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joeyalohadream · 1 month

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Established Relationship Clegan Stalag/Flight School Flashback Drabble (sick!Gale+fluff)

Bucky blew warm air into his hands as he took another shuffling step forward in line for their meager dinner ration. He looked at the back of Brady’s head for a moment longer before letting his gaze drift back to the crumbling hut he had to begrudgingly call ‘home’ these days.

Buck was sat on the top step with his legs stretched out in front of him, both arms behind, resting his weight on his palms. From this distance, Bucky couldn’t tell what Buck was looking at but if he had to guess, he’d say he wasn’t seeing anything at the moment.

This was the first time in three days the other man had left their hut, and Bucky felt a weight lift off his shoulders at the sight of Buck finally not huddled in on himself on his bug infested bunk.

The runny nose and congestion that had plagued Buck for the week had turned into a nasty chest cold three days ago that had had all their men on edge for days. Each of them sending up silent prayers that pneumonia or fever wouldn’t take their fearless leader from them in the night.

Bucky had chosen a more proactive approach to praying in the last three days. He had spent every moment awake taking care of Buck. The lack of medicine and supplies inside this prison had proved frustrating, but he had managed to keep Buck hydrated and as warm as his coat, blankets and his own body heat could allow. The fact that Buck had slept curled against his chest each night had Bucky acknowledging that he’d technically spent every waking and sleeping moment taking care of Buck.

This morning Buck had been more coherent than he’d been in days. He hadn’t been up for a trip through the chow line, but he had informed Bucky that he felt like he could stomach something more than water again which was music to everyone’s ears. Bucky had practically leapt out the door when it was time for them to collect there daily helping of potatoes and turnips.

He sighed as he made a little more progress in line. His thoughts drifted back to the last time he’d seen Buck knocked down by sickness. It had been a sweltering week in Texas during flight school and a nasty case of the stomach flu had plagued the future flight crews.

Bucky sat on the edge of Buck’s cot, combing his fingers through the sweaty locks of blonde hair. The usually flawlessly styled strands were in disarray, plastered to his head in unkempt sections.

Blue eyes fluttered open and Bucky couldn’t contain the smile his mouth pulled into at the sight of them.

“Hey pukey,” Bucky greeted. It earned him his favorite exasperated eye roll and his favorite shy smile in one go, so his own grin grew.

“Hi,” Buck breathed out softly, smiling up at Bucky and leaning his head slightly into the hand still lightly scratching fingers against his scalp.

The fondness that Bucky felt for this man was beginning to catch him off guard less and less ever since they’d moved from friends to something more, but it still floored him every now and then how much the affection he felt was a physical thing in his chest.

“How’re you feeling,” Bucky pushed an errant lock of hair away from Buck’s eyes and let his palm rest against the other’s forehead, pleased that he was back to his normal temperature.

Buck’s eyes blinked closed and back open as he seemed to consider the question. Bucky smoothed out the furrow between his brows with his thumb.

“Better,” he cleared his throat, voice rougher than usual. “I think I’m empty now.” His lips pulled up at one corner as he met Bucky’s eyes again.

“Well, I would think so,” Bucky laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone hurl so much and I spend a lot of time around the boys at the bar.” He watched, unsurprised as Buck’s cheeks took on a pink tinge and his eyes flitted away for a moment.

“Sorry about that,” Buck grimaced. “You shouldn’t have had to see that.”

Bucky scoffed and resumed his scalp scratches, “Buck, you’re my fella now. It’ll take more than you blowing chunks a half dozen times for me to get cold feet. My feet are nice and toasty.”

To Bucky’s delight, the blush returned and deepened across his favorite cheeks. Buck cleared his throat once again and looked up at him through his lashes. “Your fella, huh?”

Bucky cocked his head to the side and smiled down at the man.

“Absolutely. My fella. Emphasis on the ‘mine’.” His grin grew when the little tilt of Buck’s lips grew into a full smile.

“I like that,” Buck replied as he kept gazing at John.

“Good, cause it ain’t changing long as I get a say in it,” Bucky gave Buck his best roguish look and accepted the eye roll with a wink. “Now, do you want to get up and move around a bit, or go try to put something back into your stomach?”

Buck shook his head slightly and seemed to sink back into the pillows. “I don’t think I’m ready to be vertical yet,” he yawned through the final word as if trying to prove his point and Bucky snorted in response.

“Alright, sleepyhead,” Bucky let his hand pass through the others lock one more time before bending slightly to the bag he’d placed on the floor when he’d first entered the barracks. “You know Crosby got so dehydrated from this shit that they had to take him to the hospital in town for an I.V. so be glad you could at least keep some water down. I just came back from seeing him and he’s doing better too.”

Buck smiled again at that news, “That’s real good. Glad to hear.” His gaze softened a bit as he placed his hand on Bucky’s forearm. “And I’m real glad you managed to dodge this thing.”

Bucky felt a blush of his own creeping up his neck at the relief in Buck’s voice. “Would you take care of me if it did try to take me down?” He couldn’t help but prod.

“Course I would,” Buck replied with an easy smile. “You’re my fella.”

The blush found it’s way to his cheeks and Bucky couldn’t contain his grin.

“I got you a gift,” Bucky held the contents of the bag behind his back now. He was pleased to note the barely concealed excitement behind Buck’s gaze. He doesn’t know a lot about Gale’s childhood, just some morsels of information dropped at his feet at random that paint a less than idyllic view of little Gale Cleven, but he knows that he hasn’t had anyone in his life that just gives him things because they care about him. Until he met Bucky that is.

Now Bucky takes every opportunity to give him something as often as possible.

“What’d you get me?”

Bucky smiles and reveals his gift with a flourish, watching Buck’s expression go from shock, to exasperation and landing on endlessly fond.

Buck reaches forward and curls his fingers around the white teddy bear holding a heart with the words ‘Get Well Soon’ embroidered on it. He looks from the bear to Bucky and for a moment it looks like his eyes are brighter than before. But then he blinks and he’s back to just looking fond.

“I changed my mind,” Buck says. “I want to get up and move around a bit.”

Confused at the change in topic, but not about to deny Buck anything he ever wants, Bucky stands and holds out a hand to assist. He watches, that familiar affection welling in his chest, as Buck gently tucks the teddy bear under his sheets before he grabs his hand and hoists himself up. He wavers a bit but seems to gather himself quick enough that Bucky decides to shove the worry down.

“Well, what’s got this pep in your step? Where we going?” Bucky questions the other man.

Buck’s smile turns shy, but he holds Bucky’s gaze as he clears his throat. “To the washroom. I really need to brush my teeth before I thank you for that gift.”

Bucky’s eyebrows climb and he grins before snapping his fingers rapidly. “Well get a move on then, let’s go, what’re you just standing around for!”

Buck laughs and shakes his head, but starts a slow shuffle to the washroom, Bucky at his side, a steady guiding hand on the small of his back. Bucky is endlessly thankful for the fact that the bar in town has half off drinks until closing tonight. They’ll have the barracks to themselves for hours.

Bucky is jolted from the memory as two bowls of potato water are shoved into his hands. He gives Brady a grateful nod, for he clearly took the initiative to ask for enough for Buck while Bucky was zoning out. He knows he’s been doing that more and more since he got here and knows that Buck and the men are worried, but the task of taking care of Buck has put a fire back in him. Snapped his focus back to life in some ways.

Before he knows it, they’re back to the porch and Buck gives him a soft smile when Bucky places the bowl in his lap and ruffles his hair. He sets his own on the wood pile outside the door, just in case Buck’s appetite has increased enough to eat more than his share.

“Thanks Bucky,” Bucks’s cough-wrecked voice breaks the silence and Bucky grimaces, mind immediately flying back to that hot Texas day in the barracks that had started with illness and misery and ended with peppermint tasting kisses and Buck falling asleep with Bucky’s hand tangled in his mess of hair and a soft smile on his face.

Bucky knows he’s not getting kisses in here. There is no privacy without asking for it, and that don’t dare do that, but he craves the ability to make Gale feel better in any way he can, in the old ways he could. He looks around and fiddles with a freshly stacked piece of wood the men had shredded from the stump they pulled that morning.

He spends a few minutes picking and pull at a section of the wood before placing the fruits of his labor in his palm. He moves to sit beside Buck, presses against him knee to hip to shoulder.

He’s pleased to see that the bowl Buck has set aside is now empty. He smiles at the improvement and nudges his shoulder with his own.

“I got you a gift Buck,” he says with a smirk. He watches Buck’s face carefully, ready for the expressions to cycle through. He sees the surprise at his words and then confusion and then something that looks like realization, and Bucky has to wonder if Gale’s mind went to the same memory his jumped to earlier.

“You find a gift shop between the bunk house and the potato shack Bucky?” He teases and Bucky grins, happy to see the fire back in Buck’s expression after days of listless misery.

“Nope,” he pops the words out with a smile. “Made this one myself, just to show you how much I care. Makes it more special that way.” He winks at the other man and smiles wider at the fond eyeroll it earns him.

“What’d you get me?” He questions, and Bucky can see that still despite the atrocious circumstances and the horrific situation they’re living in, he’s still pleased about the prospect of receiving a gift. Bucky loves him so much it hurts.

He opens his palm and holds it in front of Buck and has to fight the laugh that threatens to make its way out at the utter confusion on his face as he stares at the small splinters of wood in his hand.

“Uh, thanks Bucky,” Gale says as he takes a splinter from Bucky’s palm.

Bucky laughs out load, unable to stop it as the confusion stays in place on Buck’s face, but as always, he’s nothing but polite and kind.

“It’s a toothpick Buck!” He reveals.

Buck looks down at the wooden splinter again and huffs a laugh before placing the piece in between his lips and shifts it around. He smiles at Bucky around the wood and Bucky smiles back.

He watches as Buck’s eyes drift down and he knows he’s looking at his lips before he sighs. “What I wouldn’t give for the chance to brush my teeth right now.” He gives him a shy smile.

And Bucky knows now that Buck has in fact stumbled into the same memory he found himself in earlier and he smiles back at him.

A cool breeze ruffles their hair, and he throws an arm over Buck’s shoulder under the guise of warming his sick friend. He knows today can’t end with peppermint kisses, but he decides as Buck’s head falls to his shoulder that Buck is going to fall asleep tonight with his hand in his hair and hopefully a soft smile on his face.

#mota drabble #mota fanfic #mota fic #buck x bucky #clegan #i'm trying to get back into writing #i think this it too long to be considered a drabble oops #gale cleven #john egan #second attempt at writing these two beautiful men

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ihavemanyhusbands · 9 months

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The Wine of Your Blood

Also on AO3

A/N: As usual, thank you to G <3

Pairing: Father Paul/Monsignor Pruitt x Fem!Reader

Summary: After Father Paul's transformation, he is tormented by a hunger only you can quell.

WC: 5.1k words

Warnings: 18+ ONLY!, vampirism, blood drinking, religious imagery and symbolism (I'm not a religious expert tho I grew up catholic, sorry if I used wrong terms), canon divergence, hierophilia, corruption, graphic depictions of sex and some violence, unprotected sex (do not try at home), cunnilingus, ummm let me know if I missed anything pls!!

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The silhouette was there again, shrouded in a thick fog that rolled in from the tempestuous sea. It was tall and statuesque, like the guard of some mythical place – monstrous and terrible. Golden light blazed behind it, flickering like an ardent flame. Or like a beacon, slicing through the night’s darkness and calling you home.

You could not see its eyes, and yet you could feel the prickle of an assessing gaze. The siren-like lure was undeniable, and for a moment you could understand why sailors jumped into the sea with total abandon.

But you were not afraid. You’d seen this apparition for various nights now, like an omen, even if you didn’t really believe in that sort of thing.

The real questions were: What was it presaging?

And why, especially, did it feel so inevitable?

————-

You awoke, as you often did in the late fall, to a gentle rain. As the day progressed, you knew it would grow in intensity, but for now, there was peace and quiet.

You stared at the drops trailing down your window like glistening tears of melancholy. The milky white early morning sky was the same as it ever was, casting a thin, watery light on everything.

When you finally pulled yourself out of bed, you peeked into your grandmother’s room to find her still out, snoring softly. Her breaths no longer sounded like wet, raspy gurgles, which made you sag with abundant relief.

Sarah had diagnosed her with a mild case of pneumonia the previous week, but even so you knew things could turn for the worse on a whim. Your grandmother was nearing ninety, and while she had always been a sturdy woman, her body could only take so much now.

For a minute, you were seriously starting to consider getting in touch with the new priest, Father Paul, once again to talk last rites. For your grandmother’s sake, you wished Monsignor Pruitt could have performed them, but he was still recovering in the mainland.

But that all would be a problem for another day, given that she was doing much better.

Still, she had adamantly refused to miss mass, and while she wasn’t strong enough to leave the house, Father Paul had been gracious enough to swing by for a house visit on Sunday.

He seemed like a fine man, soft-spoken, amiable, and welcoming. Not to mention, he had quite a charming way about him, especially when he laughed. Perhaps you shouldn’t be taking notice of that, but you couldn’t help it, despite how conflicted you felt in his presence.

There was something vaguely familiar in his dark eyes you couldn’t place — something that seemed far older, perhaps wiser, but definitely weathered. At times, prolonged eye contact with him seemed daunting, but you attributed it to your general wariness of strangers.

He hadn’t been at Crockett for very long, but you appreciated the effort he seemed to be making with everyone on the island, but especially with your grandmother. There had to be some way you could repay his kindness… perhaps in the form of a homemade treat.

You padded over to the kitchen to make some coffee, rummaging through the cupboards to see if you had all the ingredients to make some banana bread.

You spent the rest of the morning cooking, your grandmother’s small house warm and permeated with the sweet, enticing smell of baking bread. You got ready after that, making sure your grandmother ate some breakfast and took her medicine before you headed out.

Gravel crunched under your rain boots as you trudged over to the Monsignor’s house, where Father Paul was currently residing. You nodded in greeting at passerby, stopping only to spare a few words with Leeza Scarborough, who was on her front porch reading.

When you arrived at the house, the curtains were drawn and there seemed to be no lights on inside. You frowned in slight confusion, given that it was past noon. Perhaps he was out and about, but with so few residents on the island, you surely would have seen him.

You stepped up onto his porch, hesitating for a moment before knocking on the door.

“Father Paul?” You called tentatively.

No answer. You tried knocking again, waiting for another few minutes.

When you were about to give up, you kneeled to set down the tupperware, and the door suddenly opened to reveal Beverly. Her eyes widened slightly upon seeing you there and you quickly straightened.

“Oh, Beverly,” you said as a form of greeting. “Sorry, just wanted to drop something off for Father Paul. As a thank you.”

She cleared her throat, hands clasping in front of her. “I’m afraid Father Paul has fallen ill and is currently indisposed for visitors…”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you said sympathetically, further confused by the slight worry you felt at the news. “I can just give this to you, then. I’ll talk to him when he’s better.”

“How nice of you to do this,” Beverly smiled tightly, eyebrows raising just a little. “I’m sure he’ll really appreciate it, though I’m not sure if his stomach will be able to take it right now… Oh, I just hope it doesn’t go bad.”

You gave her a wry, uncomfortable smile in return. “It’s the thought that counts, right? Erm… I’m just glad he’s got someone to take care of him.”

“He’s in good hands, I assure you,” she nodded. “Mine, and the Lord’s, of course.”

You nodded in return, starting to back away slowly. “Right. Well, can you tell him my grandmother sends her regards?”

“Of course, I will let him know. Good day now.”

And with that, she shut the front door. You shook your head and let out a sigh, glancing only once back at the house as you walked away.

—————

For once, the night was clear. The stars and the waxing moon were visible, keeping you company as you stepped off your porch. The air was fresh and crisp, smelling faintly of petrichor.

You stretched a little as you looked up at the sky, thanking whoever was up there for letting the rain cease for the time being. It seemed like forever since you’d last been able to go out for a nighttime jog, no one around to talk to or look presentable for. It was the perfect time to clear your mind, now that a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

You started down the gravel road, the wind whistling in your ears. Your legs kept a steady rhythm, the old houses of all your neighbors whizzing past your field of vision. You passed by the school and the convenience store, winding away from the main town area towards the harbor.

The moon’s reflection made the black waves glitter, endless, ominous, and hauntingly beautiful. You stopped for a moment near the pier, looking beyond the water at all the distant lights of the mainland. So close, and yet so far.

Sure, you yearned for all the mainland had to offer – an entire world that wasn’t just bite-sized, predictable, safe. But you could not yield to those selfish fantasies, not while someone who gave you so much throughout your life now required your help. You closed your eyes and breathed in the salty breeze.

Perhaps someday…

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

The familiar voice made you almost jump out of your skin. You whirled around to find Father Paul a few feet behind you, raising his hands to show he meant no harm. Maybe you’d been so distracted that you hadn’t heard him approach, but it still felt eerie.

“Oh, I’ve startled you, I’m so sorry,” he said with a nervous chuckle.

You placed a hand on your chest as if to placate your racing heart. “It’s okay, Father. I just wasn’t really expecting to see anyone, is all.”

“Especially not the priest, right?” he raised an eyebrow, which made you huff in amusement.

“Guess I just thought you didn’t come out at night.”

He smiled lopsidedly, looking down and clearing his throat slightly. “You know, I think I’m becoming more partial to nighttime. I guess you could say I’m an insomniac.”

“All that weight on your conscience?” You said as he approached, standing next to you.

“Something like that,” he sighed, now looking off into the distance. “Thank you for the bread. It was delicious.”

You shrugged it off modestly. “Grandma’s recipe. I’m just glad she’s right as rain again. Maybe… Your prayers helped. It’s what she insists on, anyway.”

He shook his head, a loose dark curl brushing his forehead. “That’s much too kind of her.”

You assessed his profile for a moment. “How are you feeling, Father? You were out for a few days, too.”

“I definitely needed some fresh air. Now, I’m much better,” he said with a smile, meeting your gaze. “I could not stay cooped in that house any longer. I’m really looking forward to our next mass.”

You said nothing, unsure of how to respond. Despite the fact that you’d grown up religious, you weren’t really practicing anymore. Sometimes you’d accompany your grandmother to sermons, but you often tried to find excuses to skip them.

So far, you had only been to one of Father Paul’s, and you had to admit there was something rapturous about his speeches. They were not only engaging, but the passion behind them was sort of infectious. You even caught yourself leaning forward in your seat, which you quickly corrected.

It only added to the confusion of how you felt about this man, but such a mystery was undeniably alluring.

“Will you be joining us?” He asked. “No pressure if not, but it’d be nice to see you there.”

“Ah, is that what this is? You’re trying to convert me or something?”

“You’re very clever,” he observed, his grin broadening. “But no, that's not all it is. Part of it, sure, but I don’t want you to miss out on something really special.”

You couldn’t help the slight blush that spread across your cheeks, your heartbeat suddenly spiking once again. His easy, confident smile faltered for a moment, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. The bestial hunger that had been tormenting him for days, rendering him weak and sickly, flared inside of him.

“T-think on it, but like I said, no pressure on my part,” he added quickly, gasping a little as if he lacked air.

You nodded, failing to notice how he slowly clenched and unclenched his fists. His muscles were taut with self-restraint, rooting him to the spot. Luckily, you moved first, taking a step back.

“Alright, thank you for the invite. Um…I should probably finish my jog and head back home,” you said, gesturing behind you. “Don’t get in too late, Father. You don’t want to catch another cold.”

————

Despite the fact that he was a passionate speaker, you had never seen Father Paul so worked up.

He started by speaking about eternity and how hard it was to visualize it. The fire inside him was stoked as he spoke of God’s gifts, his miracles and his mysteries. How they were something tangible, something within reach of every grasping hand… even if one couldn’t understand them.

Then the fire turned into a feverish glint in his eyes, his skin paling considerably. He stumbled over his words, pausing to keep nausea at bay. Sweat broke out across his forehead, and he dabbed at it with a handkerchief.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “Just a little dizzy spell, but I’m fine now.”

Still, he braced his hand on the pulpit. You noticed Beverly was also leaning forward in her seat, ready to spring to action if need be. That was all the confirmation you needed that something was wrong.

But for a moment, as he continued talking, things seemed to settle. You relaxed in your seat, folding your hands on your lap.

“No abstracts. No colorful exaggerations. No. ‘Rebirth’, ‘Second chances’, ‘E-eternal li…’”

His eyes rolled to the back of his skull as his words faded into a shuddery exhale. He collapsed onto the floor, thudding heavily down the steps as the panicked voices of the congregation rose in volume.

Beverly reached him first, of course, but you knelt at his side only moments after. You hadn’t even registered you were running until you got there, cradling his head in your hands.

And even if he was unconscious, you could’ve sworn he leaned closer to your touch.

—---------

It was an audacious plan, you knew that well enough. Still, that clarity didn’t stop you from attempting to go through with it.

As soon as Sarah Gunning arrived to attend to Father Paul, Beverly had kicked everyone out, holding firm even as you insisted you wanted to stay. Her stubborn will was infuriating, but perhaps also commendable, in a way. You had to bite back a few bitter words as you left, but that didn’t mean you intended to stay away.

You waited for her to leave Father Paul’s house, which didn’t happen until after the sun had set. Even when you couldn’t hear her receding footsteps any longer, you waited a few more minutes before approaching the front door.

You raised your fist to knock, but the door suddenly opened to reveal a haggard-looking Father Paul. There were dark crescents hanging from his eyes and his skin was so pale it was almost translucent.

For his sake, you held back from gasping, but he could still see worry written across your features.

“It’s like you knew I was coming,” you said with a small smile.

“Keen senses,” he said softly. “Would you like to come in?”

You hesitated, despite the fact that a ‘yes’ was on the tip of your tongue. “I just wanted to see how you were doing. Gave us a real scare earlier.”

He swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a moment as if staving off an ache deep within him. In the dim light, you noticed the corners of his lips were a dark red. For a moment you wondered if he’d been drinking the sacramental wine.

“It may not seem like it but… better,” he said, mustering a small smile. “I fear I-I may owe you an explanation.”

“Oh, Father Paul, you don’t…”

“Please, I insist. I can make us some tea, if you’d like,” his voice dropped into the faintest whisper. “Just, stay. Please.”

The desperation in his voice gave you pause. You searched his face for the answer to a question you didn’t dare ask, and perhaps you deluded yourself into believing you found it.

You nodded, crossing the threshold and taking off your shoes. You heard him shuffle about in the kitchen, and you wrung your hands nervously as you glanced around the small, austere rectory.

This was wholly improper, you knew, but you felt a magnetic sort of pull towards him that was getting harder to resist. It was easy to deny it at first, brushing it off as curiosity and excitement over having a newcomer on the island.

Most were wary, but you… you wondered if he could be your link to the rest of the world. Your appetite for that dream was only whetted, closer to your fingertips than ever.

“Water’s boiling,” he said as he came into the living room. “Sit, please, make yourself comfortable.”

Obediently, you did as told. There was a palpable tension in the atmosphere that made your skin prickle. He sat across from you, gripping the armrests of the chair as he adjusted himself, unable to find a comfortable position.

“I have to insist that you owe me no explanation, Father. I just worry about your… condition,” you said.

“It’s no ordinary ailment. I think you’ve sensed that already, haven’t you?”

You nodded, unsure of where he was going with this, but willing to listen.

He continued. “You have witnessed miracles here on the island. Things that you can’t explain and yet are so clear to your eyes. Were you listening to my homily earlier?”

“Yes, Father,” you said, even if you’d only been half-listening.

But he was speaking the truth, if Leeza Scarborough was any indication. She had risen from her wheelchair just a few days prior, no longer in need of it. Since then, you’d seen other changes around Crockett, some of them more subtle than others.

You clasped your hands on your lap to keep from moving them. “You mean to say you’ve brought about these miracles?”

He smiled patiently, indulgently. In this light, his eyes seemed darker than you’d ever seen, like two chasms you could get lost in.

“No, not me. God. I am merely a vessel for His glory, and all of the gifts He wishes to impart on us,” he said, leaning forward slightly and resting his forearms on his knees. “On you in particular.”

“Me?” You blinked, genuinely surprised. “What sort of gift?”

“The gift of life anew. Rebirth. A holy transfiguration, if you will.”

His gaze was fixed on the way your throat worked as you swallowed hard, on edge despite your curiosity being piqued.

“You see, I was visited by an angel. Larger than life, with a greater wingspan than even an albatross. It was utterly magnificent… as well as horrifying. I was afraid at first, of course, for we all fear things that are unknown to us. I was on the brink of death regardless, but see me now, restored, in my prime!”

You frowned, a myriad of questions on the tip of your tongue, but then Father Paul doubled over, clutching his stomach. His dark brows were furrowed from the influx of pain and you instinctively rose to help, but he lifted a hand to stop you.

“But to be reborn, the old self must be destroyed, and thus… and thus it is not an easy road to walk,” he rasped.

You knelt beside him, concerned and abundantly confused all at once. “What do you need? How can I help you ease this pain?”

He looked at you from the corner of his eye, pleading, desperate. Like a wounded animal, almost. You wondered if he, too, might bare his teeth in warning.

“There is this hunger inside of me that I cannot seem to dispel. I-I fear it threatens to consume me,” he swallowed hard, straightening into a sitting position once more. “God asks terrible things of us sometimes, but I cannot help but think this is a test of my strength. My will.”

“I want to help,” you said softly, so softly, daintily placing a hand on his knee.

But his ears were keen, as he’d said, and he heard you perfectly fine. Still, his eyes – glazed over in pain and hunger and desire – searched yours for any sign of doubt. Instead, he found resolve, as well as a very clear distress at seeing him suffer so much.

Oh, pious, gentle little lamb. What a good heart you had. The idea that your blood might taste just as sweet made his head spin, his beastly hunger lashing out inside of him.

His hands cradled your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone ever so slightly. You found yourself leaning into his touch, too entranced by him to think objectively about the morality of the whole thing. The charge in the atmosphere changed into something more taut, all too close to snapping.

“You do not know what you are offering,” he said, holding fast to his self-restraint even as his mouth watered.

“Maybe you could show me, then.”

A slight chuckle escaped his lips at your eagerness, one of his hands leaving your face to pat his thigh. “Come, would you like to sit here? Perhaps I shall whisper it in your ear.”

You started to lift yourself, but then hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Sure as I’ll ever be of anything, my dear,” he assured, his smile momentarily taking on a certain edge, like that of a wolf’s.

You situated yourself on his legs gingerly, closer to his knees, but he brazenly grabbed you by the hips and pulled you closer. You gasped, a tingle forming between your shoulder blades and slowly crawling down your spine.

“You’re so warm,” he murmured, closing his eyes as he relished the feeling, his arms circling your waist to keep you from squirming. “I hope you didn’t catch a fever from me.”

“I-I didn’t realize this was the sort of hunger you were referring to, Father,” you said tremulously, more heat sparking in your lower abdomen.

He traced his nose against the bare skin of your arm. “Not quite, but it’s making your heart race, isn’t it?”

You couldn’t help the blush that crept to your cheeks, silently willing your heart to slow as it hammered insistently against your ribcage. Tenderly, he brushed your hair off your shoulder, exposing your neck. Instinctively, you tilted your head back, showing more of it.

He hummed in approval, licking his lips. “Here, just a little taste first.”

He grabbed one of your hands, bringing it to his face. He kissed the tip of your index finger before taking some of it into his mouth. His inky black eyes held your gaze as you suddenly felt a painful prick on your digit that made you gasp once more.

He groaned softly, holding your wrist as he lapped at the thin rivulet of blood. The mere sight paralyzed you for a moment, but it’d be a lie to say it didn’t make your cunt throb.

And to make matters worse, the small rush of shame that followed this realization only seemed to turn you on more. Without thinking, you raked your free hand in his hair, tugging his head towards you.

“Do it,” you rasped, your tone dangerously close to begging. “Please.”

“God bless you,” he said deliriously, clasping you tighter against his chest. “Oh, God bless you. I-I want to make it good for you, too.”

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in and letting out another weak sound at your dizzying warmth. You shuddered and he scented a small note of fear as you tightened your grip on his hair. He shushed softly, soothingly, his lips ghosting over a quivering vein.

When his teeth first pierced the sensitive flesh, you let out a pained mewl as all of your muscles seized. Then — as fast as it had come — the pain vanished and you went slack against him. Stars danced in your vision as you felt the vibration of his groan against your throat.

Every single one of your nerve endings was alight with pleasure, which only seemed to grow in intensity.

Without you really noticing, your hips rocked back and forth, clothed cunt dragging against his leg in short, desperate movements that made your eyes roll to the back of your skull. He gripped one of your hips tightly, guiding your movements with urgency.

In the kitchen, the kettle started whistling loudly just as an orgasm hit you like a freight train, rattling your very bones. You felt yourself melting in a way you never had before, toeing the line between life and death. You’d have gladly gone to heaven in that moment – or hell, for that matter – if fate so decided. He held you steady throughout, running a soothing hand up and down your spine.

Just when exhaustion began to creep in from the blood loss, he painstakingly pulled away, his mouth stained crimson. He looked drunken and dazed, like he was caught in between dreams. But he also seemed less frail, and definitely more alert, pupils fully dilated.

“Thank you,” he breathed, gazing at you adoringly. Reverently, even.

Diligently, he lapped at the weeping puncture wounds. His lips left a smear behind as he kissed your collarbone, hands ripping at your blouse to expose more flesh. Panting, you tried to undo the buttons of his shirt with shaking fingers, but he stopped you.

“Lovely, eager thing. We’ll get there. Let me take care of you first,” he murmured against your sternum.

He tore any garment that stood in his way fervently, until you were practically naked in his lap. Your back arched, taut as a bow, as he continued leaving sanguine kisses in his wake. He hauled you into his arms with preternatural strength as he stood up. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you into his bedroom, laying you down on the bed gently.

There, standing over you, he seemed every bit the statuesque figure that plagued your dreams. His eyes glinted in the half-dark, reflecting the moonlight spilling in through the window. He sank to his knees as if preparing for prayer, his grin hungry as he hooked his arms around your thighs and pulled you to the edge of the bed.

“Come here, little lamb. My most precious sacrifice. My hunger for you has not nearly been sated,” he said, licking his lips. “I am yet to make a feast of you.”

A kiss on your navel that had you shaking all over again. If you had come so hard without so much as a caress, you couldn’t imagine the delirium of his mouth where you ached for it most. Perhaps then, you would truly cross the line for good.

He discarded the last garment covering you, revealing your glistening, slippery cunt for his appraisal. He made an agonized sound, ducking his head immediately to kiss your inner thigh. The tip of his tongue traced your skin just a little bit, getting a taste of your divine essence.

He knew then and there that he was utterly lost; That he would no longer know a greater devotion than this. What a perfect altar for him to worship you, the cradle of your thighs. It took all of his willpower not to sink his teeth into your femoral artery and drain you further, until all of your blood mingled with his.

Another day, perhaps, when you’d recovered some.

Instead, he finally licked a long, languid stripe through your soaked folds. With a low moan, his mouth latched onto your overly sensitive bundle of nerves, making your entire body jerk. He gripped your thighs harder as you squirmed, your fingers burying in his dark curls and holding on for dear life.

You hadn’t expected him to be so good at it, but then again, it was a night of surprises. Not that you could ever complain, anyway. Your wanton moans only encouraged him further, his lips and tongue and even the slightest graze of his teeth making you buck and arch on the mattress.

Once more, you felt a tidal wave begin to form, making your breath come out in sharp little exhales. But you didn’t want to let go again quite yet, at least not like this, with so much distance between your bodies.

You resorted to pleading, attempting to pull his head back. “F-Father wait, please, I want—”

“Don’t hold back from me,” he urged hoarsely, between licks. “Come on, give me one more. I’ll reward you doubly, I promise.”

You began to protest once more, but with an expert swirl of his tongue, the wave finally crested. Violently crashing against the rocks of your sanity. Your eyes searched for heaven again at the back of your head, mouth falling slack in rapture. He made sure you rode it all the way through, softly murmuring praises.

You lay there spent, chest heaving with great, deep breaths. He chuckled, both amused and inexplicably fond at the sight of you so undone. He pulled back to make quick work of his clothes, smears of dry blood further darkening his black shirt.

“I fear you might be turning me into a glutton,” he said, removing his collar and setting it down on the nightstand.

Your eyes trailed his fingers as he unbuttoned his shirt, and you gave him a weak, teasing smile. “You are not the only insatiable creature here, Father.”

“I see that now,” he grinned, his canines all too sharp. “What a great gift He has bestowed upon me, bringing you here.”

His jeans were next to go, merely kicked to one side, and his body slid over yours in a warm embrace. Then finally, mercifully, his lips found yours in a slow, searing kiss. It was the last piece missing from the puzzle that connected you; The last nail on the coffin of your fate.

You tasted yourself on his tongue, moaning into his mouth as you cupped the back of his head. Ankles crossed behind his back, pressing down, silently urging him closer. He guided himself into you, moving slowly so you could get used to the stretch. There was a growl low in his throat as he bottomed out, and his kiss became fiercer. Possessive, even.

The only sound in the dimly lit room was that of flesh slapping together lewdly as he quickened his pace, your sharp breaths and wistful sighs. The way he whispered your name like a prayer as he nearly dissolved with passion. It was then that you broke the kiss, tilting your head to the side as his lips chased yours in a dreamlike, desperate state. You shifted, baring your throat for him to ravage once more.

“Just like this,” you murmured, eyelashes fluttering over your cheekbones as you readied yourself. “I’m yours.”

“Only a little more,” he promised, kissing the base of your neck before tracing his way up with his nose.

A gasp, and then you were submerged in that languid, morphine state. Ecstasy hit him like lightning, and he was no longer able to hold back. He trembled against you as he came, crushing you tighter to him, buried to the hilt. You felt heat flooding you as he sealed the puncture wounds again, lips finding yours right after.

He rolled off of you only to tuck you both in, drawing you close and kissing the top of your head. His onyx eyes scanned your beatific features, wonder and amazement written all over his own.

“The night suits you, my dear,” he said, wiping strands of your hair away from your sweat-dotted face. “Perhaps it would be less lonesome with you around...”

He seemed truly vulnerable in that moment, smaller, entirely human. Eyebrows pinched together in consternation, lips pursed with some guilt at his actions. You snuggled even closer, leeching off his body heat. If anything, seeing this side of him, complex and familiar in a way you instinctively understood, reassured you.

“Will you take my hand and guide me through it?” You asked, voice low and wistful.

He nodded, lacing his fingers through yours. “Through the valley of the shadow of death and beyond. There is still so much for you to see, and the gift of time is at our disposal. Isn’t that a lovely thought?”

Yes, yes it was. Comforting enough to finally drift into dreams of the stars beyond the horizon.

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