#vampire mobius

Not that Mobius couldn’t use one currently. A nasty encounter with some vampire hunters had left him bed-ridden, their holy poison slowly working its way through his body. It hadn’t been enough to end him but the effects had rendered him as weak as when he’d first been turned.

It’d been Father Laufeyson who had found him afterwards. The priest had gotten Mobius out of the rising sun and stayed at his bedside while Mobius fought the poison. The vampire had insisted he would survive and that the priest should return to his flock. Father Laufeyson had merely given him a somber smile and Mobius had been too weak to argue anymore after that.

Mobius coughed drily and grimaced when he swallowed. His throat and tongue were painfully parched, a side-effect of the poison along with the weakness.

“Here.”

Mobius turned his head to find Father Laufeyson holding out a cup.

“What is this?” the vampire asked. “Last Rites?” He meant for it to come across teasingly but the dryness of his throat mangled the attempt.

“Yes,” Father Laufeyson deadpanned. “I’ve sat vigil at your bedside all day only to finish the hunters’ work when you’ve finally begun to come ‘round.” He still held the cup out to Mobius. “Take it. Or do you not trust me?”

Trust. That unspoken feeling. How could they, a man of the cloth and an undead fiend, trust each other?

That Mobius hadn’t trusted anyone other than the priest in a century was another thing he didn’t feel needed saying.

Without a word, Mobius accepted the cup and the priest’s help to sit up and drink.

Warm blood flowed into his mouth. The thickness of it coated his tongue and aching throat. He moaned as he took it in. It wasn’t as hot as when he fed directly from a vein. And it had started to congeal. But to Mobius, it was like water from an oasis for a dying man.

He drained the cup’s contents and licked the rim and his lips. His stomach clenched. He wanted more, needed more, but he was too weak to hunt and didn’t have faith that he could feed properly. That small taste would have to suffice.

Mobius settled his head on his pillow with a grateful sigh. “Where-”

His question stopped short as Father Laufeyson wiped the cup clean and moved to set it aside. From underneath the wrist cuff of his cassock, a bloodied bandage peeked out.

Mobius closed his eyes, something he’d long thought dead stirring inside him with the realization of the lengths the priest would go through for him. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered chidingly.

“No?” Father Laufeyson didn’t feign innocence as he sat at the edge of Mobius’ bed and covered the bandage better. “And why not? You needed blood and I have vowed to give you mine.”

Mobius rubbed his hand over his face. He still felt drained but the strength from the priest’s blood was beginning to flow back into his muscles. “You swore that only to protect others. I’m not exactly a threat right now, Father.”

Father Laufeyson remained silent though his gaze never left the vampire’s. It made Mobius twitchy, like all those unvoiced emotions could escape under the priest’s serene blue eyes. Like he was in more danger in his own bed than he’d been with the hunters because it wasn’t his physical heart he had to worry about losing.

When Father Laufeyson spoke, it was barely more than a whisper. “Do you believe that I offer myself to you as I do because I am sacrificing myself for my parishioners? Or because I sacrifice myself for you?”

“Loki…” The priest’s given name left Mobius’ lips like a prayer. He shook his head. “I’m not worth your soul.”

“If not you, Mobius, then who?”

“You-”

Whatever he’d meant to say choked him, that dry cough plaguing him once more. Father Laufeyson patiently helped him through it, patiently resettled him when the coughing subsided, patiently brushed Mobius’ hair off his face and wiped at his mouth when he was done.

“How much longer will this last?” the priest asked in a quiet tone.

“By nightfall tomorrow, I should be better.”

“Do you need more blood?”

Mobius stared at him. When was the last time someone had taken care of him so selflessly? Had put his wellbeing first? Had cared for him thusly? If Mobius could remember it, it wouldn’t matter.

Anyone who had cared was long past dead.

The vampire extended his arms. “What I need is for you to rest.” When Father Laufeyson hesitated, Mobius simply grabbed the sleeve of his cassock and tugged him down onto the bed. It was a tight fit, especially with the priest’s length, but they made it work.

Somehow, they made a lot of things work.

Rosy blood flooded Father Laufeyson’s face, the tips of his ears turning pink with it. “I shouldn’t.”

Mobius shushed him and pulled the priest closer. “You have done worse than lay with me fully clothed, Father. Besides, you resting will help me rest as well.” He lowered his voice into a tempting purr. “Don’t you want to make me feel better?”

Father Laufeyson huffed but settled himself more comfortably into the vampire’s arms. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I am,” Mobius agreed with a grin. Impulsively, he pressed a kiss to the top of Father Laufeyson’s head. He’d think about the need to do that later. When he felt better. It was enough for now to breathe in the soft, incense-smoky smell of the priest’s hair, to feel his warmth seeping into Mobius’ cold body, and to appreciate that he was still there to do that and more.

“Thank you, Loki,” Mobius whispered. “For all of it.”