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Shadows cascaded through the corridor. The priest knew. Of course he did. He always knew those shadows belonged to not the moon, but the vampire that haunted his dreams.
It wasn’t a noise at first when they met, but low rumbling. Like the holy earth wasn’t meant to understand his words. The great Divine parted the barrier between heaven and hell.
It wasn’t English spoken, but Latin. Some parts broken Transylvanian.
“Priest, who’s heavily bonded to the gods above, it has been many years since I’ve feasted. Open your doors and invite me in” the vampire had sneered. The priest knew it wouldn’t be wise, he was no fool.
“Begone! Go back to hell where you came from!” Father was no fool. He had yelled so many times for the vampire to go back, cross held high. Yelled to leave. To vanish back into the night.
Father was no fool. So he thought, But he was foolish indeed. One day, sweeping the cathedral corridors and pews, the shadows enveloped the room. Not once did the priest decide to look up. He knew. He always knew.
“Vampire” he acknowledged with a hum and the small upward curve of his lips.
“Father. Care to open the doors yet?” The vampire raised one thin eyebrow.
“It’s been three years. Those doors will not open for you. And even if they did, you can not step inside” careful, for if the words were said in playfulness, they still hold power. They both knew that. The priest was not going to budge. No matter how much the vampire has grown over the last three years. No matter how dark his eyes got. Or how sharp his nails seemed to grow. The paleness frightening the birds and the squirrels from their trees nearby.
That did not matter to the priest though. He learned to accept that the vampire would be near. That he’d lurk around the cathedral as dusk slipped into its dark dress. Never in the sunlight, but still, those eyes followed anytime of day.
The vampire tsked. A smirk growing on his pale face. “Yes. Three years. I’m sure I can wait a hundred more , but one day, whether today, whether tomorrow, whether many moons have passed , you will let me come in.”
Clouds dissipated from the sky, moonlight cascading through the stained glass. Red painted over the floor, onto the priest, marking him as some holy prey.
The priest knew. He always knew right from the beginning. Sin would corrupt him. He so badly wanted to tempt the vampire. But he mustn’t. He really mustn’t.
“Begone, vampire. I have no will for our back and forth tonight.” The priest sighed. He put his broom away, the shadows followed.
Intrigued, the priest moved to sit on the steps of the pulpit. He watched as the shadows moved along the windows. Kicking off his shoes, the priest loosened his collar, setting it next to him when it came undone. He pried one button from his shirt, then tipped his head back.
“What say, father, would get you to let me in? Riches?” The vampire peered through the window, hair softly falling around him. Long and dark against his fare complexion. The priest only shook his head.
“How about fame? To be known across the land as the most renowned priest?” Again, the priest shook his head. Eyes closed and chin tiled to the roof. Splayed back on his arms and feet out in front of him. The red from the stained glass windows colored his skin. Licking his lips, the vampire moved from one window to another. Then right back to his original. None unlocked, none a better view.
“How about love? To be loved truly and deeply? Be given what love you give, and keep it for all eternity? To be loved by the most beautiful woman in the land?” The vampire coaxed softly. But even soft, it did yet echo around the cathedral. Low and vibratious. The priest shivered. He was lonely. Sure, most took a vow of celibacy. He had been given the option.
One he declined. For women did not tempt him. A sin he would never commit. Thinking for a moment, the priest replied,” no women can tempt me. Nor fame or riches. Love, and lose of loneliness sure. But no woman indeed. You try to hard vampire. Begone and farewell”.
All the vampire did was stare. Unblinking, bound to that window. Pressing his body further into it, nails tapping against the glass.
“No woman? Then, father, how about a man? For he is greater sin, yet not of unjust virtue.” Licking his lips, eyes like a cat.
The priest has thought of other men. The sin laying heavy on his shoulders. He would not indulge with a body, nor confess to the thought. He would, however, late at night when he went home, strip and lay bare in bed. Hands wondering without fully touching. Afraid to taint the purity his hands held.
But maybe, just maybe, as this strange creature of the dark tempted him to sin, it was time to finally let curiosity kill the cat.
Wordlessly, the priest shifted on the floor, pants unzipping, falling from his hips to his thighs, exposing the bulge which lay beneath his white boxers. The vampire hissed out a groan, not phasing the priest. He laid back on the floor, hands hovering just above the hem of his boxers.
Sin
Sin
Sin
That’s all that was drilled into him from the age of 2. Sin was tempting. Sin was everything. Yet, if sin felt so good, why was it so wrong?
“My my, father. “ the vampire tsked. “I believe temptation has won. Give in to your desire, and have a taste of what freedom feels like”
Hesitantly and slow, the priest brought his palm to his boxers. Gently testing the waters, aware of the dark eyes settled on his being. Gasping at the sparks sent through his fingers.
The vampire moved from one window to another, then another. Back and forth. Trying to find the perfect angle to watch.
“Father, let me in. I can help make it feel heavenly.” The vampire coaxed once again.
Not a word was said as the priest tugged his pants off, his boxers next. Shirt pulled up to show tan skin and pliant muscles, stomach softly defined. Skin slapping skin as his cock was freed. Shirt placed between his teeth. Fingers stroking down his chest, pinching a nipple to roll between two fingers.
“Please, father, let me in. Open the doors to this blessed palace and let me consume you.” the vampire tried again.
He was yet ignored as the priest took himself in his hand, hissing at the contact. Giving one long, languid stroke to himself before making eye contact with the wide, peircing eyes in the shadows.
Letting go of himself in favor of show, the priest brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking each digit in one at a time. Then, bringing himself to his knees, rubbing one finger against his entrance. Whimpering slightly at the contact, breathe stuttering and body warm, inserting one finger as feverishly slow as possible.
The vampire didn’t move. He didn’t breathe, didn’t blink, didn’t waver in his being. He stared, lips parted and tongue between his teeth as he watched the priests face contort at the uncomfortableness. The vampire unable to retort, to encourage. Only watch with heavy desire.
fingers hanging loosely in his mouth, blood dripping slowly down from his hip. The ceremonial knife right next to him where it was lost from the case. When he got it down, the vampire didn’t know. Fingers squelching and curling as his eyes closed. Nothing in his entire life has felt this feverish. This unHoly. This intoxicating and new. Something coiled in the pit of his stomach, hot and tight. Knees bouncing himself on his fingers as hooded eyes cast to the vampire.
Those piercing eyes never left the priest's form, drinking in every noise he made.
“Father, please” he begged, fingers clenching in on themselves against the glass. What blasphemy in this holy ground. An unholy father and the sweet blood that was ment to be tasted.