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Papers flutter against the harsh wind that breaks through the church’s open door, bringing in the breeze of flexible nature. Although it tries, the candles lit inside don’t go out and the insides of the building stay the same as they were before. It’s cold outside today, clouded, the yellowed grass calling for rain in its stretch upwards to the blue clearing.
Arthur steps inside the church and carefully closes the door behind him.
He’s gotten used to the smell of aged wood as well as burned wax, always accompanied by that shaded light coming from above the altar, where the stained glass was replacing clear windows. His steps echo, run further and further in across the marble, cracked floors, passing by the run–down carpets. He doesn’t need to announce himself thankfully or worry about startling his friend.
“Arthur, you’re back.”
Oscar pulls himself back up from his usual kneeling, hunched–over form, hastily moving to meet the other halfway. He didn’t seem to take Arthur’s advice on resting from the fever of praying, but he did change into the clothing the other priest offered. It was a fresher uniform, no longer stained with blood, ironed and comfortable. With it, he also accepted the item that Arthur more likely gifted him instead of giving away, a vibrant golden cross. It warmed Arthur’s chest, despite the constant worry for Oscar’s state, that inhumane paleness doing its work.
“Sorry if I’m a little later than usual. Got held up by a guy needing advice.” Arthur explained as he straightened out the documents he collected, glancing at the vampire before slightly turning backwards to have a look at John’s blurred expression. No longer did either of them appear to bear that silent tension of fear and regret; Still, he never could ignore the familiar look of guilt that Oscar constantly carried.
“It’s alright. I can always wait a bit more.” He assures Arthur with a fair lightness, mindful not to stand right beside the human. It’s a habit he hasn’t quite grown out of yet. He looks strangely relieved, perhaps even less weighted down by the return of his companion. The situation is so serene, warm, that Oscar can almost forget the forever present tugging of hunger.
“I’m sure you can.” Arthur snorts inelegantly at his own remark, eased by the softer smile he gets in return, no matter how nervous. “Me and John found most of the documents and information we need to ensure he can safely pass.”
“I’m glad then. Does that mean you can start collecting the items for it?” He inquires at the answer, a touch more hopeful in his tone. Unconsciously, he thumbs over the gifted cross, easing his mind by sliding his fingers over the metal repeatedly. The action doesn’t go unnoticed, but Arthur says nothing. He’s found himself more than enough times simply holding the hair clip always attached to his belt, often hidden under the layers of black robes. It’s a comfort to know it’s still there.
“Yes. It’ll probably take another week or so, but we’ll get there.”
“Thank the Lord for this mercy.” Oscar sighs, squeezing the cross tighter before he collects himself and turns to Arthur, more present than at the start.
“What do you need me to do?”
The question doesn’t surprise Arthur, who ignores the faint shiver that escapes him at John’s presence overlapping his body. It never stops at a physical reaction, inwardly tightening Arthur’s muscles as well as lungs until he forces himself to relax and give Oscar a reassuring grin. Their situation is awkward because even as Arthur is used to having a ghost interacting with his body, the vampire looks sick with the mere knowledge of it happening.
He pointedly ignores the look of barely hidden concern, going back to his papers that survived through the harsh weather. Arthur is halfway through picking out the right list of their preparations, mindless in the action itself. He’s focused on the work, hazy just for a moment before the voice of his friend speaks up, interrupting the content quietness.
Oscar is starving again.
“ What ?”
Arthur’s head immediately snaps up to stare at Oscar, who suddenly flinches back with the sudden intensity of the other priest’s gaze on him.
“I didn’t say anything..?” He murmurs it uncertainly, surprised at the switch in behavior. Arthur gives in to the set off curiosity and worry, eyeing the vampire. He scrutinizes the clench and slightest tremble of Oscar’s hands, brushing against the priestly robes, as well as the rush of emotions swirling in the other’s eyes.
There is something there that Arthur now takes note of—
It’s a desire. A need.
An animal hunger that has resurfaced due to another week of negligence.
“No, sorry, that was– I was aiming that at John. One moment.” A few steps lead him away from Oscar and closer to the exit, even if he’s far from choosing to escape like a coward.
“ Are you sure? ” Arthur asks more quietly, pointedly ignoring the fact that Oscar could still hear him fairly well with his hearing. Certainly, he could also hear the sudden pick up in the priest’s heartbeat, now kicking up in its rhythm in vague thrill.
Yes. He looks– pained. He’s been glancing at your neck from time to time before immediately looking away. His form tenses whenever you speak.
He swallows at the sudden dryness, nerves bunching up like tangles in his stomach, just for the first moment utterly human and afraid.
Then he thinks of Oscar and the fear lets go.
He recalls the frenzied state Oscar was in at their first unfortunate meeting, the form of desperation leashing a vampire, he remembers the hot tears dripping down to the blood that was drained from him at the same time.
He recollects Oscar’s sobbing regret and cannot bring himself to leave the church. Not now. Not when he’s needed.
“John, could you give us a few minutes alone?”
The voice sighs, exhausted, weary, but soon he gives his permission.
..Yes. But I’ll be back if you don’t finish this up in 10.
“Got it. Thank you, friend.”
The priest exhales at the otherworldly presence of John phasing out disappears and he’s left alone. He considers his options, his thoughts, his experiences, his perhaps worryingly blind trust.
It should be a problem that Arthur can still trust someone that once had his artery in their close vicinity. That he trusts Oscar, of all people who have harmed him, his friend that left a faint mangled scar on the side of his throat. That he trusts such a person to a fault, that they will never hurt him of their own will again.
He turns back and walks towards Oscar with a new set goal.
It’s hard to convince Oscar to feed from him after that, but he manages. Of course he does.
How can Oscar say no to him? How can Oscar say no to the man that requests such a simple thing from him? How can he deny a man that brings light into his forgotten home?
How can he turn away from God’s mercy?
He pries and reassures, and quietly pleads in selfish worry that warrants another sin to be added to his accumulation.
Let it be known that even in his selflessness, Arthur Lester still wishes to have something back in return. Be it a part of his rib, his blood, his eye, his tongue, his heart – he will accept it back and give more of himself again.
Arthur can barely feel the pain of two fangs slowly tearing into his skin, can only tell that his heartbeat is thundering against his ribcage, that he shudders, that he’s overwhelmed with all these sensations, that he’s worried, that—
A tear drops onto the heating up skin of his neck. Arthur pulls himself out of the daze with a struggle, managing to reign in the instinct to fight Oscar off. He looks down with a quiet sigh, letting go off the tension that’s accumulated, giving way to soft care.
“Shh, you're not hurting me.” He whispers as certainly as he can, cupping Oscar’s face with his right hand and trying to brush against the teary crimson eyes. His mind is reeling and trying to do something about the panic of his previous biting experience, trying anything to make the sensation stop. “It’s alright.”
Nothing can stop the stubbornness of a man, who’s trust in a person, overwhelmed his instinctual fear.
Using his other free hand, he slips it at the clothed nape of Oscar’s neck, diving under the collar and pulling it down, encouraging the further feeding.
Oscar is still sniffling, regretful, but this time around, he doesn’t spill over like a cup of muddy, rain water.
Arthur’s reassurance seems to have helped with the guilt; The vampire retracts his fangs, glamorously shaded and deadly, moving on to an unsure lick, to taste the blood that this time has been freely offered. It’s warm against the coolness of Oscar’s mouth, sweet, dulcet, but filling. It tempts him, it calls stronger as he licks it off once more, but Oscar does not give in just yet.
“Is this still okay?” He pulls back a bit to have a proper look at Arthur’s face, ignoring the delightful smear of blood on his own lips, focusing on his friend.
A friend that looks positively loosened like a rag doll, limbs heavy and relaxed despite the fact Arthur is currently in the arms of a being that could attempt to very well kill him once more.
Their near hysterical situation pushes forward, prickling the tension and deepening it, stretching like gum that can’t quite break. Something yearns to crack and spill over them both, something boiling hot, scalding, inappropriate for all it’s worth. Oscar can taste it on his gums, that liquid feeling, and willingly, he wants to dip himself in it, he wants to burn further than just the faint surface of his inhumane body.
He wants to be a burnout star that gives its last show.
“It’s more than alright. You can continue.”
Oscar unwillingly shudders at the words, gazing into Arthur with a heady sense of relief. He seeks the warmth of his affection, seeks the red he drinks up carefully straight from the wound, he seeks to have Arthur make space for himself right at the center of Oscar’s dead heart.
Arthur looks perfect for ravishing under the stained glass lights. This moment hasn’t been going on for long, but the vampire is drowning under the blue and red shades, he’s wounding his arms tighter at Arthur’s waist, trying and trying to get them closer together. To see if by chance he could merge them, entwine them for eternity so he never has to see Arthur leave again.
He shakes without the tears spilling over, rendered quiet with the fear of losing, and invites the hunger to lead his actions.
Oscar leans forward and finally, finally starts to drink in Arthur’s blood.
He can scarcely hear the steady, speeding, beat of a heart that belongs to his friend, hardly notices how Arthur keens and whimpers at the brush of his fangs against broken skin. Maybe they should’ve talked about their boundaries more, considered and settled on a proper stop signal, but they’re too far gone into this.
This smudged, soft pink line between devotion and trust. If it were possible, the line would have expanded into a blanket to cover them together head to toe. If it were possible, it would turn into a shelter of woolen furniture, promising that they’ll be safe.
Oscar happily sighs into the steady rush of nutritious fluids, mindful of how tightly he’s pressed against the man in his lap. Without a word he shifts to lean back more against the church’s pillar, pulling them back to lay against it. With a clearer mind, he starts to wonder how this’ll affect his and Arthur’s relationship.
Arthur appears to be.. doing better than decent, all previous discomfort considered.
He’s resting his forehead against Oscar’s arm, settled like a feral animal in a trap that could close in on itself any second, but will not. His scent of citrus and jasmine is intensified, familiar and pleasant to the vampire’s sensitivity. His little sighs of contentment are lovely sounds that echo right to Oscar’s ear drums and bounce inside his skull.
In his mind, the vampire repeats the serene words of: We’re safe, we’re okay.
“Oscar?”
He hums at the newly echoing sound, raising his gaze from the exposed throat in question.
“I think I’m getting lightheaded. Could you stop now?”
Crimson eyes narrow once, confused at the information before all clarity returns to Oscar at once. Sheepishly smiling, he stops drinking, moving on to giving the two-pointed wound a few safe licks that heal over the skin. He ignores the stutter of Arthur’s breathing at the action since it’s most likely nerves.
“Are you feeling alright? Any other side effects?”
“Just a bit dizzy, but otherwise I’m right as rain.” Arthur assures him, now free to shift as he preferred, despite the comforting weight seat his friend provided. “I’m okay Oscar. I just need to rest a while before we move.”
Nevertheless, Oscar worries. The other priest doesn’t seem to be rattled much more besides it, but blood loss could cause a variation of other body issues. Arthur doesn’t seem paler nor do his responses feel slow or uncoordinated; what he does appear as is exhausted. His energy seems drained, the thought behind his words less intentional. It could be just exhaustion, it could be just dizziness, it could be more than that.
Arthur groans out loud, startling Oscar to hell and back out of his thoughts. No other warning comes as he presses their lips together, warmth meeting coldness, shifting the angle of their kiss ‘till Oscar kisses back properly. Blood is still drying on his lips, a stain against weak flesh, but it’s fine, it’s more than good. His conscience can’t quite overwhelm the sparkle of joy that thrums in his chest, threatening to burst and envelop everything and everyone.
Arthur pulls back with that same fond look of exasperation he started all this with.
“I can hear you thinking hard. Quit it.”
“Aye.”
Oscar agrees and can’t do much more besides letting Arthur slump forward back into his arms to nap.
The church has not changed at all throughout their questionable interaction, Oscar is still painfully not human, a person still cannot pass on because of his animal mistake.
Yet he feels gently stitched back. He feels pieced into another person again, not just a monstrosity that God made happen.
He no longer thinks of his punishment.
He thinks of floral peace.
He thinks of Arthur.
He thinks of his heart, that has long gone still, and yet feels alive like it had never been in his life as a mortal.
Maybe he does not need to pray to deserve forgiveness.