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wrennetteTitle: If You Stop Fighting, You're Dead
Pairing: Jack Crow x Padre
Fandom: John Carpenter's Vampires
Rating: PG-13 for dirty thoughts, cursing
Warnings: Unbeta-ed.
Disclaimer: It's called John Carpenter's Vampires, not Wrennette's Vampires. That's a pretty good indication, isn't it?
Summary: Takes place after the movie. Preslash (there isn't any actual sex).
After they destroyed Valek and Montoya was gone, it was just him and the Padre to finish cleaning up the mess. And what a mess it was. But the Padre had, somewhere along the line, turned into a damn good fighter, a damn good shooter, and a damn good friend. Maybe it was that they were the only two left. Maybe it was that the Padre had killed for him, had been willing to die for him. He wasn't sure himself. All he knew was he was damn glad the Padre was around.
They didn't have many options once the nest was destroyed. They either ran, knowing their lives were marked by the undead, or they fought until they couldn't fight any more. For him, the choice was obvious. But he didn't especially want to drag the Padre any deeper into this than he already was. He would fight. But if he could protect the Padre, get him to someplace safe, someplace the Vamps wouldn't follow, that would be great. If it was what the Padre wanted. Finally, he brought it up.
"So," he said, placing a tequila in front of the younger man. "Where you headin' next?" The Padre looked up at him as he sat, obviously confused.
"I'm with you," the Padre said softly, but there was steel in his voice. He swallowed his tequila in one gulp, than looked back at the priest.
"You sure you want to stay in this business Padre?" He had to ask, looking straight into the younger man's eyes. The Padre nodded, eyes unflinching. "Alright," he said, suddenly tired. "I just wanted to give you the option. It never stops Padre. Never. And if you stop fighting, you're dead."
"I know," the Padre said in that soft steely voice, and he nodded in reply. That night, they headed out of town, down towards Mexico. They both knew they were hunting Montoya, so neither of them felt the need to say it. While he drove, the Padre slept, and when he was too tired to keep going, he woke the younger man and they switched places. In towns along the way they cleaned out small nests, but none of them had Masters as old or as dangerous as Valek, and it almost seemed easy. Not that he ever let himself think that. Thinking it was easy was a damn good way to get dead. Or undead. Neither of which were options he felt like investigating.
They were a few miles short of Mexico when night began to fall. Neither wanted to make the crossing in the dark, so they found a motel and got a room. They didn't have much money, just the bottom of the stack the Cardinel had given them, so they decided to bunk together. He took first watch, curled back to back with the Padre on the bed, facing the door with his crossbow in his hands. The Padre prayed silently for a few moments, on his knees next to the bed, rosary clasped between his hands, and he couldn't help but look a bit.
The priest was a very attractive man, he had noticed it from the beginning. He couldn't let himself get attached, but that didn't mean he was blind. Longish dark hair, big blue eyes, golden skin, scruffy beard. If the Padre weren't a priest, he probably would have made a move by now. He would probably be boning the younger man into the cheap mattress, riding his tight ass hard and fast. He pushed thoughts of sex away. It was the Padre, and he couldn't afford to indulge in fantasies. Not after dark. He pulled his jacket tighter, stroked the smooth curve of the crossbow, and turned away.
The Padre climbed back in, laying right next to him but under the covers, their bodies aligned from shoulders to asses. Again he had to push away that curl of curious arousal, that moment of wondering what it would feel like to slide into that tight heat, to reach around the Padre and stroke his leaking cock. He listened to the Padre breathe, listened to the cars and trucks on the highway, listened to the couple in the next room fucking noisily. It made his own loneliness all the more painful, hearing them grunt and slam the bed into the wall. But finally his watch was over.
He woke the Padre, than handed him the crossbow and pulled off his boots and jeans, slipping into the warm little hollow the younger man had created. The Padre made the sign of the cross on his forehead, a strangely touching gesture, than settled down where he had previously lain. It took a while for him to fall asleep, half hard and lonely. He wondered idly as he slipped off to sleep what the Padre would think of the continuing sex noises from the next room, but his curiosity wasn't nearly as strong as his exhaustion, and so he drifted off, back up weapon clutched in his hand under the pillow.
At dawn the Padre woke him, gently shaking him until he rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. Sunlight was streaming in through the window, limning the Padre's face with gold. He groaned softly, not wanting to wake up, slowly sitting, his entire body aching from the long days of fighting and not enough rest.
"Come on Jack," the Padre said gently, and he nodded slowly, too sleepy to be ashamed of his morning wood as he shambled to the bathroom to piss and freshen up a bit. He redressed in the same clothes he had been wearing for days now, because it didn't matter anyway, and they got back in the truck, and back on the road to Mexico.
Once they had made the crossing, they began hunting Montoya and the girl. Neither of them liked it, but they both knew it had to be done. They found a few small nests first, cleaned them out as quickly as possible, wanting to find Montoya and have this done with. But by the time night fell again, they hadn't tracked him down. Knowing that they were in far more dangerous territory now, the Padre talked one of his brethren into letting them stay the night in a small church. It wasn't comfortable, but it meant they didn't have to pay for a room.
They fell asleep back to back, each of them clutching their weapon of choice. He woke part way through the night, his chest pressed against the Padre's back, the younger man curled in his arms, their bodies a perfect fit. He bit back a groan, trying to will away his building erection. It felt so fucking good just to have the Padre in his arms like this, he knew that if he thought too hard about actually fucking the younger man he might cream his pants like a teenager.
Finally he fell back asleep, and didn't wake again until the Padre slipped from his arms and gently drew a cross on his forehead. It was obvious the priest hadn't meant to wake him, but he was awake, and it was light, which meant it was time to go hunting. He said a quick prayer for both of them, and than it was back on the road. As on the day before, there was no sign of Montoya or the girl. Jack wasn't sure that was a good thing or a bad thing. He knew that Montoya would fight it as long as he could, but it was impossible to avoid the curse completely.
As they traveled, he learned more about the Padre. Learned that despite his blue eyes and upper class accent, the Padre had been raised in the dirt poor barrios of Ciudad Juarez. He had been devout from a young age, raised as much by the Church as his parents, one or both of whom were always gone al norte to make money. But Adam Guiteau had made it out of the barrios. He had made it to a Jesuit school, and from there to Rome, and the Priesthood, which was his salvation. Unfortunately, it was also in Rome that he caught the eye of the grasping Cardinel that had nearly gotten them both killed.
Now that they were back in Mexico, the Padre lapsed back into his native Spanish, and Jack took to watching the way the younger man's mouth moved. He really was exquisite, and Jack knew if he didn't break himself of this obsession soon, it would get both of them dead or worse. At the same time though, they became more comfortable with one another, and Jack couldn't fight how incredibly aroused the younger man made him. He got out his sexual frustration as aggression, but it wasn't the same. After all, he wasn't a priest. He wasn't used to denying himself the pleasures of the flesh, despite having been raised in the Church.
Pairing: Jack Crow x Padre
Fandom: John Carpenter's Vampires
Rating: PG-13 for dirty thoughts, cursing
Warnings: Unbeta-ed.
Disclaimer: It's called John Carpenter's Vampires, not Wrennette's Vampires. That's a pretty good indication, isn't it?
Summary: Takes place after the movie. Preslash (there isn't any actual sex).
After they destroyed Valek and Montoya was gone, it was just him and the Padre to finish cleaning up the mess. And what a mess it was. But the Padre had, somewhere along the line, turned into a damn good fighter, a damn good shooter, and a damn good friend. Maybe it was that they were the only two left. Maybe it was that the Padre had killed for him, had been willing to die for him. He wasn't sure himself. All he knew was he was damn glad the Padre was around.
They didn't have many options once the nest was destroyed. They either ran, knowing their lives were marked by the undead, or they fought until they couldn't fight any more. For him, the choice was obvious. But he didn't especially want to drag the Padre any deeper into this than he already was. He would fight. But if he could protect the Padre, get him to someplace safe, someplace the Vamps wouldn't follow, that would be great. If it was what the Padre wanted. Finally, he brought it up.
"So," he said, placing a tequila in front of the younger man. "Where you headin' next?" The Padre looked up at him as he sat, obviously confused.
"I'm with you," the Padre said softly, but there was steel in his voice. He swallowed his tequila in one gulp, than looked back at the priest.
"You sure you want to stay in this business Padre?" He had to ask, looking straight into the younger man's eyes. The Padre nodded, eyes unflinching. "Alright," he said, suddenly tired. "I just wanted to give you the option. It never stops Padre. Never. And if you stop fighting, you're dead."
"I know," the Padre said in that soft steely voice, and he nodded in reply. That night, they headed out of town, down towards Mexico. They both knew they were hunting Montoya, so neither of them felt the need to say it. While he drove, the Padre slept, and when he was too tired to keep going, he woke the younger man and they switched places. In towns along the way they cleaned out small nests, but none of them had Masters as old or as dangerous as Valek, and it almost seemed easy. Not that he ever let himself think that. Thinking it was easy was a damn good way to get dead. Or undead. Neither of which were options he felt like investigating.
They were a few miles short of Mexico when night began to fall. Neither wanted to make the crossing in the dark, so they found a motel and got a room. They didn't have much money, just the bottom of the stack the Cardinel had given them, so they decided to bunk together. He took first watch, curled back to back with the Padre on the bed, facing the door with his crossbow in his hands. The Padre prayed silently for a few moments, on his knees next to the bed, rosary clasped between his hands, and he couldn't help but look a bit.
The priest was a very attractive man, he had noticed it from the beginning. He couldn't let himself get attached, but that didn't mean he was blind. Longish dark hair, big blue eyes, golden skin, scruffy beard. If the Padre weren't a priest, he probably would have made a move by now. He would probably be boning the younger man into the cheap mattress, riding his tight ass hard and fast. He pushed thoughts of sex away. It was the Padre, and he couldn't afford to indulge in fantasies. Not after dark. He pulled his jacket tighter, stroked the smooth curve of the crossbow, and turned away.
The Padre climbed back in, laying right next to him but under the covers, their bodies aligned from shoulders to asses. Again he had to push away that curl of curious arousal, that moment of wondering what it would feel like to slide into that tight heat, to reach around the Padre and stroke his leaking cock. He listened to the Padre breathe, listened to the cars and trucks on the highway, listened to the couple in the next room fucking noisily. It made his own loneliness all the more painful, hearing them grunt and slam the bed into the wall. But finally his watch was over.
He woke the Padre, than handed him the crossbow and pulled off his boots and jeans, slipping into the warm little hollow the younger man had created. The Padre made the sign of the cross on his forehead, a strangely touching gesture, than settled down where he had previously lain. It took a while for him to fall asleep, half hard and lonely. He wondered idly as he slipped off to sleep what the Padre would think of the continuing sex noises from the next room, but his curiosity wasn't nearly as strong as his exhaustion, and so he drifted off, back up weapon clutched in his hand under the pillow.
At dawn the Padre woke him, gently shaking him until he rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. Sunlight was streaming in through the window, limning the Padre's face with gold. He groaned softly, not wanting to wake up, slowly sitting, his entire body aching from the long days of fighting and not enough rest.
"Come on Jack," the Padre said gently, and he nodded slowly, too sleepy to be ashamed of his morning wood as he shambled to the bathroom to piss and freshen up a bit. He redressed in the same clothes he had been wearing for days now, because it didn't matter anyway, and they got back in the truck, and back on the road to Mexico.
Once they had made the crossing, they began hunting Montoya and the girl. Neither of them liked it, but they both knew it had to be done. They found a few small nests first, cleaned them out as quickly as possible, wanting to find Montoya and have this done with. But by the time night fell again, they hadn't tracked him down. Knowing that they were in far more dangerous territory now, the Padre talked one of his brethren into letting them stay the night in a small church. It wasn't comfortable, but it meant they didn't have to pay for a room.
They fell asleep back to back, each of them clutching their weapon of choice. He woke part way through the night, his chest pressed against the Padre's back, the younger man curled in his arms, their bodies a perfect fit. He bit back a groan, trying to will away his building erection. It felt so fucking good just to have the Padre in his arms like this, he knew that if he thought too hard about actually fucking the younger man he might cream his pants like a teenager.
Finally he fell back asleep, and didn't wake again until the Padre slipped from his arms and gently drew a cross on his forehead. It was obvious the priest hadn't meant to wake him, but he was awake, and it was light, which meant it was time to go hunting. He said a quick prayer for both of them, and than it was back on the road. As on the day before, there was no sign of Montoya or the girl. Jack wasn't sure that was a good thing or a bad thing. He knew that Montoya would fight it as long as he could, but it was impossible to avoid the curse completely.
As they traveled, he learned more about the Padre. Learned that despite his blue eyes and upper class accent, the Padre had been raised in the dirt poor barrios of Ciudad Juarez. He had been devout from a young age, raised as much by the Church as his parents, one or both of whom were always gone al norte to make money. But Adam Guiteau had made it out of the barrios. He had made it to a Jesuit school, and from there to Rome, and the Priesthood, which was his salvation. Unfortunately, it was also in Rome that he caught the eye of the grasping Cardinel that had nearly gotten them both killed.
Now that they were back in Mexico, the Padre lapsed back into his native Spanish, and Jack took to watching the way the younger man's mouth moved. He really was exquisite, and Jack knew if he didn't break himself of this obsession soon, it would get both of them dead or worse. At the same time though, they became more comfortable with one another, and Jack couldn't fight how incredibly aroused the younger man made him. He got out his sexual frustration as aggression, but it wasn't the same. After all, he wasn't a priest. He wasn't used to denying himself the pleasures of the flesh, despite having been raised in the Church.
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