of vision, this time waving repeatedly. Luke chews harder at his lip, tries to think of a specific incident where Michael did something wrong. He can't, which fuels his overwhelming need to snap at Tyler for the umpteenth time. Tyler mutters beneath his breath. "He looks like death."

That much is true. Michael looks like he hasn't slept in years, with slightly sunken green eyes and dark bags below them. The red hair did little for his complexion, if anything it highlighted how pasty he was, topping it off with exuberant red lips - too bright to be anything less than tinted chapstick.

"He looks like he's going to a funeral." Tyler drops another comment that has Luke turning to glare at him.

He doesn't snap often, not at Tyler at least. "He looks good in black." The sharp bite at the end of his word feels like it will sting, even Luke can sense that. Luke sighs, rubs his face with his hand and mutters something about having to get home before dinner. He doesn't notice Michael standing under the bus stop overhang with a cigarette hanging from his lips. He doesn't know that Michael is watching him carefully with critical eyes and shameful thoughts.

That's the first night he dreams of Michael.

He's outside, chilly fall air biting at his skin, and the smell of wet grass clinging to his senses. Leaves rustle in the breeze and Luke shivers. The thin cotton sweatpants he wears do nothing when he collapses to his knees, thick mud swallowing up the material.He can't remember the last time it rained.

"Absolutely stunning on your knees." The voice is everything Luke's ever expected, deep and throaty, engulfing his body and lighting his nerves on fire with the thickness. He's heard Michael speak twice before; once in primary when - Luke suddenly can't process his past memories, only able to recall the sound of Michael's voice, not the circumstances he'd heard it under.  A hand drifts through Luke's hair, glides across his cheek sharply. Wetness builds on his cheek, drips down his jaw and lands on his arms. It's too dark to see but the faint scent of iron ensnares Luke's sense of smell; blood. It would explain the barely noticeable sting on his cheek and sticky wetness dripping down his neck. The sleeve of his pajama shirt falls from his shoulder. The faint trace of something sharp trails from the seam to the collar of Luke's shirt and cuts it open, leaving Luke's left shoulder covered and his right bare, the ragged fabric falling just below his nipple.

Luke swallows, tastes the heady, bitter tang of blood on his tongue and cringes, wondering how deep the gash on his cheek really is.

"You're just what I need, Luke." Michael's nails dig into Luke's shoulder, squeeze tightly until the blonde's crying out and trying to get away. He can't though, feels like the mud he's sunk into is pulling him down, holding him tightly. "All bloody for me," he croons, dragging his fingers from Luke's throat to his jaw. He makes a cut on the sharp bone and presses his lips to it.

It feels like death, like his life is being sucked from his body, like everything he is has become nothing. He's suddenly soaked, perspiration running down his back, trickling down his forehead, mixing with the blood still dribbling.

"All mine."

And Luke is nothing more.

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so, yeah, feedback??

much love,

trishie