The moon manages to shine through the thick clouds, glowing even as rain falls to the earth in sheets. Lightning flashes, illuminating the world for a brief moment, followed by a menacing roll of thunder. Against the harsh winds and blinding rain, the cathedral of Notre Dame stands tall and proud in the center of this part of Paris, its ivory stone standing out against the gray of the world. The statues that stand atop the doors hold a bit of a glow with each strike of lightning, and the toll of the bells is more mighty than the thunder.

Inside, the archdeacon leads the priests through the outer aisles, thurible swinging slowly as they chant in Latin. The rain streaks the windows, painting lines of shadow onto the silver-tinted reflection of the stained glass images. Wisps of smoke rise from the metal censer, carrying with it the sweet musk scent of frankincense and the prayers of the devoted servants of the church. The smoke curls gracefully in the air as it rises, only to disappear once it meets the light of the moon. A thick black shadow replaces it once it vanishes, appearing out of thin air and swirling with an even more exquisite grace as it travels down to the floor, blending in with the shade on the ground.

As soon as the archdeacon and the others leave, the shadow materializes. Wips of shade become flowing black robes as a man emerges, the dusk umbrage moving as he walks. His hair is black and cut short, the sides shaved and the bangs pulled back and away from his forehead. In the center of his white collar in a circular pin of his own design, which he absently touches to make sure it’s still there. His fingertip grazes the runic symbols of protection that’re etched into the rose gold trim, which outlines the first ring of rubies. The red gems themselves were enchanted to constantly channel magic, transferring it directly to his dark essence. Rings of miniature rubies and rose gold alternate twice before giving way to a round cut sunstone, which shines with a light all its own. The sunstone matches his honey amber eyes, which makes him all the more proud he can call this relic his own.

His hands fully emerge from the large billowing sleeves of his robes, nimble fingers procuring a gold chain from thin air, a pocketwatch dangling at the end of it. Stepping into the moonlight, he eyes the engraving on the back of his heirloom, admiring his clan’s symbol. A wyvern is etched into the back, its two legs in the front and outstretched in a permanent defensive stance. Two rubies are imbedded in the gold, representing the wyvern’s eyes and glowing with the flames that linger on its forked tongue. He clicks open the watch and looks at the time, seeing that it’s just before midnight. Perfect timing.

He decides to take his time walking down the center aisle, his feet making no sound against the tilted floor as he makes his way to the alter. He takes in the sight of the space illuminated with soft moonlight, chanting softly in Sanguisese, the ancient language of his kind. While comparable to the mortal languages of Italian and Latin, his native tongue captures something that he hasn’t been able to find on this world; the utmost reverence and devotion to the magic that grants him life.

He doesn’t serve the god this church is built for, but he does know how to pretend. The many decades he’s been trapped on this world have taught him that much. He pays his respects to a different set of deities, ones who’re is higher than any of the mortal creations he’s observed on this world. Ones who’re eternal, and who grant life without fail, despite being literally a world away. The one who provides safety and protection with her shadows, and the one who shines her light through the thick cover of storm clouds outside. It is because of Nocté, and Luna, the night and the moon, that he has life and power.

He kneels down at the altar, looking past the cross and up at the three stained glass windows above it. He closes his eyes and lets the shadows flow around him, surrounding him in a protective embrace as he bows his head and prays. He mutters blessings under his breath, short thanks for life and promises of devotion. He sighs softly as the moon casts her rays onto his relic pin, imbuing the ruby stones with pure magic. He takes in a breath as the magic flows through him, strength flowing through his veins as he slowly exhales. While the moonlight is refreshing, it’s not enough. In order to sustain the dark shadow of his soul, he needs blood. He knows that his hands, which’re pressed together in front of his face, are plagued with an ashen gray undertone. He hasn’t fed in a few nights, but he knows that neither Luna nor Nocté have abandoned him. If the moon shining through the clouds is any indication, tonight will be a good night. It is at times like this he feels that he’s back home, on his own world, with the real Luna to look up to.

“One night, Matre,” He whispers softly, slowly opening his eyes, “One night I will return to you.”

The pounding on the center door makes him turn around with a start. With a burst of speed he dashes over and opens it, looking down a man falls to the floor by his feet. The man’s frantic shouts of “Sanctuary!” are louder than the booming thunder as he scrambles into the cathedral, hiding behind Kyungsoo’s robes. Whatever was chasing the man turns gives up once he enters, and the gallop of horses quickly fades into the distance.

Kyungsoo closes the door and turns around, looking down at the person who has decided to take refuge in Notre Dame. He is tall, tanned skin holding a subtle brilliance in the moonlight. His hair is messy, long brown bangs falling into his eyes. Judging by the brightness of his tattered clothes and the sweet undertone in his dirt-trodden scent, this man is a gypsy, likely escaping the prejudice-laden rule of Judge Frollo. Though Kyungsoo may not be particularly invested in mortal affairs, any victim of Frollo is entitled to safety in his eyes. Besides, gypsies have the best tasting blood.

He’s seen this particular gypsy before, dancing at the Festival of Fools. He can certainly see what has Frollo so worked up. The sensual way he rolled his hips and the rhythmic way he moved his flexible body can drive even the purest of souls mad with desire. Honestly was his scent that truly intrigued Kyungsoo; a sweet musk with just a hint of spice. It intrigued him how a mortal could ever smell so enticing, and often wondered what his blood tasted like. To have him here, in Notre Dame… truly Luna and Nocté are with him tonight.

“Bless you, Father.” The gypsy shyly speaks up, dipping his head in gratitude as he stands. Kyungsoo looks up, now seeing the full extent of his height. If he didn’t recognize his scent, he wouldn’t think this unlucky refugee was the same vixen dancing in the square.

“Think nothing of it,” Kyungsoo tells him, “The least I can do for the children of god is protect them.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you before.” The gypsy narrows his eyes against the darkness, trying to get a better look at Kyungsoo, “I don’t even know your name.”

“Father Do,” He tells him, waving a hand towards the aisles. As he does, the chandeliers hanging from the arches between the columns light up, small flames dancing above the pews in place of darkness. The gypsy looks around with wide eyes, and Kyungsoo can feel fear-laden amazement surge through him.

Kyungsoo’s deep voice makes him turn back with a start, “And your name, child?”

“Jongin,” The gypsy replies, absently playing with his fingers in a nervous tic.

Kyungsoo chuckles to himself, “You’re the gypsy dancer Frollo won’t stop raving about. The unholy demon who needs to be sent back to Hell.”

Jongin visibly tenses at this, averting the priest’s gaze and staring at his own bare feet. Sensing his discomfort, Kyungsoo grins to himself and lifts his chin with one finger, looking into his eyes as he says, “You’re no demon. Believe me, I know hellspawn when I see it, and that’s not what you are.”

“Thank you, Father.” The smiles that tugs on Jongin’s lips has Kyungsoo mirroring his grin, though he’s not smiling for the same reason as the mortal. He now has full control of this mortal’s emotions, and can play with them however he pleases.

“I’ve seen you dance before, and must I say you’re quite talented.” As expected, a shy sense of pride wells in Jongin’s chest, almost canceling out his sense of panic.

“T-thank you, Father,” Gaze shifting nervously to the door, Jongin remarks, “W-will it be alright if I stay here for the night? I fear if I leave, they’ll only catch me again.”

Kyungsoo pauses at this, pretending to weigh his options. Really he’s listening for any sign of his assailants, and sure enough he can pick up on the sound of hooves at every possible exit. If Jongin were to leave he wouldn’t stand a chance. Not that Kyungsoo was planning on having him leave at all.

“Of course you may,” He nods, “What type of man would I be if I sent you back out in the rain?”

The flicker of hope in the mortal’s eyes almost makes his heart skip a beat. Really he’s more interested in the life that flashes in his eyes than the emotion behind it. Life that he intends to take to sustain his own existence.

“There is an unused bedroom upstairs with food, water, and a clean bed. You can stay there for the night.” The statement is a formality, far from the truth. There’s no unused bedroom upstairs, only the bell tower, which is currently occupied.

Jongin gets up to head for the stairs on the side, but before he has the chance to confirm the lie, Kyungsoo walks back down the center aisle, singing in his native language. The low baritone timbre of his voice echoes off the walls, full and rich as a choir. He knows that his voice entrances Jongin, that he’s luring the mortal like a siren would on his homeworld. He can hear Jongin walking a few paces behind him, bare feet completely in sync with his own slow footsteps. The priest walks up the small flight of stairs in the center before stopping at the altar and as expected, Jongin halts his steps, chocolate eyes glazed over with wonder.

When Kyungsoo turns around, Jongin’s voice is little more than an absent whisper as he remarks, “What were you singing? I’ve never heard anything like it.”

“Something the lord shared with me.” Kyungsoo shrugs, appearing to be vivaciously nonchalant. He was singing about an angel, just not one from this world.

“It’s beautiful.” Jongin steps closer, his feet only stopping once his shins meet the bar in the front of the sanctuary. It doesn’t stop him from moving, and Kyungsoo observes as Jongin’s gaze drops to his heart shaped lips, eyes hooding as he leans in. He stops himself, stuttering once he realizes what he was doing.

“Forgive me Father, I—” He trails off, looking down with shame in his eyes, “I am a sinner.”

“We are all sinners, my child. No sin is greater or lesser than any other in the eyes of our lord.” Kyungsoo replies in a reassuringly casual tone. He knows exactly what Jongin wanted. He wanted to kiss him, and perhaps more if he had the chance. Kyungsoo doesn’t normally make a habit of cavorting with his victims before feeding, but the night is still young, and this mortal’s emotions are as moldable as clay. He might be able to have some fun for a change.

“Something troubles you, my child?” Kyungsoo asks with a tone of faux concern, tilting his head for effect. Jongin doesn’t reply, but the guilt that clouds his face makes it clear that he’s not alright.

“I will never know what ails you if you don’t tell me.” Another lie; Kyungsoo knows exactly what Jongin’s thinking, and exactly why he feels troubled. He wants to hear Jongin say it himself, to feel his resolve break with the newfound silence.

“I…” Jongin clears his throat awkwardly, and after a few long moments he admits, “I lust after men.”

Kyungsoo hums with a nod, pretending to ponder the information. In reality, he could feel the lust building within him as soon as he started singing, and he can feel Jongin’s gaze moving up and down his form as he tries to pinpoint details of what his body looks like apart from his broad shoulders. An unexpected result, as he normally likes to pique the curiosity of mortals with his songs, but lust is good too. Lust makes for a faster pulse and a more satisfying feed. Besides, it seems like such a waste to have this alluring specimen as his next victim, only to drain him dry without experiencing the pleasure he can take from him. Deciding to play with him, Kyungsoo grabs his chin, lips only inches away from Jongin’s, “Is that so?”

Jongin swallows thickly and nods. Kyungsoo can feel guilt spiking with shock, mingling with the excitement of their proximity. This time when he whispers, their lips brush ever so slightly, “And what prompted such lust?”

Jongin all but squeaks and tries to move away, but finds that Kyungsoo’s grip is more than just the hand on his chin. He’s frozen in place from the shins down, as Kyungsoo has commanded shadows to encase his lower legs. “I-I always have, I suppose, b-but I never wanted to act on it…until now.”

Kyungsoo raises a curious brow at this, “And why do you suppose now is different?”

“Because now I…” Jongin sucks in a sharp breath as he looks into Kyungsoo’s eyes, “I’m lusting after you.”

Kyungsoo hums in thought and lets go of his face, but the shadows still keep him immobilized, “Tell me, Jongin, what do you think about me?”

Jongin bites his lip and shudders at the way Kyungsoo says his name, “I think you’re alluring, enchanting even. I’ve never seen anyone like you, and I want—”

He gasps as Kyungsoo grabs his hair and pulls him closer, muttering in a low whisper against his ear, “What do you want me to do to you?”

“I want… Father I cannot say this here.” Jongin furrows his brows in distress and blushes, the rose tinted bronze of his cheeks positively glowing in the candlelight.

Kyungsoo chuckles at his reaction, “Believe me when I say you can tell me anything, my child.”

The gypsy falls silent as lightning strikes again, Kyungsoo’s dark clothing and even darker aura a perfect contrast to the luminescence that fills the space. His breath hitches at the sight, at the power he can see that Kyungsoo commands, and he rests his gaze on Kyungsoo’s lips as he mutters, “I want you to take my clothes off and touch me.”

With a hum, the priest unbuttons Jongin’s semi wet shirt and lets it fall to the floor, running his hands over his toned chest, “Like this?”

“L-lower Father.” Jongin tentatively requests, eyes fixed on Kyungsoo’s hands.

Kyungsoo moves his hands down lower, kneading the flesh of his toned abdomen, “Here?”

Jongin closes his eyes and turns his head, too ashamed to look as he prompts, “A little lower.”

“Ah I see.” He reaches a hand down and palms his half hard cock through the worn linen of his pants, leaning up to capture those plush lips in a kiss. He pulls back after a moment, looking up at him with a teasing smirk as he squeezes his cock, “Here?”

“We cannot do this here Father,” Jongin gasps, weakly trying to push him away as he panics, “Someone will see.”

“No one will enter until sunrise. Besides, the way I see it,” Kyungsoo leans in and kisses along his jawline, “The only way to rid you of your thirst is to quench it.”

This time when he kisses him, he hums as the gypsy eagerly kisses him back, gripping his shoulders almost desperately.  “My you’re eager.” Kyungsoo hums between kisses, one hand coming up to grip his hair. He tangles his fingers in Jongin’s dark mocha locks, tugging on his hair. Jongin gasps in response, allowing him to slide his tongue into his mouth.

The gypsy tries to keep up, but Kyungsoo dictates the terms, slowly and almost thoughtfully exploring his mouth. He tastes exactly as he smells; sweet with a hint of spice, and it’s absolutely addictive. He hums as he savors the flavor, running his tongue along the length of Jongin’s own and chuckling at the mortal’s resulting squeal. The sound makes his own cock stir in the loose billow of his robes.

“Are you sure you’ve never acted on these desires before?” Kyungsoo asks, and with a small smile as adds, “You know, it’s a sin to lie.”

“N-No Father, I’ve never even kissed another man before,” Jongin bites his lip before mumbling, “You’re my first.”

Kyungsoo knows he’s lying, but decides to not prod. Instead, he strokes his hair, pushing him down to his knees, “Then let’s make sure you get the most out of this.”

The buttons towards the bottom of his robe become undone, allowing him to free his cock. Jongin looks up at his with wide eyes, desire pooling in his stomach. While it’s not the longest, Kyungsoo’s cock is thick, and he can only imagine how much his lips will have to stretch to accommodate his girth. He’s not sure how it’ll fit, but Jongin knows he definitely wants it in his mouth. He presses his lips to his cock, tongue darting out to lap at the foreskin.

“Fuck,” Kyungsoo swears with a sigh, looking down at Jongin, “You want it? You want to suck my dick?”

Jongin shudders at the explicit words and the even more explicit implications, nodding slowly with a hint of uncertainty.

“Then open your mouth,” As if accepting a communion wafer, Jongin opens his mouth, tongue peeking out over his bottom lip. With a smirk, Kyungsoo pulls his head forward, humming as he’s encased by the wet heat if his mouth.

The slick sound of suckling echoes off the cathedral walls as Jongin sucks his cock. Any technique the gypsy has is lost in the fervor of his enthusiasm, which is somehow endearing. To feel the wet suction of his eagerness, to hear his soft moans of pleasure he breaches the back of his throat, to see those big brown eyes silently asking for his approval, is admittedly adorable. He finds himself petting Jongin’s hair, moaning softly at the pleasure of his tongue running along a sensitive vein on the underside. The blush on Jongin’s face intensifies, cheeks burning with the knowledge that he’s being defiled in this holy space.

Kyungsoo grabs him by the chin and pulls him off his cock, feeling sadistic pleasure well in his chest as Jongin whines and tries to chase his cock. With his other hand, he pulls the foreskin back to expose the head. A drop of precum leaks out, hovering just above Jongin’s waiting tongue.

“Want a taste?” He inquires, a slight lilt in his voice from the influx of pleasure. Jongin nods and the priest draws a cross on his tongue with beads of precum. Jongin hums as the bittersweet flavor coats his tongue, swallowing with an appreciative moan.

“You want more?” Kyungsoo prompts, chuckling at Jongin’s frantic nod. Grabbing him by the shoulders, he easily picks him up, holding him by the waist as Jongin instinctively wraps his arms and legs around Kyungsoo. He chuckles softly as he leans in, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, “Such a greedy little gypsy. Perhaps Frollo was right about you.”

Jongin whines in protest at the statement, hissing as his bare skin meets the cold stone of the altar. Kyungsoo wastes no time and slides three fingers past Jongin’s lips, “Get them nice and wet for me.”

The mortal nods and sucks on his fingers, tongue darting between them to even coat them with spit. Kyungsoo pulls his hand back after a few moments and spreads his legs, easing one fingertip past his rim. Jongin bites his lip and whimpers at the stretch, but he spreads his legs wider and angles his hips to make it easier to slide in. The priest chuckles to himself; this is definitely not his first time with a man.

He slides one finger in and out of his hole, letting his fingertip drag along his sensitive walls. Jongin moans louder and arches his back, bucking his hips as Kyungsoo slides another finger in.

“You like that?” He teases, feeling a fresh wave of shy shame course through Jongin as he continues, “Such a needy little gypsy boy. Want me to fuck you? Right here in front of Mary?”

A bolt of lightning reveals a statue of the Virgin Mary holding a baby Jesus, along with several other saints, standing only a short distance away in the shadows. The subsequent roll of thunder adds to the gravity of what they’re doing, of what Jongin is letting— begging this priest to do to him.

“P-please Father,” He stutters, fingers scrambling to grip Kyungsoo through his silken robes.

“Please what?” Kyungsoo stops much to Jongin’s disappointment. The priest raises a brow as Jongin rolls his hips against his fingers, whimpering needily.

“Please Father, I need you inside me,” Jongin pants on one breath, quickly as if he didn’t want the statues of the saints to hear. He lets out a high pitched whine as he feels something wet and flexible prod at his entrance. The tip of Kyungsoo’s tongue circles his rim in a slow drag, making his toes curl as his back arches off the altar. Kyungsoo hums softly to himself; apparently Jongin taste sweet no matter where his mouth is. He scissors two fingers in and out of Jongin, tongue moving in as his fingers move out to stretch him even wider.

“You want it?” Kyungsoo taunts, now stretching him with three fingers. Jongin squirms and rolls his hips, groaning a touched out “yes~” as he feels Kyungsoo prod at a spot inside him that has him seeing stars.

He’s completely caught off guard when something thick and hot pushes past his rim, stretching him unexpectedly. The mortal throws his head back and cries out in a mixture of pain and exhilaration, feeling Kyungsoo’s thick cock fill him to the brim. Hips slam against the back of his thighs in a languid, heavy rhythm, the slow drag of Kyungsoo’s cock making him keen and tilt his head back.

Kyungsoo skillfully rolls his hips each time he pushes in, intent on drawing more pretty sounds from the gypsy. He watches as Jongin’s back bows sharply, a press of the head of his cock to his sweet spot creating such a beautiful arch. Pretty soon Kyungsoo picks up the pace, gripping his hips tightly as he slams into him. He can’t deny how much he enjoys the tight heat around his cock, but what he enjoys more is Jongin’s quickening heartbeat, the visible stutter of his breath as his chest rises and falls, the way his lips remain parted to let out a string of curse filled praises and wanton moans that’re louder than the roaring thunder outside. He leans down and presses his lips to Jongin’s, tongue moving in and out of his mouth in time with his steady thrusts.

He lets out a low exhale into the mortal’s mouth as he slams against his prostate, smirking as Jongin chokes on a moan and grips his shoulders desperately. His muscular thighs wrap around Kyungsoo’s waist, ankles crossing at the small of his back to pull him in deeper.

“Harder!” Jongin pulls away from the kiss and looks up with wild eyes, any trace of uncertainty completely gone as he begs, “Father, fuck me harder!” The priest obliges and slams into him harder and faster, hitting his sweet spot every time.

He can feel a wave of ecstasy about to overwhelm the mortal beneath him, and he knows his time on this world is almost at an end. With one hand cradling the back of his neck, Kyungsoo wraps his other arm around his waist, pressing against his solid body. He wants to feel the warmth of his body against his cold skin. He wants to revel in his delectable scent. He wants to savor the pulse of life he’s about to claim for himself.

Jongin throws his head back and screams when he cums, and that’s when Kyungsoo has his chance. With a hiss he unsheathes his fangs, sinking his teeth into the flesh of the gypsy’s neck. He growls as Jongin’s scream becomes two pitched and broken, splitting like the strike of lightning that strikes outside, feeling his own pleasure increase ten fold. Tangling his fingers in the victim’s hair, he lets the sweet metallic flavor coat his tongue, throat working to swallow the blood that wells in his mouth. Fuck, Jongin tastes good. He can taste the sarccharine hints of raw desire, and it excites him more than anything that occurred all night.

He groans in time with the next roll of thunder as he feels his skin fill out to become taut flesh, the undertone shifting from lifeless gray to rich gold. His hair brightens to a rich wine shade, the hair on top of his head growing to fall over his eyebrows while the sides remain short. The flames in the chandeliers flicker frantically as he moans loudly at the europhic bliss if his life being restored, hips stuttering as he shoots his load into Jongin.

Even as the mortal’s slumps, arms and legs untangling and falling limp, Kyungsoo holds fast, frantically rutting against him as every nerve in his body practically sings with bliss. He all but leaps onto the altar and he presses his face in deeper, short frenzied moans rumbling in his throat as he fills Jongin to the brim with hot cum. It’s been so long since he’s had a feed this satisfying, and he intends to enjoy it to the fullest. His hands frantically grab at his shoulders, claws unsheathing and digging into his skin and he sucks the life out of him. Pleasure continues to course through him in waves, and he sucks in a new mouthful of blood with each spurt of cum.

He lets out a ragged, languid groan as he feels Jongin twitch under him before finally falling limp in his grasp, shuddering through the last of his feed-induced orgasm. The candlelight snuffs out at the exact moment his blissful high ends, leaving him in moonlight and shadows once again. He pants heavily and pulls back once he’s drained the body dry, languidly licking the last remnants of blood from his plush bottom lip. Even as scarlet blood stains his fangs, his collar remains pristine and white, white as the cum that seeps out of the now lifeless body to trickle onto the floor.

He smirks and lifts the Jongin’s chin with a fingertip, pressing a kiss to his blue-tinted lips, “Your sins are forgiven, my child.”

He sits back on his ankles and runs a hand through his hair, pulling his bangs up and away from his forehead as he ponders how to proceed. He normally doesn’t leave this much of a mess, but it’s been awhile since he last fed, and neither Luna nor Nocté could blame him for getting a bit carried away. Part of him is debating on leaving him here, just like this. He laughs to himself at the image of Frollo’s reaction to discovering Jongin’s body the next morning. He’s certain the old man would drop dead at the sight.

As amusing as the thought is, he can’t just leave a dead mortal on the altar like this, all splayed out like a sacrificial offering. A sight like this will raise questions, which will mean other priests in Notre Dame at night. Sighing, he presses his hand to Jongin’s cheek as he gathers intense heat in his palm, flames shooting from his fingertips and igniting his hair. Keeping the fire contained in a telekinetic grip, Kyungsoo watches as the fire consumes Jongin’s body, smoke rising into the air as his once animated being becomes nothing more than ashes. Once only ashes remain on the altar, he gathers them in his hands, placing them inside the thurible the archdeacon left by the stairs. Now the only thing is hiding the scent.

He places incense inside the thurible with the ashes and lights it with a procured flame, holding the vessel by the chain as he steps off the sanctuary. He swings it at a slow rhythm as he makes his way up and down the aisles, letting the flame inside burn the ashes as well as release the scent of the incense. He twists his hand slightly each time he let’s go, the smoke thickening as he lets the sweet musk of the frankincense cover the scents of blood, lust, and death. Once the last remnants of Jongin disappear from the air, he sharply closes his fist, putting out the fire and placing the thurible back where he found it.