#uggghhhhhhhh

Every day after was the same. Wake up, pray, argue with Punk, leave, come home, and drink Punk’s blood. It seemed like the most fulfilling part of the day was having his blood drank, because at least he would receive a touch that wasn’t filled with condescension. The praise felt good at first, though each ‘good boy’ he received started to feel more insincere every time it came out of the vampire’s mouth.

Drew found that the church was his only escape from Punk's sometimes cruel ‘love’. He stayed after hours, praying extra long and begging for forgiveness any time he found himself alone. He'd hoped for the slightest chance that God would accept it one of these days, and cure him of this disease he felt had plagued him.

The Sunday morning after being turned into a ghoul felt different. Drew watched happy, and straight, couples walk into the church and sit down together on the pews. He watched the door and hoped that by some miracle, two men would walk in together in that way and make him feel human. They never came.

He envied the couples that walked in. They seemed so in love. Holding hands, whispering sweet nothings to each other, and he knew all he would get when he got home was a river of blood and a condescending, ‘good boy.’

He stood in front of Punk that night, mustering up the courage to bring up what he was scared to. He wondered what would happen if Punk didn't agree, if he would leave again, hurt him, or even kill him there on the spot. His mind raced with all the terrifying, albeit, irrational, possibilities.

Punk sat on the couch, face buried in a superhero comic book. It wasn't the first time Drew had found him reading those, though he still found it slightly comical how such a power hungry control freak would read something considered so childish. This time, it made the priest feel more intimidated, the way Punk seemed so invested, a small smile painting the vampire's face.

“Punk,” Drew started, laughing hesitantly as the vampire looked up from his book. “Would you wanna… come to church with me tomorrow?” He shifted from side-to-side, avoiding looking at Punk's piercing eyes.

“Is that all you wanted?” Punk spoke with his usual tone, but to Drew it felt critical and as if he were being punched in the gut.

“Mhm.” The priest watched Punk place the book face down on the coffee table before standing up.

The vampire lifted Drew's head up. “Maybe.” Punk cocked his head to the side. “How nicely can you ask?” His hands found their way to the priest's shoulders, beginning to slowly push him down before Drew even had time to answer.

———

Punk came to church with Drew the next morning, reluctantly. He felt something was off—though he felt that way every time he attended church. It was quiet, none of the faithful sheep had come to beg Drew for forgiveness yet.

The vampire thought it was stupid, the amount of people who expect to be forgiven for their wrongdoings by talking to a mere mortal man. Albeit, Drew wasn't mortal now, but surely nobody who could believe in this crap would think enough to be able to notice how the priest's skin was a shade lighter. Or his muscles. God, Punk didn't like to think about how many church-goers ogled at his boyfriend's muscles.

“Can we get some curtains in here,” Punk groaned. The sun was beginning to rise, and the stained glass windows of the church held nothing back. He had chosen clothes—Drew's clothes—that would cover him well and spare him from most of the sunlight, but he failed to consider his eyes.

Drew found his bag and rummaged through it, pulling out a pair of sunglasses. “I thought you'd maybe need these.” He smiled as he handed them to the vampire. He'd grabbed them moments before walking out the door that morning when he noticed Punk didn't take them.

Punk's face brightened as he took them, putting them on instantly. “You're such a good boy, I love you so much.” He wrapped his arms around Drew's shoulders before giving him a peck on the cheek.

Drew's smile got wider for a split second before he remembered all the other times Punk had called him that. How he only did it to reassure the way he'd trained Drew. “We… can't be doing that stuff here, okay?” The priest pried Punk's arms away.

“C'mon, look at me.” He tilted Drew's chin down to make eye contact with him through the sunglasses, the priest continuing to fight against the physical touch, yet relenting enough to listen. “Nobody's here, we can do whatever we want. We got here early enough, didn't we?”

Drew got that feeling again.

The feeling that roped him into Punk's world.

“Yeah- yeah, you're right.”

Punk grabbed onto Drew’s arm, taking him toward the lectern. The vampire sat up on it—having trouble stabilizing himself due to the slanted top—and pulled Drew closer, bringing him into a kiss that felt more loving than any had felt in a while.

Drew hesitated for a mere moment, considering where they were at, and who he thought could be watching, but reciprocated all the passion he received. It felt good, he felt safe, more accepted and seen than he'd felt in the church since meeting Punk.

For the first time, he felt no judgement. No condemning looks. Not even the lingering guilt he always had in bed with Punk.

The front door creaked open. Being swung faster once the two men were in sight.

“Drew?”

The priest heard the voice at the doorway and slapped Punk across the face. Guilt washed over him. “It- it isn't what it looks like- I swear-” His voice started to crack as he looked at Seth, his vision beginning to blur.

The deacon's face was painted with a smirk. “Are you sure?”

Punk felt speechless for the first time, he couldn't choke out a witty insult or even a word. He hopped off of the lectern, shoving Drew out of the way and throwing the sunglasses to the floor as he left.

Drew wanted to chase after him, reason with him, but he drowned in guilt as he stared at the deacon. “You won't tell anyone.” He tried to hide in a shroud of confidence, the subtle quake of his voice giving his uneasiness away.

“You know having a relationship is forbidden for you, right? And if the bishop finds out,” Seth spoke, “You're outta here.”

“But I can't-”

“Let's make a deal.” Seth walked closer to Drew. “If you resign within two days, the bishop will never find out. If you don't, well…”

Drew knew he had no other options. If he resigned, he could keep his dignity, he could have a normal life—or at least, as normal as Punk would let it be. If he didn't, he would be excommunicated and ostracized.

One way or another, his life seemed already over. He still had Punk, though sometimes it seemed he didn't have him either.

Drew stared blankly at Seth, deep in thought and struggling to make a decision.

“It’s a deal. I’ll… figure it out tomorrow.” He didn’t mean it.

———

Drew stormed through the front door, as he did almost every night, finding Punk on the couch biting his nails. Streams of blood had left stains down the vampire’s face, a cruel reminder of one of the few times he had lost his composure since living with Drew.

“Are you okay?” Drew's numb expression softened seeing his tormentor. “I’m sorry.” Truly, he didn’t mean it, he couldn’t mean it, but displeasing Punk more seemed like a deathwish.

“Uh, yeah.” Punk made eye contact with Drew, his gaze cold. “Why did you hit me? Do you know how long that mark was on my cheek?”

“I told you I'm sorry.”

“C'mere.”

Drew walked closer as Punk stood up. The vampire held his arms out for a hug, while the priest tilted his neck to the side and moved his hair. Punk rolled his eyes before caressing Drew's neck with his hand, running his fingers over the scabbed-over puncture wounds from recent bites.

“As much as you want,” Drew said. He assumed Punk had been holding back, taking only as much blood as he needed considering how frequent bites are. If getting on Punk's good side meant letting him drink even a liter of his blood, it would be worth it.

Punk didn't reply, sinking his teeth into Drew's neck swiftly. The priest didn't flinch or even react—he was used to it by now, having the small scars on his neck to prove it.

The vampire drank from the priest’s neck for an unusually long amount of time, as Drew suspected he would, and then some. He pulled away eventually, stray drops falling from the side of his lips, which he eagerly licked up with a giggle.

He had a strange look in his eyes, Drew noted, an almost drunk appearance. Punk seemed at ease, a sharp contrast from the tensed up appearance he'd sported before. His pupils dilated, and his eyes slightly bloodshot.

“You okay, Punk?” Drew felt truly worried. He'd never seen Punk like this—he wasn't sure what he was meant to do with him. Put him to bed? Give him some water? Why didn't Punk take precautions and warn him? The weight of every question left without an answer could be enough for him to collapse beneath.

“Of course I am,” Punk replied as his arms wrapped around Drew's waist. “Pretty.”

“Thanks,” Drew insincerely responded, trying to pry Punk's hands away.

“I can't believe I'm so lucky.” The vampire led the priest to the couch.

Drew smiled, momentarily forgetting all the things Punk had done and every strain on their relationship. It made him wonder if the words were true.

The night went on a way they'd never had before. Drew felt as if he were a god being worshipped by a devoted follower, a sensation he hadn't familiarized himself with much. Punk fell asleep earlier than normal—far earlier than normal—in Drew's arms, being cradled as the priest took him to his bed. He laid the vampire down, taking a good look at him before walking out of the bedroom, then out of the house.

He wondered if he could even go through with it after that night. Knowing him and his loving boyfriend would be dead in the morning either way (in far different ways), eased his nerves the slightest bit.

He walked to the shed and hunted for an object he should've kept on stand-by that first night he met Punk. Surely there had to be some truth to the vampire myths about stakes, right? After all, those ‘myths’ very well could have been true.

He gripped the stake so hard his knuckles turned white. Determination beat down his fears. He couldn't let anybody else fall for Punk's tricks, for the sick games the vampire played.

Soon enough, he was standing over the vampire, hands trembling. Staring down at Punk, so peacefully asleep and unaware, left a crippling pain in the priest's heart. He drove the stake into Punk's chest, pushing it further when he hesitated.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” Drew repeated, until the whispers turned into incoherent mumbles. Blood stained Punk's clothes and the sheets under him, leaving a mess Drew was grateful he wouldn't be around to clean up. He winced every time he heard a bone crack, feeling a sharp pain in his chest as well. Is this what dying felt like?

The stake was driven as far as it could go—through the other side of Punk—as relief washed over Drew. The deed was finally done.

But wait,

No.

Drew looked down at his hands, pinched himself, scratched his arm. He was still alive, alive as he could be for a ghoul. His skin paled further and eyes widened as he stared down at the vampire.

It began as a slight grin, then a hushed chuckle, and into hearty laughter. Punk simply couldn't contain himself.

“You- it can't- no-” Drew was frozen in place, his heart beating so fast he could feel it in his fingers. He didn't feel bad for his act—he regretted not getting the job done.

“If you're gonna kill me,” Punk laughed, “Can you at least do it correctly? Behead me, dammit!”

To Punk, it was the funniest thing in the world. To Drew, it was possibly the most horrifying. When Punk would inevitably sober up—if that's even the word—he'd come to his senses. He'd kill Drew and think nothing of it. He would leave him there to rot alone, wallowing in his pathetic, amateur mistake.