Cherry Kiss

Disclaimer: I don’t own Vassalord.

I LOVE THIS SERIES!! I recently stumbled upon it and am distressed to find so little on it. THUS GOES MY CRUSADE OF CHARLSE/JOHNNY!! I do HIGHLY recommend this series. I fell in love with it with the first few pages. It’s no actual SHOWN yaoi, but so heavily implied it’s unreal.

And…reading it would help you understand this a hell of a lot better, honestly.

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We had had sex.

It happens every now and again, it’s unavoidable with creatures like us. As much as dear Cherry wants to deny what he is and all those cravings that build up in that beautiful body, he knows he’ll succumb eventually. Sex is like blood. We both hunger for it and, if we’ve gone without it for too long, we’ll dive into whatever the first willing thing is.

I’m always waiting around for Cherry to take the plunge.

It’s usually on the night of the new moon. A rather unknown part of vampiric lore, vampires are out and about more on the night of the new moon. It makes scientific sense as well when one really things about it. Ah, sense, that thing my dear Cherry loves so much. Moonlight is nothing more than reflected sunlight from the other part of the Earth where it’s daytime. Older vampires have long grown past their distaste for sunlight, but it still has its effect. Complete darkness just revitalizes us almost as much as blood.

That is the night we have sex.

There is a reason I’m referring to it so blatantly. There’s hardly any emotion in what we do. He comes, has his way, and wanders off again to his precious Vatican. The only comfort I have while he’s gone is the knowledge that he will come back. He’ll always come back. I could live with this. Getting to be with him once a month is better than never. I’m patient enough for the most part, but there’s one thing that keeps bringing me some heartache.

We have sex. We fuck. We drink from each other.

We never kiss.

I would kill an army of virgin nuns for that kiss if I knew he would give it. He never even gets close enough for me to get a good whiff of his feathery blonde hair. Even now as I think about it, lying in bed on this the night of the new moon, it makes me feel nothing but sad. What is so wrong with wanting to be with me? If the church causes him this much anguish over simple feelings he should just leave it! I’m so tired of the Vatican ripping him away from me. I hate them so much for it I can hardly stand it.

I look out the window expectantly, blowing out smoke. All of the buzz, none of the cancer. He’ll be here soon. That still, calm, almost robotic voice and the feel of his fine hair under my fingers, all the sensations of Cherry that I love so much will soon walk right through my door. His usually restrained eyes will hold in them a silent but quaking hunger, though not for blood.

“Charles,” I whisper aloud, his name pouring a pain into my chest. I wanted him so badly to want me, me and me alone. I wanted him to abandon the church, to toss his priesthood to the side of some dirt road, and I wanted him to take my hand and run off with me. My thoughts sound like the plot of some cheap romance novel. The beautiful hedonist seducing the pure priest into a life of sin.

“You’re actually awake this time?”

I look up at the doorway and there he is. The only light is coming from a small scented candle I left lit on my nightstand. Nights like these I prefer scant light only for the purpose of not hurting myself. The light casts beautiful shadows across Cherry’s face and body and I find myself staring. Oh, Cherry you are too beautiful to be stuck in a life devoted to celibacy! Cast off the colors of the church and fall, angel! Fall into my arms. I will catch you, catch you and never let you go!

With all my thoughts, all my feelings, all I can do when he walks in the door is smirk, snubbing out my cigarette.

“You know I always wait up for you, Cherry,” I say casually, sitting up on the mattress. He shuts the door after him. There’s no one in the house but you and me, Cherry. Who do you think you’ll be able to hide from by merely shutting the door?

“It’s Charles,” he says sternly, always insistent on that one point. I smile at him, knowing full well why he’s here as I’m sure he knows as well. After all, he is making his way to my bed isn’t he? How to you end up here, Cherry, if you are so devote in your vows? You are a creature of the night, you are as far from God as anyone can get. Why punish yourself? Come follow me. I can truly set you free, free from your guilt, your self-loathing, and your torment.

I must show some pain in my eyes, one of his chill hands reaches out to stroke my cheek. As if on a reflex, I react by nuzzling my hand against his palm. His hands are so cold, so terribly cold. Let me warm them for you, Cherry.

I gently take that hand in both of mine, kissing each finger tip starting with the index finger, working my way down to the pinky and then the thumb. It is there that I gently pierce the skin with one tooth. God, his blood is good but hardly ever do I get to taste it. I can feel him growing aroused; feel the desire coursing through his veins and onto my tongue. It is like a bitter wine that I can’t ever get enough of. I want so much more than one night’s quick fuck for us Charles.

Charles.

That’s when he knows I’m serious. When I use his real name, that is when it is clear even to him that I mean every word I am saying. Can you read my thoughts, Charles? I want you. I want your mind, body, and soul. I want you to want me. Well, heh, I know you want me, but I want you to admit it. I want you to need me. Oh, Charles, you torture me!

Again, some pain must show in my face, his other cold hand latching to my shoulder ever so gently. My lips still around his thumb, I look up at him, making eye contact and almost shivering at the stare he’s giving me. It’s so intent, so single minded that it in one way makes me want him even more but in another makes me want to cry. I see none of the emotions I feel, none of that singular devotion. My eyes lower, knowing that this will not be the night I get my kiss. Conceding to what has been my fate for years, I allow the cloth to be removed from my body.

We fuck.

It’s hot, relatively rough, and satisfying on so many levels. Despite the gratuity of it, though, there is still so much missing. He kisses me everywhere…everywhere but my lips. To do so would be admitting why he’s really there, in my house and in my bed. It would be admitting that he loves something more than God. He’ll return to the church in the morning with his tail tucked between his legs, begging for forgiveness just like he always does. I’ll be left behind to wait for the next new moon or for him to get hungry for a meal from Papa.

“You leaving so soon? I feel like a cheap whore,” I say with a small pout. He makes a small grunt in acknowledgement.

“If you were, there would be approximately three dollars on your dresser,” he replies coldly. I’m cut, truly cut.

“You’re so cruel, Cherry,” I say with a sigh. He won’t take me seriously if I say his nickname. I don’t want him to know. He needs to come to me on his own time, not because he feels guilty for making me feel terrible. In a few seconds he’s out the door and I won’t see him again till he’s hungry or horny. I sigh, lighting another cigarette and blowing out the first whiff of smoke.

I’ll wait, be patient, and I’ll bide my time.

You’ll come back Charles.

For whatever reason or another, I know you’ll come back.

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(My body is your bread, my blood is your wine)

END.