Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The gentle pitter patter of raindrops thudded against the roof of The Church of Harmony. It was silent otherwise, so Sunday could truly relax and enjoy the peaceful atmosphere as he swept the floors. It was close to midnight, so the church was empty save for the young priest. He often stayed late. Sometimes a lost soul, too nervous to appear during the day, would walk in and seek guidance. If Sunday wasn’t there, who would offer them love, forgiveness, and acceptance? The thought of someone turning to the church, only to find themselves alone and miserable, broke his heart. He wouldn’t allow it. (Plus, other than dabbling a bit in music, the church was all Sunday knew.)

A loud thump accompanied by a whine startled Sunday, causing him to drop the broom. It sounded like it came from outside, as if something had hit the side of the church. Could someone be in danger out there? The rain was coming down quite hard, it would be all too easy to slip and fall.

Sunday rushed to the entrance, and threw the double doors open.

“Hello?” he called out. If someone did respond, he couldn’t hear them over the sound of the storm that was ramping up its intensity. “I’ll be right there!”

He took caution in walking over to the source of the sound, lest he succumb to a fall himself. After rounding about a fourth of the church’s perimeter, he spotted the wayward soul. And his heart skipped a beat.

It was not human. Outwardly, it appeared so, but Sunday could sense the sinister aura that it radiated. He was a disciple of Harmony, and had been trained in its ways since he was a child. It was in his blood, as a Halovian, a species thought to be descended from God’s angels themselves.

But more important than that… it was hurt. The humanoid figure stared back at him, peculiar bright glowing irises of cyan and magenta. Its breaths were heavy and slow. It seemed to be in no state to hurt him.

Sunday frowned. He was taught to exorcise and purge such monsters, but above that, he was taught mercy. After a short moment of deliberation, the priest sighed and kneeled down in front of the creature.

“What ails you, stranger?” he asked softly, trying not to startle it. Most monsters feared men of the cloth as much as they did them.

It whined as it shifted, opening its mouth but not finding the strength to speak. Fangs peeked out from its upper lip. Ah, a vampire, then. Was it weak from hunger, perhaps?

“It’s alright, I understand. There’s no need to waste your breath.” Despite the alarm bells going off in Sunday’s head, he slowly reached out, offering a finger. “Will just a taste sate your hunger?”

The creature flinched, closing its mouth and turning its head. Was it refusing food? Why? “Don’t wanna… hurt…” it breathed weakly.

Sunday moved his hand, and laid it sympathetically on the vampire’s shoulder. He eyed the pin prick scars on its neck. A turned vampire. If they were newly turned, then perhaps they hadn’t fed yet. Didn’t want to. But unfortunately Sunday knew enough about vampires to know they couldn’t survive without consuming human blood.

“You’ll die otherwise. Please, just allow me this mercy. Let me take care of you.”

He trailed the hand back up again, letting his pointer finger rest on the vampire’s lower lip. Their lips parted hesitantly, allowing it to slip in. Sunday winced as he ran the finger across the pointed edges of their fangs. With how sharp they were, it barely hurt, but the sensation was still unpleasant.

The vampire’s eyes lit up immediately, a small amount of color returning to their face. They gently began to suckle at Sunday’s finger. Sunday smiled faintly, pleased to see them grow livelier. Their eyes fluttered closed, and they let out a content hum.

The pinprick of pain dissipated as the vampire continued to lap at it. That was to be expected, Sunday was well aware of the properties of vampire venom. It acted as a painkiller, sedative, and aphrodisiac. It was like a drug, addictive in nature if absorbed in large quantities and numerous doses. Affected humans would become willing, pliant prey for the vampire, eager to be fed upon. This is why Sunday made sure to remove his finger after only a brief moment. Just enough to stave off the vampire’s hunger, but not long enough to lose his wits.

“Thank you…” the vampire quietly rasped.

“You’re welcome. Let’s get out of the rain now, shall we? Wouldn’t want to catch a cold.” Sunday offered a hand to the ailing creature.

Instead of taking his hand, the vampire attempted to get up on his own. His legs wobbled as he stood up, then… gave out underneath him.

Sunday lunged forward to catch them, their frail body just barely landing in his arms. “You’re awfully insistent on disregarding your own wellbeing, aren’t you?” the priest asked, lightheartedly.

“Ah…sorry, I…” they muttered. Though they looked livelier, they were still clearly in a daze.

“No need to apologize, here—“ Gently, Sunday lifted the vampire and held him closely as he rose to his feet. They were… quite light. Frail. How long had they been starving themself? Shaking his head, Sunday hoisted the vampire up to carry them bridal style. “I’ll carry you inside.”

“…alright,” the vampire admitted defeat with a weak laugh, then let his eyes rest once more.

The wind picked up in speed, nearly knocking Sunday off his feet more than once. He tried to reassure himself this was only the natural progression of the weather, and not God punishing him for taking pity on an unholy beast. All storms felt like this. Angry, vengeful… jealous? Sunday blinked, then did a 360. It felt as though someone was staring at them, but it was impossible to see more than a few feet through the heavy downpour and fog to tell. …it was time to get inside.

Sunday ignored that feeling of a hostile presence, and hurried(though not without caution and care) back into the church.

Now in the light, vision unobscured by rain, Sunday could get a better look at the vampire. For an immortal monster they were awfully… delicate looking. Other than the scar on his neck, his skin was soft and blemishless. Ah, no, wait—when the vampire stirred in his arms and turned his head they revealed letters on the other side of his neck. A tattoo? No, it looked too textured for that. A brand of sorts, then? Where on earth would he have gotten that? Though they appeared to be letters, he couldn’t know for sure. It certainly wasn’t from any alphabet Sunday was familiar with. Whatever the reason, the implications were unpleasant, to say the least, so the priest decided to hold his tongue for now.

The vampire shivered. His rags that could hardly pass as clothes were torn and drenched, his blonde hair matted with mud.

“My apologies, but I’ll have to lay you here for just a moment,” Sunday told him, gently setting the vampire down on one of the wooden pews closest to the altar. “I know it’s not very comfortable, but I’ll remedy that soon.”

“Mm,” the stranger nodded, laying back on the hard and narrow bench.

Sunday made short work of hustling to an adjacent room, which contained a cellar door to the basement, where a variety of supplies were stored. After gathering what he needed, he hurried back to the sick vampire.

Fortunately, the strange man(this is the gender he would settle on for now, as it had initially been quite difficult to deduce) remained where he had been left.

“The church also serves as a storm shelter, so we have a surplus of sleeping pads and blankets,” Sunday explained. There was, actually, an entire ward under the church that was built by his slightly paranoid adoptive father that resembled a doomsday bunker, but the general public was not to be aware of that. Unless the end days were to miraculously arrive, the bunker would remain a secret, and the main body of the church could serve as public shelter for smaller disasters. The large stained glass windows were fitted with durable shudders to be closed during such events.

Sunday spread a bedroll out on the ground, and fitted it with a small pillow and blankets. ”I also brought a change of clothes. It may be a bit of a loose fit, but it should be serviceable enough.”

“My, how generous of you…” his voice sounded significantly less strained. Had Sunday’s blood finally taken effect? That was good, maybe—Sunday turned around and gasped. The vampire was gone, only a water stain left behind on the bench. “So generous, and so endearingly naive.”

Before he could react properly, Sunday’s head was slammed face first onto the pillow he had just dropped. Inhumanly strong arms held him in place, causing him to nearly suffocate on the fabric.

“Bringing a vampire into a church? Really? I was hoping you’d be brighter than that,” his voice had taken on a sinister tone. Cold breath ghosted at the priest’s neck. “I’ll forgive you, though. Since you’re so cute and innocent.”

The pressure finally let up on Sunday’s skull, allowing him to turn his head and gasp for air. “You—I…” he tried to make sense of the attack that had just occurred, but his oxygen deprived brain was still spinning.

“Take your time, darling, I’m patient.”

As his strength returned, Sunday attempted to strategize. He was severely overpowered by the vampire right now. Fighting him would be out of the question, as Sunday had no weapons on his person. That left one other option. Being on holy ground meant that Sunday would have a significant spiritual advantage, so if he could pray…

Sunday opened his mouth, and Latin began to spill out.

“Cheeky thing…” the vampire hissed through gritted teeth. “Stop.”

Sunday’s mouth remained open, but his throat abruptly constricted. He strained his voice, trying to squeeze the words out, but his body failed to comply. The prayer died on his tongue.

“So weak, too, what a shame. Shouldn’t you holy men be immune to such powers?” the vampire laughed.

Compulsion. Another one of a vampire’s many powers. And the creature was right, Sunday should have been immune to it, or at the very least, have the ability to resist it to some extent. But he couldn’t. How was that possible?

“Ah, I’m just pulling your leg. Don’t beat yourself up too much, little priest. You’re simply outclassed.”

Sunday had greatly, hugely, detrimentally misjudged this vampire. Being pinned down by him, hearing the intensity of his voice, and feeling the power that radiated off of him made it clear. This was an ancient being, far older and stronger than Sunday. He had played him for a fool.

“You… starved yourself just to lay a trap?” the priest questioned. If the monster was this powerful, then there was no reason for it to starve, unless it deliberately chose to do so.

“Oh good, there’s a brain cell,” the vampire remarked, seemingly pleased. “To be honest, you caught my eye a few days ago, and you’ve been on my mind ever since.”

Sunday could feel the vampire’s lips against the skin of his neck as he spoke. He swallowed.

“I don’t mind the taste of sinners. It’s not as bad as you’d think, but it hardly compares to such…” the blonde inhaled deeply. The breeze made Sunday shudder. “…delectable innocence.”

A wet, freezing tongue ran across his neck. “Stop that!” Sunday hissed, jerking his head away.

“Why? Did you want it to hurt? But that would be so rude of me…” the vampire pouted, then laughed. “Stay,” he ordered, compelling Sunday to freeze.

“It’s rude to assault the person that saved you from dying of starvation and exposure,” Sunday growled, his body unflinching as the vampire’s tongue continued to violate it. He could feel the saliva seeping into his pores, the cool sensation slowly heating up, tingling, itching.

“Mm, but you told me I could have a taste, didn’t you?”

“A taste. Which I already provided.”

“No, no. You promised enough to sate my appetite. And Sunday…” the priest had never revealed his name. “I am far from satisfied.”

Against his will, a humiliating wanton moan was ripped from Sunday’s throat as the vampire’s fangs pierced his neck. The venom had done its job, the sensation was euphoric.

“Good boy, just like that…” he removed his fangs to speak, and flicked his tongue out to lap up the residual blood pooling from the wound. “I want to hear you moan my name while I ruin you.”

“Ah…hah… Go to… hell…” Sunday rasped, dizziness already settling in. He had a weak constitution, he was well aware of that. He would not last long like this.

“It’s Aventurine, by the way. But if you wanted to scream out other terms of worship and endearment, I certainly wouldn’t mind.”

“Fuck o—-ohhh~” Sunday’s body shook as teeth dipped back into the wound, accompanied by a long, powerful suck.

“Master, lord, those could be nice.” More licking. More sucking.

No. God was his Lord. He would not commit such a sacrilegious act as worshipping a false idol, no matter how much duress he was under, no matter how overpowered he was.

“Go on, try it.”

No. He couldn’t. He refused.

Our father, which art in Heaven

Hallowed be thy Name—

“Sunday~”

—and lead us not into temptation,

But deliver us from Evil.

For thine—

“Do it.”

A whine escaped Sunday’s lips. He couldn’t. He couldn’t he couldn’t he c—

“Ahh~ Av… Aventurine… lord… my lord… my…” the words flew out of his mouth as the vampire bit down on the opposite side of his neck. “Aventurine…”

“Ohhh fuck. You’re too easy, little priest,” Aventurine teased.

“No… I… you’re not…” he couldn’t find the words. He wanted to denounce the vampire but his free will was slowly melting away.

“It’s okay though, don’t worry. I like my pets pliant and obedient.”

Pet? No. He would not be the plaything to some demonic beast. He was a priest, for goodness sake. He should be better than this. He…

The vampire’s lips left his neck, instead reappearing at his face. That horrible, alluring tongue swept across his cheeks. “Don’t cry, my precious priest. You’ll only turn me on more.”

Crying? He was crying now? How much more pathetic could he get? How could he be any more useless? More weak? Sunday sobbed, no longer able to hold back his despair.

“Fuck… did you not hear me? I won’t be able to hold back anymore…”

It didn’t matter. It’s not like there was anything Sunday could do. Maybe this was what he deserved for being weak. It was his fault for not being strong enough. He should have prayed more. Should have trained more. Should have been better.

“You poor thing…” Aventurine mused. There was no sympathy in his voice, it was just a tease. “Do you want me to make you feel better?”

Sunday’s wants were worthless. He didn’t have the right to want.

“Where did your voice go, songbird? I want to hear you sing for me.” Aventurine grinded down against Sunday’s rear, his erection far too palpable.

Sunday whimpered in response. He could feel himself growing hard as well. And with each rocking of Aventurine’s hips Sunday’s body was dragged with the motion, his cock rubbing against his pants and the bedroll underneath.

“You’re irresistible…” Aventurine cooed. “You taste divine, my pet.”

The priest’s brain felt like it was melting. With every bite, more and more of his sanity slipped away. The vampire’s praise started to have far too positive of an effect on his body. He could feel his penis leaking pre cum, further dampening his already saturated clothes.

“Look at me.”

It wasn’t a compulsion, but Sunday… wanted to look. He picked his head up, and stared into Aventurine’s entrancing eyes. They were… so pretty…

“Ah…” Sunday smiled. It felt so good to have the attention of such a powerful being. Superior. He felt like both nothing and everything under Aventurine’s gaze.

“Good boy.” Aventurine smiled back at him. “Open your mouth for me?”

Sunday’s eyelids fluttered, and he parted his lips. He felt only a monocone of shock when Aventurine’s tongue thrust itself into his mouth, but the surprise quickly morphed into pleasure. It could hardly be called kissing, but the way Aventurine licked the inside of his mouth, the way Sunday swallowed around his tongue, ingesting more and more of that addictive venom, felt just as, if not more intimate, than a kiss.

“Thank you…m’lord…” his entire body burned, heady with desire. Every touch from the vampire was like an electrical shock directly to his brain.

It was as if Aventurine was draining his misery along with his blood. His thoughts of self loathing, of worry, all sucked out of his body leaving only a buzzing pleasure behind. Sunday couldn’t think, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t want to think. He just wanted…more.

“So obedient now, aren’t you? Doesn’t it feel nice?” Aventurine’s arms had stopped holding Sunday down, as there was no longer a need. His hands instead slid under the priest, sneaking up his shirt and playing with his chest.

“Yes! Yes…yes…” Sunday moaned. He was rocking his hips on his own now, chasing the stimulation of his cock dragging against the ground.

“I know I said I was patient, but how can I not just take you now?” Aventurine asked(mostly to himself) with a sigh.

“Take me…” Sunday repeated, sharing the sentiment without understanding what it even implied.

“Oh, you don’t mean that, darling,” Aventurine snickered, before digging his teeth into flesh again.

“Ah! Aventurine! Aventurine!” Sunday shouted, beginning to convulse.

The vampire remained quiet, keeping his teeth clamped down on Sunday’s next, and his lips clinging to skin.

“Ven…ven…” The world around him was spinning. Spots of black began to obscure his vision. Maybe he was dying. It felt like heaven.

The suction didn’t cease. If anything, it grew more powerful in response to Sunday’s whines. His body was on fire, and that fire was swirling and concentrating in his core. It coiled and tightened, his thoughts completely gone and senses dulled except for the feeling of Aventurine on his neck, and the orgasm brewing in his groin.

“Ah! My lord! My lord!” His body thrashed violently as it was overtaken by his climax. His vision had completely left him, and now he felt blissfully empty.

Blissful. Happy. But

Empty.

Dry. Aching.

“Venturine…” Sunday wheezed. He felt parched. His mouth was dry, and his throat felt sore. And his stomach. It took on a sudden ferociousness. Its grumbling was violent and painful. It needed.

“I’m…” he felt so, so faint. “I’m so…” A strange desire overtook him. As he stared back at Aventurine, he focused on the exposed flesh at the junction of his neck and shoulder. What… what did Aventurine taste like?

“I’m so hungry.”

“Alright! Enough of that then,” Aventurine announced, patting Sunday on the back a few times and standing up.

“What…?” Why was he leaving? Sunday had been good. Aventurine said he was good so why was he leaving?

“Wouldn’t want to kill you, would I?” Aventurine asked, grinning.

“But you…why…not…?” Sunday attempted to flip himself over, so that he could see Aventurine better, but was too weak to do so.

“Jeez, did you already have a suicidal streak or is that just the blood loss talking?” Aventurine clicked his tongue and shook his head in disapproval.

“No, but…” Sunday let out a whine when Aventurine turned around and began to walk away. He reached a hand out.

Aventurine tutted. “No, no. Don’t exert yourself, angel. Just a minute.”

“Wait! Av… av…” Sunday panicked once the vampire was out of sight. Desperate. The thought of being abandoned crippled him, and with every passing second the blonde was not by his side he felt himself growing more and more delirious.

The vampire’s footsteps were silent, so when his voice was suddenly beside him again, Sunday jolted. “Here, drink up.”

Sunday slowly mustered the strength to sit up, and gaze at Aventurine in adoration. “Ah… thank you,” he said, as he was handed a water bottle. Aventurine must have found it in the kitchen.

Unfortunately, Sunday’s shaking hands did not have the strength to twist off the plastic cap. He furrowed his brows, concentrating, but to no avail. His arms trembled from the strain.

Aventurine chuckled. “Looks like I was a bit rough on you, huh?”

Sunday’s chest tightened. “No! I can… do it,” he insisted, though his continued efforts ended in vain.

Eventually, Aventurine simply snatched the bottle from the Halovian’s hands, uncapped it, and returned it to him.

“…thank you,” Sunday repeated, meek and ashamed.

“Thank me by replenishing those delicious veins of yours, dear.”

“Okay,” Sunday agreed, taking a small sip and delighting in the smile the action elicited from Aventurine.

To Sunday and his venom addled mind, Aventurine seemed to peer down at him affectionately. With care. With love.

But in reality, Aventurine’s gaze was nothing but predatory. The sinister smile was that of a hunter who had its prey eating right from his hand. A butcher, fattening up his prized cattle before slaughter. Sunday did not catch the droplets of drool that spilled from Aventurine’s lips as the vampire kept him frozen in his debauched gaze.

That didn’t matter. Aventurine was looking at him, and he was happy. Sunday was happy.

He finished off the water much faster than he expected, then set the empty bottle on his lap.

“What a good little pet,” Aventurine cooed, circling one of Sunday’s cheeks with his thumb. “Get some rest now, would you?”

Sunday wanted to argue, didn’t want to take his eyes off of Aventurine, but his growing fatigue had rendered him spineless. “…okay,” he replied, dejected.

“Don’t look so sad, angel. You’ll see me again soon,” the vampire's smile appeared fond and sincere. (Of course, that was far from his true feelings, but the charmed Sunday couldn’t know better.)

The Halovian hummed in acknowledgement, letting himself go limp as Aventurine manipulated his body to comfortably lay on the bedroll. Aventurine then covered him with the blanket, and slotted the pillow under his head. “Comfy?” he asked.

“Mhm,” Sunday nodded, his eyes fluttering closed. Exhaustion took hold of him quickly, and he drifted off while Aventurine still sat on the ground beside him.

“Goodnight, Sunday.”

A single, chaste kiss was placed on his cheek before the vampire stood up, turned, and walked out into the storm from whence he came.

-

“Have you not an ounce of self control?” a frustrated voice growled.

“Whatever could you be talking about, my dear?” Aventurine questioned, cocking his head innocently as he looked in the direction the sound came from.

A silhouette slowly came into focus from the fog, approaching him at a speed that indicated an immense amount of irritation. “Your first meeting and you nearly turned him. What would you do with a vampire priest? Are you out of—“

“Ah, I think I’m in love, Veritas.”

A loud clap of thunder shook the earth around them. The dark haired vampire bared his fangs in anger, the red hue of his irises stretching over his scleras.

“Oh cut it out, you’re so dramatic,” Aventurine rolled his eyes.

“Dramatic?” Veritas demanded. “We spend decades courting before that word was even uttered and you’re in love with this man after just a taste of him?”

“Ver, you fucked me like an animal that first night. We were lovers from day one.”

“But you weren’t as—“

Aventurine interrupted his spawn by roughly yanking on his arm and pulling him down to eye level. Before Veritas could protest further, Aventurine lunged, crashing their lips into one another. Not giving him the chance to even think of pulling away, the blonde dipped his tongue into the other’s mouth.

As the taste of the priest’s blood seeped into Veritas’ mouth, his eyes rolled up into his skull, and he moaned into Aventurine’s mouth. The wind slowly died out, and the rain petered to a drizzle.

After a period of time much longer than what the typical mortal kiss would take (vampires had no need to breathe, so there’s a chance they had been at it for nearly ten minutes), they separated.

“Oh,” Veritas remarked.

“Calmed down now, my grumpy little thrall?”

Veritas huffed. “My irritation was rational, but yes, I am… slightly less annoyed after that,” he admitted.

“Good,” Aventurine replied. He took a step forward, trapping Veritas against the outside wall of the church, then pressed his hips against him. His erection was only slightly more prominent than Veritas’, who was slowly growing larger. “Now… why don’t we resolve… this issue and I’ll let you play with him next time?”

“…insatiable. Fine.”

Chapter Text

“Sleeping on the job?”

Sunday shot awake at the voice. “M-my sincerest apologies, I…” he paused, then took a minute to groggily blink at the figure standing above him and process the vague familiarity of the voice that had just stirred him. “Ah.”

Amber eyes that glinted with a childish mischief peered down at him.

“Gallagher.”

“Birdie! There you are, thought I was gonna have to start shaking you soon.”

Sunday groaned as he slowly sat up. His entire body felt as heavy as lead, his vision was swimming, and his ears were ringing. “What time is it?” He had a feeling that if he looked at his phone to check, his eyes wouldn’t quite be able to focus.

“Mm, sixish? Kinda early but I figured I’d wake you up before the kid saw you like this.”

“The…” Sunday furrowed his brows, before realization suddenly struck him like an oncoming vehicle. “Where is he?!”

Gallagher chuckled, then offered Sunday a hand. “Relax. He’s in the kitchen. I told him I’d make breakfast and you’d come join us in a bit.”

The Halovian let out a sigh of relief, and took the hand of Gallagher, who carefully pulled Sunday to his feet. He’d rather Misha not see him like this, so he was thankful that Gallagher had the foresight to send him away temporarily.

Sunday had known both Gallagher and Misha since he was a child. He had met a baby Misha soon after he and his sister were adopted by Gopher Wood, and Gallagher a few years after that. Mikhail, Misha’s biological father and Gallagher’s adoptive father, was a close friend of Gopher’s, so they saw each other fairly frequently. There had been a schism between the men, causing them to form their own churches, but that disparity in beliefs aside, they were both still quite close.

That was, until Mikhail died, leaving behind a rebellious teenager and meek but optimistic child. This didn’t result in the dissolution of Mikhail’s church, as he had plenty of staff and followers to take over, but it did leave Gallagher and Misha without a guardian. Thus, the pair were taken in by Gopher Wood for a few years until Gallagher turned eighteen, and at that age was able to become Misha’s legal guardian as well.

Since then, Gallagher had been living a fairly nomadic lifestyle, taking frequent trips to hunt down demons, while leaving Misha in the care of Mikhail’s former church.

Though he’d be remiss to admit it, Sunday was grateful to have a companion other than his sister to rely on through all he’s had to endure. They got along about as well as cats and dogs, but there was still an unbreakable, unshakeable bond between them that Sunday trusted unwaveringly.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah don’t mention it,” Gallagher responded, then looked Sunday over up and down skeptically. “…You get laid last night?”

Sunday, whose dizziness had almost vanished at this point, nearly fell over on the spot from the accusation. “In the sanctity of the church? Of course not! Who do you think—“

Smirking, Gallagher pointed at the crotch of Sunday’s pants, which were visibly stained with a small patch of fluid.

“I…” Sunday debated whether or not it would be more embarrassing to admit that he had cum in his pants untouched last night, or if he came up with a convincing lie. “You’ve never had a dream like that before?”

“When I was sixteen, maybe.”

“Please don’t make me think about that.”

“You’re the one whose jizz stain I had to look at.”

“You had to do no such thing.”

Sunday shivered, the damp, coldness of the clothes he slept in finally burrowing into his skin and drenching his bones. He sneezed. “Regardless, I…”

Abruptly, Gallagher cocked his head, then sniffled. “Sunday… you did it with vampires?”

The Halovian flinched. “I… yes.” he deflated, before analyzing Gallagher’s words further. “But there was only one vampire.”

The brunette sniffed again. “There were two.”

“I only saw one. And I only… had relations with one.”

“Well, another one’s been here recently too. Probably just didn’t show itself.”

Sunday frowned. That was… unsettling news. Gallagher’s senses for the supernatural had always been sharper than Sunday’s, but it was still disheartening that Sunday had been so unperceptive the entirety of last night.

The more they sat in silence, the more Gallagher seemed to bristle with annoyance.

“Look—“

“Listen—“

The two spoke over each other in annoyance. Sunday acquiesced, gesturing for Gallagher to speak first.

Gallagher sighed. “I don’t think we have to kill every single vampire we come across, and it’s none of my business who you have sex with, but… I don’t like it.”

Sunday blinked. “You don’t… like it?” What on earth did that mean?

“Its vibes are all off. I don’t think they’re someone you should be hanging around.”

“I wasn’t ’hanging around’ him. That would be foolish of me.”

“So what happened, then?”

Sunday paused. This would be… more embarrassing to admit than if he had voluntarily chosen to sleep with a vampire. And, even more humiliating than the fact that Sunday had cum in his pants without sex even occurring, was the fact that it was entirely non-consensual.

There shouldn’t be any shame in being taken advantage of. Sunday knew that. People had told him that. He had told others that. Still… that didn’t change the self disgust he felt when he thought about it. It was his own weakness that resulted in this. Anyone else would have been smarter. Stronger.

Gallagher’s expression softened slightly. “Birdie, I’m not gonna yell at you. I just want you to stay safe, you know that.”

A rebuttal of “I can keep myself safe!” died on Sunday’s tongue before he could spit it out. Clearly, that was not the case, as he had been tricked and assaulted by a vampire. Weak. He was so pitifully weak.

“Sunday,” Gallagher called, pulling the Halovian from his self-deprecating thoughts. Ugh. How pathetic that Gallagher was being the more rational of the two right now. How he still, somehow, after all of these years, remained so much stronger than Sunday.

“...I was played for a fool,” Sunday finally admitted. Gallagher, bless him just this once, held his tongue and waited for Sunday to continue at his own pace. And, after about another sixty seconds of deliberation, Sunday ultimately spilled the beans about how he had acted like an utter imbecile last night. He didn’t even bother to add any embellishments to make himself look better or the vampire worse–he didn’t have the energy.

When Sunday finally finished Gallagher clicked his tongue and let out a low chuckle. “You never change, do you?”

“That… That’s all you have to say to that? Not even the decency to ask me if I’m okay?”

Gallagher frowned. “Are you… not?”

Seeing an actual expression of unease on Gallagher rather than an exaggerated pout was… upsetting. “All things considered, yes, I am. You still should have asked.”

And it was the truth, surprisingly. For some miraculous reason, Sunday was nowhere near as shaken up as any rational man in the same situation would have (should have) been.

Perhaps it was the utter lack of fear that Sunday recalled from last night. It seems only the positive stuck. Those cozy, mindnumbing mental manipulations. Feelings of lust and of being lusted after. Feelings of adoration and being adored. Feelings of love.

Sunday would not put any weight in those feelings. They were not real, merely constructs of the vampire’s wicked powers. Fabrications. Nothing but illusions, yet their warmth still lingered. It was infuriating.

“Good to hear, now go get cleaned up before Misha sees that nasty cum stain.”

Flushed, Sunday threw the blanket at Gallagher’s face, grabbed the change of clothes from the night prior, and stormed to the bathrooms.

Due to its doubling as a shelter, the church’s bathrooms were fitted with showers in addition to the typical toilets and sinks. It was quite convenient for Sunday, who often spent the night. It was especially convenient now, while Sunday cleaned the remnants of blood and vampire saliva off of his body.

Despite how raw he scrubbed himself, the feeling of the vampire’s body pressed against his persisted like a scar. Aventurine’s whispers lingered in his ear as though he was wearing headphones. It was violating. It was comforting.

Sunday sighed. “Enough of that,” he murmured to himself, deciding a fortyfive minute shower was a futile endeavor, then turned the water off.

When he stepped out of the shower, he stared into the mirror. He looked like he’d been mauled by a wild animal. It wasn’t just the pinpricks of fangs. It was full on, circle-shaped bites, like the creature had tried to devour him. Maybe it had. The markings weren’t limited to his neck, either. They extended to his shoulders, his arms, even parts of his back. He remembered none of this.

How on earth would he spin this? Could he pretend he really was mauled? By what, a wolf with human teeth? There was no way to make this believable, he’d simply have to cover—

His cheek? His fucking cheek had a bite on it? Well, that limited his potential excuses. He could cover most of the wounds with excessive clothing, but for his face and upper neck…

Ah! Right, Robin had just visited! Drying off and dressing himself, Sunday hurried to the bunker, ensuring he remained unseen. He had his own little stash down in the basement of personal effects. Said personal effects, this time, was a makeup set Robin had left behind.

It was a little tradition of theirs that had persisted from childhood. Sunday would style Robin’s hair and Robin would try out makeup brands on Sunday. It didn’t always turn out pretty, which made Sunday twitch, but Robin was always quick to clean up any imperfections. Father was not privy to this.

During her most recent visit, Robin had introduced him to a new brand of makeup, which included a foundation that matched his skin tone very well. It was a bit heavy, making it slightly uncomfortable, but that was exactly what he needed to cover up these bites. Maybe it could mask the bags under his eyes too, while he was at it.

Well, that was the plan at least as he ascended the steps with the makeup bag.

What he didn’t account for, however, was the light-haired boy waiting for him at the top.

“Father Sunday!” he exclaimed, stepping aside to allow the Halovian emergence.

“Ah, Misha,” Sunday began, caught off guard. “I told you, that title isn’t necessary…” He did his best to keep his head turned slightly, to keep the most obvious bite out of Misha’s sight.

“…Vampires?”

Well, there goes that idea.

“Yes.” Misha was far too perceptive for a child his age (let it be noted that at fifteen, Misha was far from a “child”, but Sunday would always see him as such), but that is what happened when you grew up in a demon-exorcising church.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

Misha frowned, clearly not believing him. “Mm… alright. You should grab breakfast, then. It’s getting cold.”

“Right. Thank you.”

He felt guilty, not admitting the full truth to a boy who had always been completely honest with him. However, he’d feel infinitely more guilty burdening Misha with the knowledge of what the vampire did to him. Extremely embarrassed, too. He was not going to confide in a teenager about how a vampire made him cum his pants, entirely untouched.

They parted ways with a nod—Misha, towards the main body of the church, humming a pleasant melody, and Sunday, into the kitchen in the back (though not before touching up his makeup in the bathroom.)

“Kid read you like an open book?”

“Not much gets past him,” Sunday sighed, taking a seat at the table, where a plate waited for him.

“Mm. You know, you used to be a lot harder to get a handle on,” Gallagher commented.

Sunday slowly glanced over at the brunette, annoyance evident in his eyes. “And you used to chide me for being so expressionless.”

Gallagher laughed. “Never said it was a bad thing. Just worried it might make you…”

“Vulnerable? Weak? Pathetic?” Sunday supplied, nearly hissing as he spoke.

“No, that’s not…” Gallagher put a head on his forehead and groaned. “Birdie, you know that’s not what I meant.”

He did, but it still pissed him off. Sunday didn’t respond, and instead opted to finally take a bite of the peanut butter toast that Gallagher had presumably prepared for him.

“Wanting to see the good in everyone isn’t a bad thing. But you know how our work is. Just… be careful.”

“Be careful,” Sunday muttered to himself, bitterly.

Be careful. Hadn’t he always been careful? Looked both ways before crossing the street? Washed his hands after contact with any germ? Checked seven times that the doors were locked at the end of the day? Stayed in the shelter of this place well into his twenties instead of going away to school and discovering anything he may enjoy outside the church?

He bit back the anger that flared up in his chest, and held it back until it dulled to a gentle simmer. As he always did.

“I’m plenty careful,” Sunday responded, forcing any trace of frustration from his voice.

Gallagher rolled his eyes. “Look, it’s none of my business if you finally decide to have your rebellious teenager phase, but you have to remember there are people depending on you, too.”

“You’re speaking as if I let this happen!” Sunday lashed out, standing up. Ah. Apparently he hadn’t quelled his anger enough before replying. Well, Gallagher had always had a knack for getting under his skin.

“No, but you let yourself handle it alone. Poorly. You said you’re fine, but you look like shit.”

“I look…” Like shit. He did look like shit. He saw himself in the mirror earlier. “Fine. I understand. Just—“ Sunday cut himself off by sneezing abruptly.

“Catch a cold, too?”

“I’d hardly call sneezing once a—“ This time, Sunday’s words were interrupted by a loud coughing fit. “Just… ah…” he trailed off.

“Sounds like you should take the day off.”

Sunday waved him off dismissively. “A cough is no reason to miss my sermons. And confessions require little more than listening. I’ll take some cold medicine. It’ll pass in a day or two.”

Gallagher sighed. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say, ‘Father.”

Sunday clicked his tongue in annoyance, but said nothing further as he pushed his chair in, washed his dish in the sink before placing it in the dishwasher, and headed to the narthex to start his day by greeting the churchgoers.

~~~

It did not pass in a day. Nor did it pass in two days. In fact, at four days, things were much worse than the preceding days.

Numerous times, he excused himself mid-service to cough violently in the bathroom. Whenever he surfaced, his eyes and nose were reddened, and his face pallid. The circles under his eyes darkened with every passing day. It came to the point where multiple members of the parish had asked him if he was alright, and nearly begged him to rest. One of these people had a rather… peculiar way of expressing their concern.

It was a new face. Sharp. Angular. Undoubtedly masculine but also possessed a delicate air of femininity. Red eyeliner highlighted calculated, discerning eyes and emphasized the long length of his eyelashes. Reddish-brown eyes locked with Sunday’s.

Ah. He must’ve been staring. Suppressing another cough, Sunday quickly averted his eyes. Trying to avoid the stranger’s intense gaze, Sunday began his sermon for the day.

The man did not depart with the rest of the churchgoers, when night fell. His dark hair stood out against the light oak pews and pale walls of the church. Suspicious as to why he was still present, and figuring it would be the opportune time to properly get acquainted, Sunday approached him with a smile.

Before he could speak, the man looked him up and down and stated, “It’s ill advised not to seek medical treatment for pneumonia.”

Sunday winced, caught off guard by such a… unique way of expressing concern(?)

“Ah, thank you for your concern, but it’s only a cold.” He quickly schooled his expression to a more pleasant one.

“Do you intend to go septic?” His tone was cold and judgmental. It was a tad unsettling, but more so incredibly irritating.

“I don’t believe we’ve met before,” Sunday began, rudely (but rightly so) derailing the topic of conversation. “Welcome to The Church of Harmony. My name’s Sunday.”

“Yes I heard you when you introduced yourself earlier,” he responded. While technically true, as Sunday introduced himself before every sermon, it was still a… choice of a response. The man then proceeded to take another thirty seconds to examine Sunday before finally introducing himself. “Veritas Ratio.”

Sunday kept that forced smile on his face. “Well, Veritas, it was a pleasure meeting you. I do hope to see you again.”

Veritas’ intense gaze lingered for an unusually long amount of time. “You as well,” he said.

Luckily for Sunday, that exchange seemed to be enough for Veritas to deem the conversation over, as he stood up and exited the building.

Though Sunday would be loath to admit that any member of his church made him uncomfortable, that man certainly left… quite the impression on him. Still, anyone who sought out the church had to be a good person, so Sunday tossed the feeling aside.

Anyone.

Anyone who sought out the church. They had to be a good person.

Anyone except—

Sunday grit his teeth. He could hardly go an hour without that godforsaken vampire popping into his mind. Without his singsong, silky voice whispering into his ear. Without the heat out an intimate memory slowing creeping to his—

Enough. Sunday took in a deep breath, and with his exhalation, expelled those invasive, unwelcome, incessant thoughts.

As he stepped towards the altar, he felt his body sway. With another step, his vision began to blur. He blinked. Veritas’ words must have gotten to him. It was just a cold, nothing more.

When he finally made it, he clutched the altar to stay steady on his feet. The world spun around him.

Regrettably, it seemed he would have to take the day off tomorrow. But that was for tomorrow. Tonight, at least, he could clean up after the churchgoers and prepare for the next day, that way Father didn’t have to…

His thoughts got away from him. A violent coughing fit overtook him and had him doubling over. Unable to catch himself, he fell to the floor with a loud thud.

He blinked, trying to make sense of the sequence of events that had just occurred. As soon as he processed it, his vision completely dimmed.

Ah. It seemed his break would start tonight, then.

~~~

For the second time in the week, Sunday woke up groggily, with only a fleeting recollection of what had happened the night before.

He blinked, looking up at the ceiling. It was his ceiling. He was in his bed. When did he return to his apartment?

There was something… warm next to him as well. Though that realization disturbed Sunday, his sickly body could only sit up slowly to view the source of the heat.

It was a dog. The thought of fur on his bed made his skin itch, but that was a much less concerning thought than the fact that there was a literal dog that had somehow managed to break into his apartment.

It was a large and lanky dog. Eighty pounds at least, with jet black, long, curly fur. It stared back at Sunday.

“E-easy…” Sunday cautioned. He certainly wasn’t scared of dogs, but he was scared of mystery home-invader dogs.

It blinked at him, then turned away and gave a quiet howl.

“Oh, he’s up?”

Sunday froze. He remembered that voice. He tried his best to get up but the sudden jolting made him dizzy, and he found himself laying back down with the dog atop him.

“Good morning, sunshine,” that dreaded voice sang, as the familiar man stepped into Sunday’s room. “I made breakfast,” he announced, presenting a plate to the Halovian.

Sunday sat up again. This time the dog allowed him to do so by shimmying off his chest. “Oh I don’t… eat eggs or meat,” Sunday said, feeling guilty instead of outraged that the vampire was making food in his kitchen.

“Ah. That would explain why you didn’t have any in your fridge,” Aventurine responded, slowly retracting the plate.

“That’s why I told you to just make oatmeal.”

Sunday nearly leapt out of his skin. Another familiar voice.

When he turned, the dog on top of him was instead replaced with a (handsome) nude man with dark hair and chiseled features. Veritas.

Sunday was at a loss. He was too tired to put up a fight, but also incredibly uncomfortable with a naked stranger laying on him.

“…Would you mind getting dressed?” Sunday asked. Veritas had, thus far, done nothing to offend him other than his rather blunt phrasing of words, so he’d keep a polite tone with him for now.

“Of course. One moment.” Shamelessly, Veritas removed himself from Sunday and got up from the bed. His muscular body was on full display, and Sunday somehow managed to keep his eyes above the waist. He would not be having sexual relations with any more vampires. He did not need to think about having sexual relations with any more vampires.

As Veritas grabbed his clothes, which had been folded on a chair, and changed into them, a thought popped into Sunday’s head.

“I thought vampires transformed into wolves,” he said.

Aventurine laughed. “No, that’s more of an old world vampire thing. Fresher ones tend to be more… domesticated.”

Veritas scoffed.

Based on Aventurine’s slightly condescending tone, Sunday speculated that Veritas was the “fresher” of the two.

“Learning to transform into a wolf would be a waste of valuable time. Besides that, a dog form is more suitable for fitting into modern society.”

“Sounds like something only a vampire that can’t turn into a wolf would say.”

“This is… semantics. Surely there are more important topics to be addressed.”

That was… true. There was a more pressing matter at hand. Why were these monsters in his apartment? Sunday sat up slowly, turning his body to—

“What. Is that,” Sunday asked, staring at his arm in horror. The horrible feeling of something poking into him—lightly tugging when he turned.

“Relax. It’s just an antibiotic drip.”

It was in his arm. A bag of fluid ran down a plastic line that connected to the IV catheter in his arm. In his arm. It was inside of him inside of him inside of h

Sunday’s hand darted to his arm to tear it out and—

“Stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Sunday paused. His breathing became panicked, his heart beating rapidly. “Take it out.”

Veritas raised an eyebrow at Sunday’s rather… interesting reaction, but seemed to respect how anxious the drip made him. “Very well. You should have received enough by now. Wait just a moment.”

The dark-haired vampire fussed with the cather for a second, disconnecting it from the line, then reached for a first aid that had been placed on Sunday’s bedside table and opened it. He removed a roll of adhesive bandage and pulled a strip off of it. He then handed a cotton ball to a slightly confused Sunday then quickly (yet carefully, thank God (though His name surely shouldn’t be used in the context of vampires) untaped the catheter.

Veritas guided Sunday’s cotton holding hand to his arm.

“Hold it here,” he instructed.

Sunday nodded slowly, doing as he was told.

The Halovian dry heaved at the sensation of the catheter finally being removed from his vein, but was able to obey Veritas and hold the cotton ball right atop the removal site.

“Good,” Veritas praised, flatly, now taking Sunday’s hand and holding it still.

Sunday was still wildly uncomfortable, but allowed the vampire to continue to touch him.

Veritas hummed as he used his free hand to wrap the bandage over Sunday’s arm, then gently pushed Sunday’s thumb off the cotton ball, and finished wrapping it.

Sunday blinked, letting his heart rate slow while his panic was slowly replaced with confusion. What the fuck had just happened… and how had they even managed to do that to him while he was asleep?

“I’m a doctor,” Veritas explained, as if reading his mind. (In reality, he was merely responding to the very obviously perplexed look on Sunday’s face.) “He is too, technically,” he added, making a sidelong glance at Aventurine. “Though you’d hardly want treatment from him. He hasn’t had his license renewed since the 1920’s.”

“Hey! Just because I can’t do open heart surgery doesn’t mean I can’t place a catheter!” Aventurine argued, huffing.

“Doctors didn’t even wash their hands when you went to school.”

“Why?” Sunday interrupted their bickering, finally working up the nerve to properly question them.

Veritas cocked his head. “Well, I am exaggerating a bit. But bacteria weren’t as understood as—“

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh,” Veritas deflated slightly, seemingly disappointed that he couldn’t continue his lecture.

“Why would a vampire have a medical degree?”

“Is that strange?” Veritas asked.

“Yes?” Sunday responded, slightly surprised by that answer. “It’s a bit odd that creatures who subsist by harming humans would have the desire to heal them.”

“It seems you grasp the reason quite well, then.”

“That…” made sense, in a way? If they saw humans as a renewable resource, then keeping them alive would be beneficial to them.

“That, and you run out of things to do when you’re alive for a millennia or two,” Aventurine commented.

A whole millennia? Oh heavens, Sunday was so absurdly outclassed right now. Yet… they were hardly pouncing on him like they could be. Sunday had expected them to attack him once he woke, and yet the two were here casually talking to Sunday while constantly making jabs at each other.

“Yes but… why would you care to help me, particularly?” Sunday had a hard time understanding why they seemed to be so fixated on him.

Veritas blinked, and was quiet for a moment, not expecting that question, apparently.

“Maybe he has a crus—“

“Because it’s the fault of someone in the room that you’re sick in the first place,” Veritas finally landed on, eager to interrupt whatever Aventurine had started to say.

“But why do you care?” Sunday repeated. “I wouldn’t have died. You could have left me to be discovered in the morning.”

“Common decency? What a stupid question,” Veritas responded, annoyed.

Sunday had a very difficult time wrapping his head around this. These vampires had no qualms with assaulting him in the middle of the night, but also seemed to regret, at least partially, the consequences of their actions. Well, one of their actions, at least.

“Besides, you would have been humiliated if you had to be hospitalized after insisting you weren’t ill, no?” Veritas questioned.

He had a point, but it wasn’t one he wanted to acknowledge. Sunday gradually tore his eyes from the very handsome and very frustratingly correct vampire, and looked at Aventurine.

The blonde looked much brighter than before. He still had those ominous, bright yet dead eyes, but all of his other features looked much… healthier than before. Upon reflection, he even looked taller than before. And if vampires could change forms, then…

“Can you change your appearance?”

“Well, clearly,” Aventurine answered, gesturing towards the other vampire in the room, who had, up until recently, been a dog.

“That’s not what I meant,” Sunday said, mild irritation in his voice. Surely he knew that wasn’t what he meant.

Aventurine smiled. “Ah, our little angel is so sharp, isn’t he?”

“So it’s not a problem if you reveal our abilities?” Veritas questioned, glaring at Aventurine.

“Don’t act like you didn’t already do that. You could have stayed a dog and that question wouldn’t have even popped into his head.”

“You–“

“Enough!” Sunday nearly shouted, growing increasingly irritated by the vampires’ side tangents. “Are you going to answer my question, or are you going to continue to bicker like petulant children?“

“I prefer the phrase ‘like an old married couple’, personally,” Aventurine commented, derailing the conversation.

Sunday took the bait, slightly curious. “You’re married?” The two vampires vaguely had the vibe of two people that resented each other, but any insults seemed just a bit too warm underneath. Them being lovers wasn’t necessarily surprising, but being married just seemed… strange.

“…No? Not legally, at least. It doesn’t really make sense when we have to play dead every century or two. Can’t do the whole church thing, either,” Aventurine explained.

“We did have a ceremony, though, once. When he finally expressed his feelings like a normal—“

“Yes, to answer your question,” Aventurine answered, cutting the other vampire off. “Unless we want to flee the country every average human lifespan, we have to change our appearance to avoid suspicion. We have to make ourselves age, too, which is annoying. It’s the first time in a while that we’ve used our real faces, though.”

“So that’s how you get away with terrorizing the same area for centuries at a time?”

Aventurine laughed. “Please, nowhere’s that nice that we’d hang around that long.”

“The ranch was nice, though.”

“The ranch was nice.”

“…Ranch?” Sunday asked, finding it way too easy to get swept along into whatever nonsense the two vampires decided to talk about.

“We tried to live a solitary existence, for a couple of centuries,” Veritas elaborated.

“His idea,” Aventurine commented.

“Yes, my idea. We lived on a ranch in the mountains, herding sheep.”

“How did you survive in isolation? Did you eat the—”

“We did not feed on the sheep,” Veritas quickly interrupted him. “The ranch was close to a trade route, so we had the occasional visitor. It wasn’t unpleasant company, to host them for a night and send them on their way in the morning. But of course, as humans are obsessed with colonizing any ounce of land they come across, those visitors became far too frequent, and people began moving in much, much closer. It was a shame when we had to leave. I do miss the sheep…” Veritas trailed off, dejected.

Sunday closed his eyes, taking a moment to consolidate all of this information.

Vampires could change their forms into that of animals. That, Sunday knew. The fact that their canine form could be anything other than a wolf, was new, though. In addition, they could change their appearance as humans. This was a discussed theory, in the circle of demon-hunting, but not known for a fact. Vampires were awfully good at covering their tracks. And yet… Veritas and Aventurine had just given up that information to him with little difficulty.

Veritas and Aventurine. Two vampires—lovers, living a mostly nomadic lifestyle together, and had been doing so for at least several hundred years. At the very least, it seemed like they avoided killing people, if their words were to be believed. Still, that didn’t make Sunday any less disturbed that the two seemed to have a particular obsession with him.

“Your… answer from before was unsatisfactory,” Sunday said, recalling their evasive responses.

“Oh?” Both Veritas and Aventurine uttered.

“When I asked earlier why you had helped me, I wasn’t asking why you would help someone. I wanted to know why it was me, specifically, you had a fixation on.” The casual atmosphere made him feel bolder, but that feeling was short-lived.

“Why?” Aventurine asked, smiling. “I told you before, didn’t I?” He sauntered over to the foot of the bed, sat down, and stared deep into Sunday’s eyes. Languidly, he changed his position, swiveling onto his knees then putting each of his hands down on opposite sides of Sunday. Sunday no longer wanted to hear his answer. “I’m…” The vampire creeped upwards, arms trailing up as Aventurine slowly brought his face closer and closer. “Utterly entranced…” His lips approached Sunday’s neck. A drop of drool hit his skin. “By you.”

Sunday’s hands flew to cover his neck. Aventurine threw his head back and laughed. “Oh relax angel, I’m not going to jump someone who nearly dropped dead hours ago.”

The Halovian let out a sigh of relief, but opted to keep his hands in place, at least for the moment.

“Besides, the antibiotics would make your blood taste gross anyways.”

Huh. There was a thought. If he wanted to avoid them in the future, perhaps he could just keep a bottle of antibiotics on hand. He knew that doctors warned against this, as it created resistant infections, but it was an idea nonetheless.

“Please refrain from giving him a heart attack. He’s still sick.”

“Oh come on, I’m sure you’re itching to dip your fangs into—“

“On the topic of antibiotics,” Veritas began, pulling a vial of pills out from the first aid kit. “Take one of these twice a day for seven days. Take them with food, or you’ll upset your stomach.”

“Uh…huh…” Sunday nodded. Well that was… easy. Veritas was literally giving Sunday a repellant he could use against them. He certainly wasn’t an unintelligent man, so was it possible that—

No. Sunday was only food to them. They were caring for him solely for the purpose of feeding on him again. They may not intend to kill him, but they seemed insistent on tormenting him all the same. He would find a way to rid himself of them once he was healthy. Maybe this time he would… regrettably… ask for Gallagher’s help. He’ll be pissed when he finds out Sunday actually fell ill, though. Whatever. A necessary loss to scare away these vampires.

“Always so thoughtful, my dear doctor,” Aventurine purred, still hovering over Sunday and face way too close to his ear.

“Are you quite done pestering me, then?” Sunday questioned, pushing Aventurine off of him.

Aventurine, though surprised by the attack, managed to only roll beside Sunday without falling off the bed. “And leave you all alone? So frail and ill and defenseless?”

“Yes,” Sunday responded, no longer willing to entertain the vampire’s whims.

“Oh, but how rude would it be of me, to leave my poor bedridden friend to fend for myself?”

“It’s rude to overstay your welcome.” How did they get in, anyway? Had Sunday muttered and given them permission while he was half conscious? “And this is hardly the first time I’ve had to weather a fever.”

“And yet you still managed to pass—“

“He’ll survive, stop bothering him now. Your stress-inducing presence will hinder his healing,” Veritas said, grabbing Aventurine’s wrist, then pulling him off of the bed and onto his feet.

“Always the buzzkill.”

“Someone has to keep you in line.”

“True, but don’t you prefer it when I keep you in line while we—“

Veritas coughed. “We’ll be going now. Take your medication and remember to complete the entire course.”

“Right,” Sunday responded, not letting his mind linger on whatever sexual innuendo Aventurine was trying to make.

“Alright, alright. Goodbye, angel. Don’t miss us too much!” Aventurine bowed, before turning and striding out the apartment, along with Veritas, who parted with a nod.

When he heard the door finally close, Sunday let out a massive sigh. What on earth was he doing? How the fuck did he end up here?

Now was not the time to dwell on such questions. Now was the time to listen to his body and give into the sleepiness that had slowly started to creep in. He needed to heal. Then, he could deal with the vampires.

~~~

Sunday shot awake when he heard someone pounding on his door. His heart started to race. Were they back already? Hadn’t they had enough of tormenting him? Did they not have other people to harass?

In his weakened state, Sunday had little desire to get out of bed. The noise was annoying, of course, but he wasn’t entirely sure he could actually stand up yet. Oh, he did need to eat, though. Unfortunate. Gritting his teeth, Sunday slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed and gradually got to his feet.

Using every wall he passed as support, Sunday eventually made it to the door, where the incessant knocking continued. He glanced through the peephole, and… didn’t exactly let out a sigh of relief, but was much more pleased with this outcome than that of the vampires.

“Gallagher,” Sunday weakly greeted, opening the door and nearly getting punched in the face.

“Birdie?!” Gallagher questioned, surprised for whatever reason. “Where are they? Are they still here?”

“They’re not—who are you talking about?” It was no use playing dumb, Sunday knew, but it was an instinctual response at this point.

“Sunday,” Gallagher’s voice dropped, concern morphing into anger.

“…They left a few hours ago, I believe. I fell asleep, so I’m not entirely sure.”

Gallagher let out a long sigh. “God, Sunday.”

“I didn’t let them in,” Sunday stated, before Gallagher had the chance to make accusations.

“No that’s not—I know. I just sm-sensed them outside and got worried they were fucking murdering you in here!”

“They don’t seem to have the desire to kill me.”

“Sunday… don’t tell me you trust them, right?”

“That’s…” Why the hell was he defending them? “No, of course not. It’s just an observation. They could have easily killed me if they wanted to, but didn’t.”

Gallagher bristled. “They could have… killed you,” he muttered to himself.

“Gallagher. It was a lapse in judgement, I know, but I need—“

“Didn’t I tell you to rest?” Gallagher questioned, raising his voice. “Do you want to die? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Gallagher—“

“How do you expect anyone to believe you’re fine when all you do is lie? Are you ever okay? Can I ever trust you to take care of yourself?”

“Gallagher—“

“How the fuck am I supposed to protect you if you can’t even ask for—“

“I need help.”

“You don’t ask for… you…” Gallagher trailed off. It took him a moment, but, upon processing Sunday’s concession, made several different faces—surprise, delight, before eventually landing on something warm. Supportive. It made Sunday’s heart skip a beat. “Yeah. I can do that.”

Chapter Text

Veritas Ratio always managed to remain just one step behind the vampire. The vampire, the beast that had been on a killing spree across the country for years now, leaving villages completely barren of life. News did not travel fast, making tracking it quite difficult. By the time a paper was printed the damage had already been done, and the creature was possibly already massacring another village. At some point, it became obvious Veritas would need to learn the pattern of its attacks. Once the vampire was spotted the village was already doomed, so it was imperative he arrived before the first sighting.

With a sigh, the geographer-turned vampire hunter retrieved the map he had drawn, and crossed out another village. The quill continued to drip dark black ink on the map as he stared at it. He didn’t care. He was stumped. How did the vampire choose its next target? Was it merely wandering, or was there a method to its madness? He pinched the ridge of his eyebrows and pondered. What did the reports have in common? What was different?

“Just make the girl do it!” a voice yelled from outside Veritas’ temporary dwelling.

“No! Father please!” a young, feminine voice cried back.

“Bah, what are you good for anyways?” A third voice. “Can’t get a husband, can’t do basic chores, can’t do jack shit!”

“I’ll do better! I’ll behave! I’ll-I’ll learn to sew better! I’ll learn to cook! I’ll–” the female voice suddenly let out a piercing screech, before going quiet.

“Ah, shit,” the first voice remarked. “Think it’ll care if she’s dead?”

“Eh, if it’s gonna kill her anyway we’re just saving it the trouble.”

The voices grew quieter as they passed the lodge, continuing to chat about the atrocity they had just committed and those they planned to act out in the future.

This village was located just a couple of miles from the town the vampire had most previously ravaged, so all the residents were on edge. Offering a sacrifice in an attempt to appease the monster was the only idea the villagers could come up with to protect themselves.

The sacrifices…

The poor young maiden who had just been murdered…

And all of the other sacrifices the towns before had offered…

Oh!

-

And this is how Veritas Ratio came to the following conclusion: the vampire simply did not like females. In every article he had read, in all of the letter correspondence, not once did any of the victimized towns offer a male sacrifice. Thus, as a man of science and a seeker of knowledge, there was only one logical choice of action: offer himself to the vampire.

The damage was already done here, the deceased young woman would be offered up to the beast and the villagers would be slaughtered as a result. Though he proposed this theory to the townsfolk and insisted they would die if they remained, none followed him to the next settlement. It was a shame. Such an unnecessary and tragic waste of life. He’d read of their slaughter a week later.

The citizens of the following village gave him disgusted looks when he explained his plan to them. They reluctantly agreed to house Veritas in their town’s shrine, where he would offer himself to the vampire, but still seemed… uncomfortable with the idea. It wasn’t hard to guess why. Most accounts depicted the creature as male, so the concept of another male stripping himself bare and exposing himself to another male was… repulsive, to say the least, to the villagers. He didn’t particularly care. That perception of his sexuality only meant that the men of the village now avoided him like the plague, allowing him to finish his preparation, while the women were overly curious, gossiping with him and providing him with valuable information.

When the fated night did eventually come, the villagers suddenly had no problem getting handsy with the scholar.

“This is wholly unnecessary,” Veritas commented as he was shoved to the ground.

“Cut the shit, you fucking fruit,” a man spat, pinning him to the ground as another man clambered for Veritas’ clothes.

The geographer rolled his eyes. It was an unpleasant experience, to say the least, but it was about what he anticipated. Still, the several punches they threw before stripping and binding him with ropes inside the shrine seemed a tad excessive. He took the beating without complaints, it was best to get it over with as soon as possible so he had more energy to deal with the vampire.

His hope was to survive, of course. What good was this experiment if it yielded no data? Surely, Veritas would coax some information from the creature and record it in his notes. He wanted to know everything about these creatures–did they truly need to kill in such mass quantities, or was it just bloodlust? Were they reanimated corpses? What were their weaknesses? Their strengths? It would… not be an exaggeration to say this had become a bit of an obsession for Veritas. He had been tracking the damn thing for years now after it had the lives of nearly half the villages in the country and he needed to know why.

“Oh, this is new~” a smooth, enchanting voice cooed. Veritas’ eyes shot in its direction, but the dark rendered his search impossible. His bindings made it difficult to prop himself up, but he managed. “A handsome man all bundled up just for me…”

The voice was like music to his ears, but Veritas resisted the urge to be taken in by it. Vampires had a strange power over humans–turning them into nothing but complacent livestock with just a few words.

“It seemed a deviation from the norm would be necessary to satisfy you,” Veritas replied, keeping his voice as steady as possible.

“Satisfy me?” it questioned.

“That was the plan–”

“Is that so?” A gentle chill of wind passed. “Do you truly think…”

Its voice was closer now. Veritas swallowed.

“...that you alone can satisfy me?”

Cold breath and the feeling of soft lips met his neck. It was a threat–a command: Veritas would have to please it with his answer, to entertain it, or its fangs would be in his flesh instantly.

“Perhaps not, but seeing as women were not to your liking, I hope to be at least slightly more enriching.”

“That…” The vampire paused. Then laughed. A loud, giddy, and human laugh. It didn’t sound sinister in the slightest, and that alone was unnerving. “Is that what you think this is about?” The laughing continued and the vampire’s teeth moved away from the scholar’s neck.

“...You’re giving me the impression I am incorrect in my conclusion.”

“Incredibly incorrect!” The laughing slowly quieted to giggling, and then to an amused sigh. He imagined the vampire was wiping a tear from his eye, crying from cackling.

“Do enlighten me, then.”

“You’re a funny little human, aren’t you?” it snickered.

“I wouldn’t quite say those are adjectives that accurately describe me, no,” Veritas responded to the likely rhetorical question.

“Mm… Makes you quite special then, huh?” It sounded like a tease, like the way a person spoke to their dog. “Alright, then. I’ll tell you. But you better keep up with me, okay? It would be such a waste of a good conversation if you dropped dead right after.”

“I believe that depends on you far more than me,” Veritas commented. Internally, he smirked. It sounded as though he had a chance to survive this, just as he had planned. He simply needed to keep the creature entertained.

The vampire chuckled. “Perhaps.” It was silent for a moment, as if deliberately building up anticipation towards the reveal of his motives. “It’s simple, really. I… hate sacrifices.”

“Oh,” Veritas uttered. That… certainly would have been the more feasible conclusion to come to than his own. He coughed, his face flushing as he attempted to compose himself. “With the information provided, I think my theory has the same amount of evidence as—“

“Veritas,” it spoke softly, its fingertips grazing his cheek. He didn’t pull away, but he did shiver. “Are you sure you’re not making up excuses just because you wanted to see me?”

Now, Veritas did snap his head away as his blush deepened. “Don’t flatter yourself. The accounts of your species were lacking in data, so I merely wished to gather some myself.” It was mostly the truth, but didn’t exactly mention Veritas’ obsession with encountering the vampire that grew with every failed chase. Every instance of being just a day too late… something burned in his chest… and it wasn’t anger.

“Stalking someone and trailing them across the country for years sounds like a bit more than mere reconnaissance, friend. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a crush on me.”

“Are you out of your—“

“A question then, since you’re so curious about me,” the vampire started, interrupting Veritas’ exclamation.

Veritas bit back the urge to chastise him—information was much more important than venting some fleeting irritation.

“What did I do to all those poor sacrifices?” it asked, its tone of amusement slipping into something more sinister.

“That question seems better suited for you,” Veritas replied.

“Oh, play along, won’t you?” He could hear the pout in its voice as it placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve read all those reports, surely you know at least that much.”

Veritas drew in a deep breath and sighed. Perhaps it would give him a proper answer if he participated in whatever game the vampire was playing. While its knowledge of both Veritas’ name and his habits this past year was unnerving and would most certainly need to be addressed later, this was not the time for that.

“They… disappeared,” Veritas recalled. In every town that the vampire had ravaged, despite the dozens to hundreds of bodies left behind, the corpses of the sacrifices were never found. Blood was rarely even present at the spots they’d been offered at.

“An objective statement, but it doesn’t quite answer my question.” The hand on his shoulder gripped him firmer, fingers curling into his skin.

Veritas clicked his tongue. No body, no blood, no survivor. “Unless I am missing another obvious conclusion again, then I can only assume you’ve relocated them.”

The hand jumped from his shoulder in order for the vampire to clap loudly, before it settled there once more. “Ah, correct this time! Good job.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“My entire existence is patronizing others, Veritas.”

Veritas held back a groan of frustration. “Do you plan on telling me more precisely what happened to them, or are you just going to continue to make poor attempts at jokes?”

“I could, but watching you squirm like this—trembling, but putting on a brave face, because the answer to that question would determine your fate, wouldn’t it?” Its fingers drummed across Veritas’ shoulder, chilling to the touch.

It was true. If it had brutally butchered and eaten the sacrifices, then that would likely be what Veritas was to endure. But if, for whatever reason, they were alive…

“It’s ill-mannered to play with your food,” Veritas said.

“Ah… it is, isn’t it? My mistake.”

There was a pause. A moment of deathly stillness and silence. So completely stagnant that Veritas nearly thought the vampire had departed. But it hadn’t.

A sudden gust of wind, a single, long, and rapid motion that split the ropes that bound Veritas, causing them to fall to the ground with a quiet thud. And then nothing once more. The vampire did not rush him, did not go for the kill, did not even speak.

“You… let them go?” Veritas asked, in disbelief.

“More or less.” Veritas could almost hear the shrug in its voice. “I kidnapped them, more accurately. Not all of them wanted to come with me, but if I left them behind… well, a living sacrifice is a failure of a sacrifice. And I’m well aware of how humans treat ‘failures’,” its voice grew solemn for a moment.

Veritas didn’t budge. He needed a moment to collect his thoughts. This hardly aligned with his preconceived notions of the vampire, but that was the fun in all of this, wasn’t it? Being proven wrong was a novel experience. However, this didn’t necessarily mean the vampire was a saint, either.

“Yet you would slaughter entire villages?”

“Why should people that subject their innocent and defenseless to a brutal death have any right to live? What is the worth of a human that would sacrifice their own child?”

The conviction in its voice was so moving that Veritas nearly found himself being swept away by it. “Nearly” being the key word. “Sacrifices they’ve chosen due to the hysteria you caused! The masses can hardly be blamed for their behavior when they fear for their lives!”

“That’s no excuse!” it growled.

“Of course it is! If they didn’t offer up another, they’d be the ones sacrificed, or they’d be responsible for the massacre of their own village!” Veritas argued, feeling more emboldened than he should in the face of a beast.

“Then they should die.” Its rage was palpable, and it held Veritas’ heart with a strangling freezing grip. “If you feared for your life would you strip a child naked and lay them bare before a monster that you suspect not only violently slaughters and eats its prey, but rapes them as well? Would you? Tell me.”

Veritas’ head buzzed with its last couple of words. He felt a need to spit out his answer immediately, but it wasn’t so simple. Yet every second he refrained from responding the buzzing grew louder, the hold on his heart tightening, phantom claws digging into his brain.

“I… cannot truly say what I’d do in such a situation,” Veritas admitted. The tension left his body once the words were uttered. The fear though, of course, was ever present.

“You…” It was furious now. His tone sent shivers down Veritas’ spine, and he found it increasingly harder to breathe.

Breathing only grew more difficult when the vampire shot a hand out to clench around Veritas’ neck. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” it demanded harshly. “You ‘can’t say’? Can’t say? Are you fucking stupid? You’re in that situation right now you fucking dumbass! You already sacrificed yourself in place of that woman!” With its words Veritas could feel the spraying of spit on his face. He flinched.

The vampire relented without any actual protest from Veritas. His voice grew quieter. “I can’t understand why you’d ever advocate for those vile, scum-of-the-Earth humans.”

“…I believe there’s value in every life.”

“Value,” it repeated resentfully. “What a loathsome concept. Entirely subjective, yet every war is fought on its basis.”

“You aren’t wrong, but…” Veritas knew he should be choosing his words carefully, that his survival was dependent on it, but allowing the vampire to continue to spit such pessimistic nonsense… “Where is the joy in a life where you treasure nothing? Not an object, an ideal, or a person? It’s aimless.”

It took the vampire a moment to speak again. “I’m surprised you can say such a thing after being stripped, assaulted, and offered up like a sacrificial lamb. I wonder what more it would take for you to give up such grandiose notions…”

Veritas stiffened.

“How many years would it take to break you down and strip away that naive exterior of yours?”

“Having hope is not the same as naivety.”

“If your ‘hope’ is something sickeningly cliche like ‘there’s good in every person!’ then yes, it most certainly is,” the vampire scoffed.

Technically speaking, goodness was entirely subjective, so it was entirely possible to find it in anyone, but to argue that would be… semantics.

“…You must have suffered a great amount of hardship to feel that way.”

A beat of silence, followed by a fit of mad laughter. “You—“ the vampire wheezed. “Ah… for a genius you’re awfully stupid, aren’t you?”

Indignation bubbled up in Veritas’ chest. “How dare you!”

A half-hearted chuckle. “Scamper on home, scholar. You’re too kind for this place.”

Veritas grit his teeth, that bitter feeling unsubsiding. “My home is wherever my research takes me.”

His “home” did not truly exist, for those at “home” no longer lived. His entire village was ravaged by an outbreak of tuberculosis that had killed nearly all of its residents. Veritas was away studying at that time. A blessing, in a way, to have been spared such a fate, but it brought pain all the same. He was ignorant while his family suffered an agonizing fate. When he returned, he watched as their bodies were wheeled out of town, haphazardly tossed upon a pile of other diseased corpses. He didn’t bother to go “home” after that.

“Haven’t you satisfied your curiosity already? I’ve answered all your questions.”

“You’ve answered only a fraction of them.”

“How cute. Is this your way of saying you want to travel with me, then?”

“Yes.”

Perhaps it wasn’t expecting this answer, because there was a beat of silence before it commanded, in a flat tone, “Look at me.”

It was a compulsion, so Veritas had no choice but to comply, though he would have done so regardless.

Veritas stared into the darkness, in the direction of the voice, unblinking as he could feel the gaze of the vampire on his face. His eyes began to water slightly before the order finally seemed to wear off, and he could blink away the tears.

“What an interesting human,” it commented. “I think we can have some fun together.”

And in a flash, the shrine was illuminated. Veritas’ vision was blinded by the sudden blast of light, but after a few seconds he was able to adjust and view the room he had been offered as a sacrifice in.

Veritas could see that all of the surrounding candles in the room were lit, but that was significantly less important than the sight directly in front of him: the most beautiful man he had ever seen in his life.

His appearance was youthful, but his eyes had an emptiness to them, a darkness that only came with centuries of existence—centuries of pain, loneliness, and death. Yet at the same time, he was bright and alluring. His eyes swirled with hypnotizing hues of cyan and magenta, and his blonde hair shimmered like gold in the candlelight. He was… short, too. Not terribly so, but it added a certain… cuteness to him.

When his silence and mesmerized stare was met with a knowing, mischievous smile, and the vampire asking, “Smitten already?” Veritas could only respond with a highly intelligent:

“Ah.”

His body was covered by black cloaks, likely to help conceal himself at night, but Veritas had no doubt that the body underneath would be just as stunning as his face.

“Come on, weren’t you talking all big before about being able to satisfy me as much as an entire village would?”

For a brief moment, Veritas did not release it was his hunger the vampire was talking about satisfying. It made little difference, really.

“That-that’s correct,” Veritas confirmed. He made the attempt to stand up, so that he was not kneeling naked before the vampire, but was stopped by a hand on each of his shoulders holding him still with inhuman strength. The vampire then, too, kneeled down before Veritas, smiling.

“I wouldn’t hold it against you if you decided to back out now,” he spoke softly.

“I won’t,” Veritas responded confidently, regaining his composure despite their close proximity.

“Are you sure?”

“Are you trying to dissuade me?”

The vampire chuckled distantly. “Trying to dissuade myself, really.”

Before Veritas could ask why he would want such a thing, the blonde leaned in and buried his nose in the flesh of Veritas’ neck, taking in a long sniff. “I fear I won’t be able to stop myself once I start.”

“…Then don’t. Do as you must.”

“Oh Veritas…” the vampire breathed. He laid his lips on Veritas’ skin and sucked gently. “You must be out of your mind.”

A pleasant shiver ran down Veritas’ spine. He gasped softly. “No more than you.”

“Hm… I don’t knooow,” the blonde began, playfully. “Don’t you think it’s just a little insane to hunt down an evil monster for years, offer yourself up to them on a silver platter, refuse to escape when they allow you to, and then get hard after they just told you they might accidentally kill you?”

“I’m not—“ Veritas’ gaze flickered down for a second, remembering he was, in fact, entirely nude. “A-ahem. I didn’t claim to have been driven by anything but irrationality. And… though I don’t condone your actions I’d hardly call you evil.”

The suction on Veritas’ neck turned into a series of chaste kisses. “You’re pretty cute for a grown man.”

“I don’t appreciate the condescension,” Veritas murmured, despite the heat rising in his cheeks.

“A shame. You’ll have to get used to it.”

“I refuse.”

“Oh? Playing hard to get all of a sudden?” the vampire snickered. “You know, I’m quite fond of prey that fights back…”

Veritas felt just the slightest nip on his neck, which caused him to shudder. So close, he was so close…

“But…” Suddenly, Veritas’ chest was shoved, causing him to fully crash with his back to the ground. The vampire sat on top of him now, grinning. “I think I like prey that sits still for me much more. Prey that strips himself bare—“

“I did not do this to myself—“

“—and offers himself to me. Prey that begs to be eaten.”

Though Veritas was fairly certain the vampire had no trouble seeing how pink his face was in the dark, he felt significantly more bashful now that the room was illuminated. “I will not be begging you to bite me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh I’m not asking. I’m telling you to.” A lazy smile, and an index finger slowly running up and down Veritas’ neck.

Already Veritas missed the contact of the vampire’s lips on his skin, but that didn’t mean he was just about throw what remained of his pride out the door—

“Go on. Beg.”

“Please,” Veritas breathed, before his mind could even process it. His body tingled faintly with the comforting warmth of submission. But still, he hadn’t meant to say that. He had to get another word in before—

“Again.”

“Please… please…” he panted. The heat intensified, spreading to his brain where it smothered his thoughts.

“Good…” the blonde purred. “Now again, with my name.”

His name? He hadn’t told Veritas his name. How was he supposed to—

“Please, Aventurine, please…” Veritas couldn’t comprehend how the vampire’s name seemed to just manifest in his mind, but his own ability to conjure thoughts was fading with every command he obeyed.

“Hah… fuck, you have no idea what you’re doing to me…” Aventurine leaned down, pressing his chest against Veritas’. “I wonder what would happen if I had you obey compulsion after compulsion… Would your adorable little mind just melt with pleasure?”

“I…” His brain really was melting. He could hear Aventurine’s words, but forming his own was…

“But we wouldn’t want that, would we? Now, just one more time, Veritas.”

It wasn’t a compulsion this time, but his response was just as immediate. “Please, Aventurine.” Frankly, he was just about ready to beg and plead before the commands, but now, with his inhibitions entirely erased, there was nothing to hold him back. Pride be damned, he had none left. He had nothing left, no family and no home other than the various villages that allowed him residency because he was wellkept and intelligent—which made them jump to the conclusion he was wealthy and would share said wealth with them. So damn it all, he wanted this vampire, and he would have him at any cost.

“Hah… what an obedient little human…” Aventurine breathed. Veritas could feel the tips of the vampire’s fangs just barely grazing his neck. “I’m never going to let you go now. You understand that?”

“I am…” his brain tried to supply any words less enthusiastic than “completely ecstatic about”. “… amendable to that.”

Without further confirmation of the finality of this decision, a sharp pain dug into Veritas’ flesh. The geographer winced. It hurt no more than a pinprick, but legends have given him a different, less painful expectation of how—Ah. There it was.

Veritas’ eyes grew hazy, a wave of heat surging from his neck to the rest of his body. That was more in line with rumor. Those that had survived an encounter with the vampire described a certain pleasurable sensation that came with the vampire’s bite. And now Veritas could place a word to that sensation. Arousal. Heady, insurmountable arousal.

And the feeling continued to grow and spread, long past necessity. Aventurine wasn’t feeding to satisfy his hunger anymore, it was purely to satisfy his lust. Veritas felt Aventurine’s penis harden as the vampire lay atop him. If it were any more possible, Veritas’ erection must’ve grown harder as well. The sensation was utterly orgasmic.

“Ven… venturine…” Veritas had no reason for calling out the blonde’s name, it simply felt natural to do so. To speak in reverence the name of the ages old entity gifting him with eternal bliss. His thoughts swirled and blended until his mind had dulled just as much as his eyes. Spots clouded his vision. Declarations of devotion and worship spilled from his mouth without his conscious input. Aventurine, his mouth full of Veritas’ blood, could not respond to these words, but could only grin in sinister delight as the praise reached his ears.

And then something started to change. An ache beyond the yearning to be devoured. Something urgent. Something painful. Veritas whimpered. His eyes weren’t closed but his vision had become entirely obscured. But that wasn’t what concerned him. That ache. It blossomed into a throbbing need that pulsated throughout his entire being. Need. Need.

Hearing how his sounds of pleasure had morphed to distress, Aventurine finally pulled away, licking his lips as he did so.

“Oh, you are so far gone, aren’t you?” Aventurine asked, voice full of condescending endearment.

“I…I need…”

“Go on. Take what you need, my precious darling thrall.”

Veritas lunged despite his weakness. Quickly, he changed their positions, slamming Aventurine onto his back and eliciting an “oof” from the vampire. Then, just as that aching hunger demanded, Veritas gnashed down on the junction between Aventurine’s neck and shoulders. Flesh, tendon and muscle tore, and blood splattered across the room and all over their bodies.

“So… needy. Hah…”

The ache was not satisfied by the mere consumption of a small chunk of viscera. It demanded more. His tongue plucked at muscle fibers, enjoying the taste of blood that ran across them. Veritas fell into a trance this way, biting at flesh and lapping at blood until his senses returned and his heart started again. …His what?

Suddenly, everything was so much louder. Every sense came more intensely. Odors overpowering. Even the sights his eyes were taking in seemed just too much.

“What…what is…”

His own voice echoed inside of his head and rang. Loud. Painful.

“Oh,” Aventurine’s voice came in a deafening, soft whisper. “It’s been so long I forgot that’s what it’s like.”

His words were hardly even audible with the way they violently pounded against his eardrums. Anxiety gripped his chest. Panic. Was this what life was now? Or was he dying? Perhaps he was technically dead already, and was fated to exist in a perpetual state of overwhelm.

A strangled sob escaped his throat. Fear. Pain. The erection remained though, creating a unique feeling of humiliation.

“Veritas…” It was loud, still, but pained him ever so slightly less. “Close your eyes.”

He obeyed. His body was taking in so much stimuli that he didn’t have the capacity to do otherwise.

“There. Good boy.”

The praise seeped into Veritas’ being like saccharine ooze.

“Now… just focus on me.”

It wasn’t merely just a selfish attempt to hog Veritas’ full attention, the scholar quickly realized. For when he focused all of his senses on Aventurine everything slowly came to a harmless clarity.

Aventurine’s heartbeat. His pulse. Veritas could hear it. And his warmth… Even where they didn’t touch it seemed to radiate from the vampire—enough so that Veritas wondered if he’d be able to draw Aventurine’s body shape with his eyes closed.

And those weren’t the only senses that were heightened. His taste… Aventurine’s blood was like ambrosia. It trickled now at a snail's pace from a freshly healed wound. The hole was merely coin-sized now, but it bled all the same. Could Aventurine control his body’s healing? Was he keeping it partially at bay so Veritas could indulge in the orgasmic and delicious fluid that dripped from his body?

Oh, but who cared about that right now? Those were questions for a more sober Veritas Ratio. For now… he simply wanted to indulge himself. He let out a shuttery breath, then began to suck Aventurine’s blood once more. His fangs (which should have been a frightening new discovery, but again, for sober Veritas) dug into the blonde’s flesh, tearing open a fresh wound from which to feast.

“Oh? Getting greedy now, aren’t you?” His voice was like velvet now. Smooth. Calming.

“Mm,” Veritas mumbled into Aventurine’s skin. “Your fault.”

“Really? I remember warning you quite well.”

Veritas grinded down, his bare erection against Aventurine’s clothed one. He was vaguely aware of his desire to take this further, to fully penetrate Aventurine, but his lust for blood was more demanding. Visceral.

“My… master…”

Aventurine grimaced. An expression Veritas wouldn’t see. “You don’t… really need to call me that.”

“I want to,” Veritas admitted, stopping his ravenous onslaught to kiss the wound he had inflicted upon his lover. “It… pleases a deep part of me.”

“That…” Aventurine paused, before letting out a hum in concession. “Well then, who am I to argue with that?”

The flavor of Aventurine’s blood was now indescribable. Its taste was beyond words—beyond comprehension. It satisfied a new need that Veritas had never felt before. That gnawing hunger that had done nothing but pain him slowly started to ebb and wane. Aventurine’s blood was exactly what his body needed and now nothing would ever sate Veritas the same way. The dark-haired man moaned.

Cheekily, Aventurine thrusted upward, with a smile on his face. Veritas only realized just then that he had opened his eyes and no longer felt overwhelmed by the sight. “It’s that good, huh?”

Veritas ignored his master’s questions, instead simply matching the newly aggressive energy of Aventurine’s hip rolls.

“Come on, tell me. I’m in the mood for a compliment.”

Whether Veritas muttered “it’s good” or “fuck you” into Aventurine’s skin would forever remain a mystery.

Regardless of his potential defiance, Veritas allowed his mind to turn to mush once again as he was flooded now with only positive feeling. His vision filled with only the ethereal vision of Aventurine’s sweat-covered, smiling face. His taste occupied only by his master’s delectable blood. And now, even his ears heard only the faint noises of their combined grunts and whines. It was then, only when Veritas had fully immersed himself in these sensations that he calmly, embarrassingly, came across Aventurine’s chest, and onto his face. (Aventurine came too, of course, but his load was not as humiliatingly large and messy as the fledgling vampire’s.)

“...Ah,” Veritas uttered, finally pulling away from Aventurine’s neck to fully observe the unfortunate consequences of his cock’s actions. “Apologies.”

“Oh, don’t apologize.” When Aventurine’s smile extended to utter devilishness, Veritas nearly smacked him to stop him from what he was sure to do next. Alas, he was unable to stop the erection-inducing yet equally mortifying action of Aventurine licking Veritas’ ejaculate from his lips. “Thank you for seconds.”

“...Dear God, please refrain from saying that ever again.”

“No promises.” Aforementioned devilish smile softened. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Hm,” Veritas mused, sitting up. He attempted to ignore the feeling of sticky cum on his groin, but such a feat was impossible. “Not…. entirely.”

Unfortunately, his senses were once again on high alert. Even the sound of the crickets chirping outside was giving him a headache, and just the faint light of the candle-lit room was giving him a headache.

“Right…” Aventurine frowned for a second, before donning a more neutral, perhaps somewhat solemn expression. “Sorry. It’s been a… long time since I was turned. If I had remembered that then I would have been–well no, I wouldn’t have been more gentle. Would have warned you better, maybe.”

Veritas chuckled weakly. “I think you warned me plenty.”

Aventurine huffed. “Well clearly I didn’t do a good enough job.”

“I suppose that would be true, based on the results of our actions, but I’m certainly not blameless either.”

“Hm… No, you’re not. Maybe I can pretend this is all your fault, then.”

“If it pleases you.”

“Oh you’ve already pleased me plenty.”

Both the crudeness of Aventurine’s humor and the sudden shrill sound of an animal wailing in the distance caused Veritas to flinch. He felt utterly exhausted and overwhelmed. The sudden desire to nap slowly washed over him, taking him deeper… deeper…

Veritas was jolted awake by the cool touch of Aventurine’s fingers. Before he could open his eyes or complain about his sleep being interrupted, he was promptly hoisted up and tossed over Aventurine’s shoulder like a bag of grain. The display of effortless strength may have made Veritas’ dick twitch a little, but he was still annoyed by the interference.

“What are you doing?”

“Carrying you.”

“That much is obvious. Why are you carrying me?”

“So we can leave, obviously. Wouldn’t want anyone walking in and stumbling upon your handsome nude body.”

“I can walk on my own.”

“Do you really want to, though?”

Veritas opened his mouth to disagree, but paused. He was tired, after all… “...No.”

“Great! Let’s get going, then.”

This, Veritas was in agreement with, however–

“What about the men stationed out—“

“We won’t have to worry about them. Oh, you should probably close your eyes when we step outside, actually.”

Veritas sighed. The way Aventurine worded it made his slaying of the villagers sound comical but the reality was anything but. A small, trace amount of fear wiggled its way into the geographer’s chest. “...That was unnecessary.”

A dark chuckle only made Veritas’ heart sink further. “You’re so young and innocent still. It’s quite cute.”

The concept that time would warp even Veritas’ strong moral compass to depravity made that small trickle of fear erupt into a deep puddle of oozing terror. Of course, it made sense that with time one’s humanity would erode, and with that, their ethics, but such a thing happening to himself? No. Veritas refused to let such a thing happen. And perhaps… he could steer Aventurine in the right direction along the way.

“Thinking you wouldn’t do the same?” Aventurine asked, pulling Veritas from his thoughts and causing the dark-haired man to jolt.

“No… not quite. I believe we already had that conversation.”

“Mm, we did, didn’t we? I don’t suppose you’ll let me in on the just and righteous thoughts you’re cooking up then, will you?”

“No. You’ll have to refrain from killing the next few people that annoy you.”

Aventurine bristled slightly. “I don’t just kill people who annoy me.”

“...Right. Poor phrasing. Certainly you know what I mean, though.”

Veritas couldn’t see him, but he was fairly certain Aventurine rolled his eyes at that. “Yeah, yeah.”

Veritas felt a small amount of pride and pleasure at getting under the vampire's skin, but he wouldn’t verbally express that. What he did verbally express, however, was his displeasure and confusement when Aventurine stepped out of the shrine and began to walk straight into the woods.

“Where do you think you’re taking me?”

“Away?”

“While I’m still in a state of undress? Absolutely not. Return me to my lodgings at once.” Well, former lodgings, that was. Veritas doubted the villagers would be willing to let a newly turned vampire (or any vampire, for that matter) stay in their town.

“So you’d prefer to be seen naked in public than in private. Noted.”

“You know very well what I meant. Now take me back.”

“Back where?”

“Aventurine,” Veritas growled, growing sick of both Aventurine’s feigned obliviousness, and of the fresh overstimulating feeling of wind against his bare skin.

“Fine, fine. Such a downer…” Aventurine sighed dramatically, but did finally turn on his heels and head back into town.

As expected, the village was deathly quiet. Everyone was boarded up in their homes, doors locked and shutters tightly shut. Such mechanisms would not stop a raging vampire, they had to know, but the illusion of security must have provided them with some semblance of comfort.

It took only a moment of… some sort of incomprehensible method of movement before they reached Veritas’ former lodgings. (Veritas would later learn this was an ability of vampires–to dissipate into mist with varying degrees of density. How a mass of water particles could carry a man well over two meters and ninety kilograms was still beyond Veritas, but it seemed much of a vampire’s skills would always be beyond the realm of understanding.) Before Veritas could even think to ask, “what the fuck,” Aventurine had them inside with the door shut behind them.

“There we go. Now go collect your earthly possessions.”

“Calling basic clothing an ‘earthly possession’ is much of a stretch.”

Gingerly, Aventurine set Veritas down on his feet. The geographer’s knees wobbled with the instability that came with suddenly dying then gaining strength beyond mortal comprehension. Luckily, he was able to keep his pride intact and stabilize himself before Aventurine had the chance to offer assistance. He stood still for a solid sixty seconds before finally taking a step towards the wardrobe he had been provided and opening it.

One shirt and one pair of pants stared back at him. As a traveler, Veritas needed to pack light and as such, he hardly ever carried more than two outfits at a time. He was regretting this now, as the remaining outfit was a bit… old and battered. Oh well, he’d find something finer later.

After pulling on the pants and buttoning up his blouse Veritas turned and froze. Aventurine had, in his hands, the diary in which Veritas had been logging his discoveries for the past several years. There were scant scandalous details included in the text, that was not what Veritas was concerned about. What he was concerned about, however, was that fact that those very same hands also held a round ball of flames that were eating away at the diary’s pages.

Rage bubbled up in Veritas’ chest. How dare he? How dare he destroy something so important so trivially?

The anger boiled over, Veritas stormed over to Aventurine and in his trachea brewed the most guttural, loudest—

“Shush.”

The wind was ripped from Veritas sails, and the wrathful cry that had been brewing inside of Veritas turned into an anguished, quiet exhale.

“…Why?” Veritas finally asked, watching as his journal was reduced to nothing more than ash.

“Why? Well I don’t know about you but I’d rather not have the entire town storm in here after hearing random screaming.”

Veritas remained silent. This was clearly not what he was asking about. Clearly his scream would have set off the town, but he didn’t care about that.

“Oh, this?” Aventurine asked, cocking his head as he allowed the ashes of Veritas’ life’s work spill between his fingers. “You’re a vampire now. It’s probably best you don’t carry around a ‘vampire strengths and weaknesses’ book that any random civilian could snatch. Not that they’d necessarily know how to read it, but…”

Veritas was no longer listening. His life’s work. His family was gone, his home was gone, and now even the records of his obsession on the one topic that kept him alive… burned away. Ash like that pit of disease-ridden corpses. Years. That journal documented years and years of his life. Veritas’ entire existence had been lost to flames, now.

“Besides, a lot of this information is incorrect, actually. For example, when vampires have sex, they don’t—oh.”

Aventurine and Veritas locked eyes. It took Veritas a moment to realize why Aventurine had kept staring. Veritas Ratio, a grown man, was crying. He tried to blink away the tears, but they were quickly replaced in double.

“Fuck, I…” Aventurine’s face ran through a variety of expressions, before landing on one of contemplation and delicacy. “Sorry. This meant a lot to you, didn’t it? You spent about… what, a fourth of your lifespan on this?”

Veritas slowly nodded, glancing to the side so he no longer had to endure Aventurine’s stare.

“The value of… ‘things’ has been lost on me over the years. I don’t think there’s been much of anything I’ve truly valued in thousands of years. Ah, that is, until now, of course.” Aventurine winked.

The urge to strangle the blonde finally halted Veritas’ tears. Good thing, too, Veritas had nearly started to pity the man—and worse still, nearly let him win an argument.

“While your reasoning isn’t… entirely unsound it is inherently flawed. Do you not think I could simply… hide the book?”

“It seemed too big a risk to take.”

“Aventurine, you…” Veritas’ expression cracked into a chuckle. And then another.

“What?”

“How out of touch are you with human society?”

“…Why do you ask?”

“Did you know that over half of my findings have already been published in countless newspapers?”

“...Ah,” the blonde uttered.

Aventurine’s silence and rapid blinking was unnerving, to say the least. It must have stretched on for minutes, before Veritas dared to break the silence.

“Though, as you previously stated, not all of my hypothesis were accurate, so it’s likely that–”

“Three of the four methods you listed as to how to kill a vampire were correct,” Aventurine stated, a cool anger rising in his voice.

“Ah,” uttered Veritas, this time.

Aventurine let out a low hiss, then a quiet chuckle. It seemed the noise was enough to expel the rage from his body, for the chuckling quickly escalated to laughter. “What a peculiar little thing, you are. Why bother deducing vampire slaying methods when you had no plans to kill me?”

“For the sake of knowledge. To… sate my curiosity.”

“And to make things more difficult for me?”

“Perhaps I had some intention of scaring you in hopes it’d make it easier to find you. It did not.”

“No, it didn’t. Sorry for playing hard to get when you seemed intent on murdering me.”

Is that how it seemed? That made sense objectively, Veritas supposed, but he assumed he mostly came across as a curious scholar rather than a bloodthirsty killer. That deduction was also incorrect, apparently.

“My apologies,” Veritas said, mostly insincerely. He was still mad about the book, after all.

“Mine as well,” Aventurine responded in turn, significantly more sincerity in his voice, which made Veritas feel just a bit guilty. “There will be… many more moments like this, in the future.”

Veritas cocked his head. “What do you mean by that?”

“Your humanity is much more intact than my own. You are… drawn to humanity in a way I am not. I no longer ‘get’ humans so their morals and emotions are… beyond me at this point.”

The geographer vampire sighed with endearment. “Then it’ll be my job to reteach you how to be human, then.”

“And what exactly do you get out of that arrangement? It sounds awfully one-sided.”

“You.” Veritas said before his brain could stop him. He coughed. “Your… company. A way of learning much more about your–ah, our–kind.”

Aventurine laughed. “Sure, whatever you say, my dear thrall. It’s a deal, then.”

His words stirred a strange, bubbly feeling in Veritas’ thorax, but he nodded regardless. “It’s a deal.”

“Great!” Aventurine clapped. “You’re dressed now, so let’s get going.”

“Tsk,” Veritas clicked his tongue. “At least allow me to collect a few things, first.”

“You collected your clothes.”

“Your impatience is getting on my nerves.”

“Good.”

Veritas huffed, and walked over to the table where he had been working these past weeks. Papers with quickly drawn maps were strewn about. There were a few sketches of Aventurine based on accounts by survivors, but they were embarrassingly off so Veritas crumpled them before the vampire had a chance to peek. But none of those were what he was looking for. His maps could be left behind, perhaps they’d be of use to the townspeople. And the sketches, well… maybe those would throw the villagers off Aventurine’s (and his own) trail.

Luckily, the item Veritas was looking for quickly appeared in his field of vision. An old, battered compass he had kept with him throughout his journeys. It had been a gift from a teacher long dead now. A send off gift, given to Veritas when he had decided on journeying the continents.

“Very well. I’m ready,” Veritas finally decided, looking back on everything he’d be leaving behind. The last evidence of his existence, save for his tattered rags strewn across the temple. The last evidence of his humanity, holed up right in this small house. It was as if stepping away from all of this meant accepting he was walking away from his humanity as well. Ah, well, he had done that already, hadn’t he?

“Wonderful! Tally-ho then, or whatever it is they say in England.”

“…Do they actually say that?”

“Don’t remember, honestly. It’s been a few decades.”

Veritas sighed. “Can we get going already?”

“Fine, fine. Shall we?” Aventurine asked, holding out an ashy hand.

Veritas would’ve rejected the gesture if his knees did not feel like gelatin, but alas that was not the case. Thus, Veritas made the mistake of taking Aventurine’s hand, and subsequently ending up thrown up and over Aventurine’s shoulder once again.

“Do you have some sort of complex about your physical strength that you feel the need to exercise it at every opportunity?” Veritas questioned, his upside-down head surprisingly not causing any dizziness.

“…Maybe? Haven’t thought about it much. I didn’t expect to be psychoanalyzed so much tonight.”

“You should, really. You’re quite a lot to dissect.”

Aventurine laughed. “I am, aren’t I? Well, there will be plenty of time for that later. You should take a moment to rest. I’ll get us out of here.”

Veritas let out a skeptical hum, but conceded with a “fine” before closing his eyes. Hopefully, Aventurine would refrain from getting into more confrontations while he was carrying Veritas’ unconscious body. And, if Veritas could hope further, perhaps the vampire could withhold on killing anyone, too.

…Oh well. This evening had been quite the ordeal, and Veritas really wanted a simple rest. Oddly, as he drifted off to sleep, he had a confident feeling that as long as they stayed together… things would work out okay.