jerry sizzler (skypipe) wrote in infoldednotes,
jerry sizzler

Walking Dead Heartbreaker (1/?) - David Cook/Michael [American Idol]

Title: Walking Dead Heartbreaker (1/?)
Author: skypipe
Rating: R [not this chapter, but eventually]
Pairing: Michael/David C.
Summary: He had to see him again. Even if it killed him. Total AU.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Sadly.
Author's Notes: I caved into the peer pressure. So here's the vampire au!fic. There's another AU I'm working on with someone else, so I can't promise this will be a long series, but I left it open ended anyway just in case. This is really just to tide everyone over until I get back.

Michael sat on the couch and drummed his fingers, the only noise besides the rhythmic ticking of a clock on the mantle. He swallowed and ignored the chattering of his wife on the phone. He felt itchy and impatient. And all he knew was that he had to get out.

He had to see him again. Even if it killed him.

She only paid attention when he stood up, dragging a coat, fabric pulling across his back and sliding over his arms. He kept his eyes away from her, but Michael knew she had a hand over the receiver, plucked eyebrows raised.

“Mike? Where’re you going?” She had a lilting chuckle in her voice.


And he left.

. . . .

He began to walk but then doubled back and started up the car.

Too impatient.

He grasped the wheel until his knuckles turned white and he bit down on his lip, sailing through a red light and barely caressing the pavement with the tires, barreling through neon and real people. He knew exactly where he had to go, how to get there.

Someone had swung a crowbar at the already dim, overhanging lights and now the only way he could see was by shining headlights. His cellphone beeped – why did he even bring it? – but he left it, waiting for the third ring to throw it out the window.

The street ended and he left the motor running, jumping out, falling to his knees in his hurry, hands shaking as he pulled himself back on his feet. He couldn’t see and he shuffled through, fingers brushing air then, in a matter of seconds, the roughness of brick. A building.

The building.

The door was guarded, but he knew how to get in. The hall stretched on for miles and each step brought the pounding of music closer and deeper into his ears until he was there and a sudden rush of heat and a bass loud enough to fracture his heart flushed through his skin and he gasped for oxygen.

Michael knew what he wanted and curious but not unwelcome looks were thrown his direction, looks he processed but meant nothing to him. The tiled floor was sticky under his shoes, hands grabbed loosely at his arms, his waist but he let them go, fluttered eyelashes and shoved them away.

Right to the back and the trembling in his hands grew worse and more difficult to handle. He had to be here, he had to. Michael began to panic, lose his breath and no, no this couldn’t be happening, he saw him. Sitting in a booth, one leg up on the bench, finger rubbing up and down a glass dripping of condensation. He was staring at Michael, with white eyes and Michael smiled.

Tags: #slash, pairing: michael johns/david cook, tv: american idol
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