#i love this pathetic middle aged vampire priest

[belle-kieran]

father paul painting practice fanart from last year

[four-crows-in-a-trenchcoat]

VampAU Snippet - Little Prays, Take Me There

Inspired by the magma art of the wonderful @chlmngo from the Priest [dilf] Tango & Vamp Bad Boys AU I have been cooking with @crownpastelyellow

c/w vampire biting [gasp], blood, age gap,

Their bites are nothing like Jimmy’s. 

Joel’s rough: like a tiger’s maw mauling one side of his neck - lacking the soft melting sensation that Jimmy had when he took his neck. Sinking in like he was going to gore him, purring as his blood rushed around the porcelain stakes, cheeks rosy, clearly quite pleased with the whimpering spilling forth. 

Tango bleeds freely and Joel is ravenous. Lapping up the mess with his tongue like sandpaper: wet and coarse and so warm it threatens to scorch a line of glass against his sandy skin.

Grian’s softer: but then again a serrated hacksaw is gentle compared to Joel. Grian’s hungry, ravenous, and there’s a sort of carnally mischievous glee Tango feels in the way he sinks into the soft meat of his neck and dredges out a pathetically choked sound of pleasure, but he doesn’t gore the way Joel does. 

There's a more measured - not restrained - approach: soft little nips and marks until he finds the perfect spot to sink in. And it burns, perhaps worse than Joel: Grian’s fangs slide into him like super-heated knives, twisting out unholy sounds from him, staying submerged in him long enough for the pleasure to begin to sour into something painful, bothersome, pesky. 

In truth, they are seemingly only interested in him in passing: a sweet taste on their tongues as they undress each other with their eyes, fluttering hearts enamoured with how the other devours Tango. Their hands dance around each other on his chest, like they were waltzing and Tango was simply being pulled along. He can feel their infatuation with one another, their love flowing through him: like chains wrapping tight around his neck.

Tango can feel himself slipping between them, the thrumming beat of his heart - once a desperate scream - present still but nought but an echo.

What is he meant to do with his hands..?

Grian and Joel crash down against him like waves. They drag him out to sea, threatening to tear him down the middle if not for Jimmy.

Ah Jimmy. 

Jimmy who keeps his hands tucked into the little groove and canyons of his waist, who peppers soft kisses across his abdomen as his vampire companions drink deep, who never took his eyes off him while the others ignored his entirety beyond the little stretch of flesh they had colonised with their love bites.

As new wellsprings of blood bubble to the surface, meandering down his neck, Jimmy’s eyes stay solely on his, pressing little twisting warmth against him, the kind that burrow deep - the kind that feel like nails, pinning him to the cross - the warmth of reverence: of love.