Actions

Work Header

Not So Holy Ground

Work Text:

He had been perfectly fine being human, happy most of the time even, but then he just had to listen to Tucker.

“You need to get out there, man. Your funk is starting to get all over the apartment. I know you'll never be as good looking as me, but at least try and get a date.”

Church snorted from where he was watching TV on the couch, “Good looking? You're a fish, it's only up from there.”

Tucker glared at the reclining human, picking up a couch cushion and throwing it at his face. Contact.

Church sputtered, returning the throw.

If Tucker had been three feet to the right he might have felt a breeze from where it passed him, but as it stands, Tucker didn't even have to dodge. “For the last time, I'm a decedent of a Dinny-Mara, not a fucking fish, not a sea-cow, and sure as fuck not a pansy-ass mermaid. And what's with the hate? I get wet and I get a bitchin' tail, you get wet and it's just you and your left hand.”

Church grumbled, his ears turning pink. “Well, at least my ancestors didn't look like pigs.”

“I told you, that was bred out.”

“Yeah, not very well.”

Tucker flipped him off, setting his very human-feet up on the coffee table. It was true, most decedents of the Dinny-Mara didn't get the unfortunate looks nowadays, most having interbred with mermaids, sirens, and nymphs over the centuries to get rid of that unfortunate trait. Church was still going to give him shit over it though.

“But seriously, you gonna go get yourself a date or what?”

Church was very proud to say that he was able to deal with Tucker's constant nagging for a full week before he stormed out of the apartment, determined to get a date if only to get Tucker to shut the fuck up.

He probably should have picked where he went more wisely.

She had been nice enough, though that wasn't saying much if he was comparing her to himself. Church had went to a sketchy bar because obviously that's where you go when you want to pick someone up. He probably should have paid closer attention to which part of town he was in.

She had a twin brother, obviously just as drop-dead stunning as his sister, but he seemed more interested in keeping his sister out of trouble than keeping Church company.

She seemed to have had enough of her brother's hovering about the fourth time he got too close to the pair, so she reached out and grabbed his arm, very pointedly suggesting that he go get a drink to calm his nerves.

Church didn't think it strange at the time that he headed away from the bar.

She motioned him over to a booth in the corner, ordering a round of drinks, not saying it was an apology for her over protective brother, but Church got the feeling all the same. Somewhere between beer and shots she had said to call her South, toned arms slung over the back of the booth, tight shirt riding up, belly button ring glinting and catching Church's eye.

South cleared her throat, looking smug when Church jerked his eyes away from her mid-drift. She leaned across the table, finger snagging the fabric of his shirt. Church had to will himself to continue looking in her eyes instead of down her shirt where they wanted to travel.

She caught his eyes bobbing back and forth from her eyes to her chest, smiling a sharp, almost too-white smile at him.

Her face was flushed, but not quite as much as Church thought it should be with the amount of alcohol she had been drinking. Her eyes were dilated, his alcohol-addled brain swearing that they glowed. Her words were slurred when she spoke, “Oh, you're going to be fun."

The rest of the night was a blur, a miracle of drunk bumbling that somehow resulted in them falling onto sheets. Church had a vague niggling at the back of his mind that wondered where he was, when did they get half-naked, what happened to her brother, and why he was thinking about useless shit like that when there were nails etching fire down his back.

He remembers that condoms had been present ('thank god'), remembers him being horny and impatient, remembers her sharp voice being firm, if slightly slurred, on the matter, rolling the condom down his shaft, giving a sharp pull on his cock with a devil's grin.

He remembers her letting him move down her body, cupping her bare breasts, and kissing down her muscled abs to where her purple panties still covered her, a hand carding through his hair with sharp nails, strong thighs bracketing his body. The thought that she could crush him had flitted through his mind, a remembered smile on his lips thinking that it wouldn't be such a bad way to go.

Church later wonders why his drunken mind latched onto such small details like the color of her panties, the way his fingers dumbly played with the lace as she got impatient, pulling at his hair until she could plant a bruising kiss on his lips, more pressure than precision, before flipping him bodily.

He doesn't remember the entire event, but what he does remember was tight heat and slick bodies, rough kisses and even rougher hickies. She was tough and liked it violent, loved using her teeth. He remembers when they were nearing completion, she had been sucking hickies into his neck, riding him like she wanted nothing more than for him to break in half. She had clamped down around him, Church yelping from her teeth sinking into his neck, but soon forgot it as his body was lost in release.

He must have fallen asleep then, though he doesn't remember it. He does, however, remember getting dressed in the middle of the night, getting his ass swatted at by his mystery date when he bent over to get his jeans, before taking the walk of shame to the sidewalk in order to hail a taxi so he could get back to his apartment. He remembers, very specifically, showing off his obviously sex-disheveled state to Tucker, falling face first into bed, having both his pride and his body satisfied, before sleeping off the last of the alcohol in his system.

He doesn't, however, remember how he got on the ceiling.

“Shit!”

Church flailed, trying to get the world back in its proper order, and bouncing his face against the light fixture for his trouble. Church cursed, bringing his hand to his face, before regretting the move when his body decided to obey the laws of physics again.

Church fell, only one of his hands available to possibly break his fall, but it didn't really matter since he was landing on his back, Church fortunate enough to have a King size bed instead of a smaller one.

Landing on his bed instead of the floor didn't mean he got to keep his breath though, all the air leaving him in a whoosh as he was dropped back down to earth.

Church laid on his bed, eyes wide and mouth agape staring at his ceiling as he tried to slow his breathing and let his heart rate slow...

...the hand on his chest clenched his shirt.

He can't feel his heart.

Church shot out from bed, his feet tangling in the sheets causing him to fall to the floor. He wrestled with the sheets, kicking them as he scrambled for his bathroom, more thankful than ever that he and Tucker didn't have to share one.

His fingers clutched at the porcelain sink, his formally tan knuckles no longer having the ability to go white as he strengthened his grip.

Church stared at the mirror, stared until he was sure his head was going to explode and he was going to throw up his innards.

He didn't have a reflection.

Church passed out on the bathroom floor.

-

He's not sure how much time passed, but not enough to wake him up from the nightmare his life had become.

He was on the floor, the white tile hurting his eyes as he stared at it almost unseeingly. He would have stayed there longer if the tang of blood, strangely not as disgusting as it should have been, wasn't seeping down his throat along with something else that was threatening to choke him.

Church coughed, doubling over as he spit onto the floor, blood and saliva mixing into a pink froth on the tile. He spit and hacked until something hard hit the floor with a clatter.

Church reached his hand out shakily, poking at the object.

A tooth.

He did that three more times, each time with more blood and spit and teeth being added to the pile.

Oh god, was he dying?

He wanted to throw up, he really did, but he held it back. He instead dragged himself up from the floor, ignoring the teeth and the blood and the spit and the horror and instead turned on the tap, letting cool water pool into his hands as brought it to his mouth, swishing then watching the pink water swirl down the drain.

He accidentally let his eyes cast down to the floor.

He threw up in the sink.

By the time he was done, his mouth free of the taste of blood and bile, he was staring into the mirror again, shaking like a leaf. He could feel the tremors, the sweat sliding down his temple, but he couldn't see it.

He moved his hand to the back of his head, eyes desperately wanting to track the movement in the glass, and winced when he found it was tender. He was relieved that he hadn't brained himself against the tub, but then again that might have given him a concussion and been an excellent explanation to what was happening to his life.

Church brought his hand away from his head and up to the mirror, saw as his hand lifted and did what it always did, but the mirror wouldn't show it, wouldn't show how his hand touched the mirror, how it dragged down and left marks across the glass, the only evidence the mirror would show that he touched it at all.

Church sucked in a breath. 'I'm going crazy. I've finally lost my mind. After all these years of saying it would happen and there's no one to blame for it, just my own mind deciding to fuck off.'

No.

No, he was not crazy. Leonard L. Church was too fucking smart to be losing his mind right now. There had to be a logical explanation for this, something beside absolute insanity.

He needed help.

“Tucker!”

Church raced from his bathroom, almost tripping over his own feet as he darted down the hall to Tucker's room. He grabbed the door handle, not even bothering to knock or to see if it was unlocked before he was pulling it open, calling out to Tucker as he went into the room.

“Dude, what!”

The call came from Tucker's bathroom.

Church gave the bathroom door the same treatment he did Tucker's bedroom door, opening it wide and entering in a panic.

“Tucker!”

“What the fuck!”

Tucker was in the tub, his long tail draping over the edge and the blues and greens of his scales reflecting the light as it twitched violently from shock, Tucker trying to bring it closer to himself as he pulled the shower curtain into the tub with him, reflexively trying to cover himself.

Church was panting, his lack of heartbeat throwing up a million red flags that he was trying his best to ignore since he was still able to walk around and hadn't dropped dead yet, but that by no means meant that he was calm about all of this.

Tucker was glaring at him, yelling about 'learning how to fucking knock, asshole, what the hell', but Church wasn't listening. His entire being was freaking out and he needed answers now.

Church reached towards Tucker, grasping at Tucker's upper arms as Tucker squeaked, tail whacking against Church's thigh as he was dragged bodily from the tub with a sort of ease that was not normal in any sense of the word.

“What the fuck, put me down –!”

Tucker stared, mouth agape as he was brought closer to Church, being held up by nothing by Church's hands with most of his tail lying on the ground. He would have been more pissed about the possibility of his tail being damaged, about his being man handled and his privacy violated, had he not seen the look on Church's face, more specifically, the way Church's face looked.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

-

Church was pacing, or he was trying to. Every once in a while his feet would lift off the floor and he'd flail and panic until gravity started to kick in again and he'd fall back to the floor, cursing.

Tucker was sitting on the couch, watching the spectacle with annoyed curiosity. Annoyed give the fact that his friend was flipping the fuck out and had dragged him, literally, into the middle of it.

Tucker dragged his towel across his shoulders, removing some stray beads of water. He was glad his tail had gotten the chance to dry out and return to being legs again so he could slip into some jogging pants before he could reveal more of himself than he ever wanted his friend to see.

Church stopped pacing, turning around and facing Tucker.

“How could this have happened!”

Tucker sighed. “Dude, you fucked a vampire and she got bite-y. I thought that was pretty obvious by this point.”

Church fell back into the arm chair, his energy seeming to have left him.

Tucker watched him, feeling slightly on edge. Church was unnaturally pale, the color seeming to have been drained out of him, which made the way that his eyes glowed on occasion even more menacing in their intensity.

Tucker shifted, wanting to flee from the room since everything in his body was screaming 'predator, run you fucking idiot' but he couldn't. One, because this was Church and even though they've threatened to kill each other in the past, he knew that they never would and two, Church wouldn't let him live it down if he did, so he sucked it up and tried to look as relaxed as he could with his heart jamming into his throat when Church sighed, a peak of Church's newly growing fangs glinting at him.

Tucker breathes slowly through his nose, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table and relaxing into the seat cushions. Might as well make the best of the situation.

“Hey, Church, look at this way, at least it'll be easier for you to pick up chicks now. Chicks dig vampires!”

Church threw a pillow at Tucker, smiling smugly when it hit Tucker's face with a solid thwap.

'Well', Church thought with a bitter laugh, 'at least my aim got better.'