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mob au | explicit | tiefer/jehan, tiefer/adam, adam/jehan

read on AO3 | extreme gore

"Oh fuck me..."

"That's what I'm doin', boy."

"Fuck you, you know what I mean."

Usually, mouthing off to Emilein Tiefer, head of The Church, southeast Louisiana's most notorious best kept secret of a criminal organization, meant a knife to the throat (or dick, whichever drove the point home best). For Adam Gagnon, an always ever loyal righthand dog who was currently bent over a desk that cost more than every organ in his body ten times over, an exception could surely be made.

At least he hoped so.


Tiefer stilled, cock still deep inside of Adam.

"'Fraid I don't."

Adamn whined. His cock was hard and aching, caught between him and the desk underneath him, his body painfully full. "Boss, c'mon..." He pushed back, desperate for anything. The drugs didn't help.

Tiefer pulled back, the head of his cock the only thing still inside of his subordinate. His hands firmly gripped Adam's hips and ass, keeping him at bay.

"Enlighten me."

"Christ, boss, just—"

"Did you mean to say 'Please fuck" —his voice dipped, catching low in his throat, a nice little mockery of Adam but rougher in a way that had Adam biting his lip— "me'? Hmm?"

It was practically a purr, punctuated only with the delicate rock of his hips as if he were handling china, pushing just a little bit more inside, far from enough.

"I'm sure that's what you must've meant..."

"God, fuck please Emi, fu—shit!"

A hand in his hair snapped his head back as he was slammed into, once, hard.

Tiefer's breath was against the side of his throat, teeth grazing his ear. "Never ever fuckin' call me that again if you wanna keep that fuckin' cock of yours, dog. It ain't yours to say."

"Sorry— please, sir I didn't mean—"

"Oh I know what you meant." Tiefer shoved Adam's head forward, pressing it into the desk, holding him trapped between the desk and his body, unmoving, as if he'd all the time in the world. The only thing betraying his need being the slight flush in his cheeks and the tremor in his grip.

"Try again: what did you mean to say?"

"Please...fuck me..."

"Please fuck me what?"

A sound somewhere between a huff and a whine.

"Please fuck me, sir."

"Now, Adam" — and Adam practically sobbed at the sound of his name purred like that, a rough and wanting promise— "you know what you're allowed to call me." Tiefer tightened his grip in Adam's hair. "Don't make me ask."

"Please fuck me, Father."

Father Emilein Tiefer, leader of The Church. That's what they all called him, officially any way. His sister who had run their little organization before him (and, depending on the stories, who had cut and/or fucked her way to the top) had been the one to come up with the moniker — after all, they were The Church. Despite the damnatio memorare he had made against her (after her death which he had also, depending on your source, had a hand in), Tiefer kept the title. Humor, it seemed, ran in the family, so "Father" it was. Few were able to address him as anything but; those who could were still usually allowed only 'sir' or 'boss' or, depending on his mood, 'Emilein.'

Then again, everything with him depended on his mood.

"Good boy."

"You called him Emi!?"

"Well it's not like I did it on purpose, doll," Adam said, taking a puff from the joint that dangled between his fingers. "I was a little preoccupied at the moment."

Jehan snorted as he flipped another page of MAD Magazine, only half reading. He was sprawled on his bed, the plush burgundy bedspread a mature contrast to his small frame and skinny legs, as Adam sat on the floor, leaning against the intricate footboard.

"Hope you still got your dick after that," Jehan said, looking up.

In response, Adam grabbed his dick through his jeans and earned a laugh.

"Lucky you" —his eyes were on the magazine again but obviously what little attention it had captured was elsewhere— "You know he beat a pig half to death just for laughing 'cause he overheard me call him that name? Fucker pissed in a catheter for at least a month."

"I'd heard."

"Emi must like you." There was a tease of a smile in his voice. "Should I be worried?"

"Nah, I'm just his dog. You're his bitch." Adam glanced up, not meeting Jehan's eyes. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Jehan shrugged. Tossing the magazine aside, he crawled over until he was lying on his stomach, sprawled on the bed, within Adam's reach. He reached down and plucked the joint from Adam's hand; Adam didn't resist. "You ain't wrong."

He watched Jehan take a long drag. "Still, right or wrong," he said as Jehan handed the joint back, the small shudder of a suppressed cough making his hand shake. "Coulda been nicer."

"Fuck, Adam, you're the nicest thing about this place."

There was a silence between the two of them, between Jehan in an oversized t-shirt and boxer-briefs lying on the too-big too-nice bed covered in juvenile magazines and hiding copies of Playboy under the mattress (not that there was much reason to hide them — Tiefer gave his pet whatever he asked for, within reason) and Adam fairly freshly fucked in his beat up rocker shirts and ripped biker jeans sprawled on a teenager's bedroom floor, both with invisible collars around their throats tethering them to The Church, to Tiefer.

Jehan was the first to break the silence.

"So, since he let you keep your dick, that mean he let you cum?"

Adam laughed. "Well if he hadn't, I'd be borrowing your shower rather than sitting here gossiping."

"Why? I'm right here." A grin. "Use me."

Another laugh, nervous this time. No one was really sure where Jehan came from — Tiefer had showed up with this all of twelve years old child one day and for the past four years, well, here he stayed — but everyone, member of The Church or not, knew one thing: Jehan Prêtre belonged to Emilein Tiefer, and God help whoever was fool enough to so much as look wrong at what Tiefer claimed as his own.

Adam, ever foolish, took a drag to steady himself. "You ain't my type, kiddo."

"Liar." There was no mirth in that. Jehan sat up, watching Adam. "You've kissed me enough times when you were drunk. And then some."

"Those were mistakes." Righthand man or not, mistakes were deadly in The Church.

"You sure like making mistakes then."

"If the boss knew—"

"Oh come on. Emi fuckin' knows, Adam. Y'all fuck each other all the time. He knows your scent. You think he didn't smell you on me after you came down my throat at that fuckin' gala?"

Adam swallowed thickly. The joint — now roach — dangled from his fingers. He stubbed it out. "So. He's known that long?"

"Longer. He ain't stupid. But y'all share everything. Booze. Intel. Whores. I'm just a glorified whore, so..." Jehan slipped off the bed, flush against Adam. "Might as well treat me like all the others."

"H-he never told me he knew."

"Please. Everyone knows how you are when you have too much to drink," Jehan said, leaning in close, "You think he'd ever leave his fuckin' pet all alone with you in the first place if he was scared he might get sloppy seconds?"

Adam grinned, sheepishly.

"Even if he didn't, you go slippin' and callin' him Emi too many damn times, he's bound to figure out you picked that up from me." A grin. "Even if I'm supposedly not your type."

Adam rolled his eyes. "Fine, I lied," He put his hands up. "You caught me. So...what're you gonna do about it?"

Grabbing Adam's wrist, Jehan stood, pulling the older man up only to tug him down with him to the bed, magazines falling to the floor.

"You said it yourself: you're his dog, Adam." Jehan pulled Adam down, kissing him softly. "Make me your bitch."

"You don't like it here much do you?"

Jehan peered up at Adam from behind his bangs. They were lying in Jehan's bed after a good two hours spent dirtying the sheets. Tiefer was out on business regarding an upstart rival gang — had been out for some days — and so left Adam and Daniel, his thirdmost trusted, in charge of seeing to matters at home; and Adam did, impeccably so as always, but with great attention to spending as much time as he could with Jehan while he could.

"Naw, Adam," Jehan drawled, "I just love being the child sex slave of a deranged mob boss. Really just gets my dick hard."

They had always been friendly, bordering on flirty, with Adam often being the one to make runs for sweets when he was younger or pickup beer or Playboy for him. It wasn't that Tiefer couldn't be kind, but that when people saw him they saw Death. Adam, however, could sweet talk and puppy dog eye his way into anyone's heart. So he made the runs and he made the drop offs and he saw this poor teenager with no one else really around and, well... It always felt like the right thing to do, to be there for him. After all, he knew what Tiefer was like too.


"No, I'm sorry." Jehan sat up, the sheets pooling in his lap. Old scars littered his back. "I...I have a lot. I should be grateful."

Jehan had begged him not to tell Tiefer that they'd fucked or that they'd kept fucking — and Adam wasn't about to press Tiefer's mood after their little Emi incident. He realized, not long after, that Jehan had maybe stretched the truth a bit. Even if Tiefer did know that there had been a few slip ups, even if Jehan was just a kept whore like all the other cheap men he and Tiefer had previously indulged in, there was something perhaps a bit unwise in loudly advertising you fucked the mob boss' plaything.

"I can ask for anything — anything at all — and he'll give it to me. Make you get it, really." Jehan didn't look at Adam. "I have the world. Except..."

"Except your freedom."

A hiccup. And then —

"Yeah. Except that."

Adam was used to seeing people cry. In this line of work, it happened. Crying, screaming, begging... He was even used to seeing Jehan cry; Tiefer had on multiple occasions beat and fucked Jehan while carrying on "business" meetings as both a punishment and a challenge: don't ever think to fuck with the faggot head of The Church. But this time...


Adam couldn't deny that it hurt.

"I shouldn't have said anything."

Jehan hiccuped. "You're right, though." His body shook. "It's stupid to be this upset. Freedom isn't that important." Jehan wiped his eyes, breathing deep. "I have a roof over my head, I'm well fed, I'm alive... I should be grateful. He's sweet when he wants to be, he gives me the world, he's always made sure I came... I should love him."

"He's hard to love."

A laugh. "Do you?"


Jehan turned to Adam. "Love him?"

Adam paused. "I'm loyal to him."

"Right. The Church's loyal dog." Jehan reached out, tracing Adam's jaw with his fingers. "It's why he gives you so much freedom."

"It's less freedom, doll, more a very long leash."

A scoff. "At least you've got a leash."

Adam kissed Jehan's hand and looked away. The boy was right — he at least had room to roam, room to fuck around, room to say no. He was part of The Church, not just The Church's open, dirty secret.

"And if he gave you a leash, what then?" he asked, finally meeting Jehan's eyes. "Would you take it?"

"Fuck, Adam, I'd take any leash from anyone who offered."

Brow furrowed, Adam clicked his tongue. "You should be careful who you let put a leash 'round your collar, Jehan."

Jehan recoiled. "Who I let?"

"I only meant—"

"You're the only person I've let do anything to me."

"— that there are people worse than Emilein out there."

"That so? Did he even tell you why I wound up under his 'care' in the first place?"

Adam didn't respond. He had been The Church's second hand for a few years before Jehan had arrived, but he had never asked. It was never his business to ask.

"My dad worked for him. Down the bayou. Ran smuggling from the gulf into the state. They'd been...friends." He more spat than said the word, his face scrunched up. "Ever since they were kids, actually. Still would've been too but dad wanted to go clean. Second son on the way, realized the money wasn't worth it. Apparently the sex wasn't worth it either."

"They were—"

"Shit yeah."

"Oh." Adam wasn't shocked. Tiefer slept around. Adam knew he was but one of Tiefer's boys — a favored one perhaps, his ever loyal dog — but usually Tiefer did him the courtesy of telling him about other men.

"So dad told Emi where to shove it and wound up dead. Money all dried up and a mother with a son and a newborn infant..." Jehan smiled softly. "Emi made my mother an offer: he'd take care of me, even set me up with a job, make sure I never had blood on my hands. She'd never have to worry about me. He even paid her. Still pays her. I never asked how much."


"Ain't her fault. I had a choice. Of course I said yes, I was fuckin' twelve. I thought I knew Emi. Not well enough but he always brought gifts for us when he came 'round. Felt like Christmas when he dropped by. What kid says no to that?"

It didn't shock Adam. It should have, some part of his brain said, but it didn't. This was just what they did: promise the world with one breath and offer razorblades in the next. Their work wasn't honest; it was only dirty — the trick was to have just a little less shit on your face than the next motherfucker.

"If it means anything I wouldn't've said no either. Not in your position."

It was true: he still hadn't said no when Tiefer offered him a job when he'd been disowned and was slumming around, using a sharp tongue and a knack for other people to hustle coin here and lift cards there. And he'd been grown then, no stranger to life's lies or dirtied hands. Tiefer hadn't had to lie to him: he'd known up front he'd extort, he'd steal, he'd kill (and he'd known, based on how Tiefer had pushed him up against the dirty wall of the alley behind gay bar they'd met in, how he pressed against him, what else his "yes" may cost him.)

Jehan simply shrugged. "I was twelve. My family was poor. My mother was naive. Please, Adam," Jehan said softly, lying back down and curling up against Adam's chest. "Don't tell me there's worse than him out there."

Adam reached up, carding his fingers through Jehan's hair. "Sorry."

" 's fine." Jehan's voice was muffled, face against Adam's skin. He looked so small.

They laid like that a little longer, the smell of sex still hanging in the air. Eventually, Jehan leaned up on his elbows and kissed Adam who didn't hesitate to kiss him back, and soon enough Jehan was pinned to the mattress with Adam deep inside of him, kissing every moan from his lips.

There were indeed people worse than Emilein Tiefer out there in the world, but to know so would require a world beyond the shutters of The Church's old plantation.

For Jehan, that world did not quite exist. Sure he caught glimpses — he was Father Emilein Tiefer's pet, flaunted as a protege one moment, a charity case the next, and a trophy in the face of all laws and gods, always a pretty doe-eyed thing to be paraded on the man's arm at social events, business backdeals, and face-saving spectacles of high and deadly society.

Adam was Tiefer's boy: everyone knew that the man took care of him and if there were whispers that the two were more than master and dog, well, whispers are all they were; Jehan was Tiefer's boy: a possession the man owned. There was no need for whispers in front of an object.

It had been at the gala he'd sucked Adam off at — some old money WASP bullshit where people whispered only to be polite (and even then, politeness lasted only so many drinks in) at a swanky old hotel that all three of them, himself, Adam, and Tiefer, looked just ever so slightly out of place, a trio of street rats in nice suits playing pretend — where Jehan met one such a person.


He didn't look up at first. People usually paid him no notice if he wasn't at Tiefer's side and Tiefer was off playing socialite, leaving him to hang on the sidelines and drink more wine than he should; if they did ever notice him, they never bothered to use his name. Possessions didn't have names.


(He had to remember to thank Emi for leaving him that dignity; the man was the furthest thing from an angel but at least he always called him by his name. The illusion of personhood was powerful enough.)


He jolted, head snapping up.

A man with jet black hair and tanned skin dressed in a purple suit so dark it was almost black and matching slender tie stood before him. His fingers were covered in rings and his long nails were painted gold and just as bejeweled. Coupled with the ring he wore in his nose, the man looked out of place in the same way a rock star looked out of place among politicians. It was a refreshing sight.

"I apologize," the man purred, the hint of an accent coming through. "It is Jehan, isn't it?"

"Y-yes. Sorry, I..."

"Not used to anyone getting your name right around here?"

"Something like that, sir." He wasn't used to anyone knowing his name at all.

"I'm no stranger to it either. It's why I tell everyone just to call me Rex. Easier that way." The man extended his hand. "But I trust you to call me Ashmedai."

Jehan shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, Ashmedai."

"Ah, I knew I could trust you to get it right." He leaned in — pulled Jehan in, rather — with a conspiratorial grin. His teeth looked fanged, almost like a cat's. Or a vampire's. "Unlike the rest of these fat cats who think just because they own a thousand yachts or rig every election in the tri-county area, they don't have to learn a damn thing beyond their piggy little noses."

Jehan snorted. "You're enjoying yourself that much, sir?"

"Please, no formalities — we're all equals here, aren't we?" He released Jehan's hand and glanced around, as if they were sharing the world's greatest secret. "And of course, who wouldn't have a fucking blast trying to do business with a bunch of fat old bastards who use these social events as excuses to get shitfaced and try to fuck the little jailbait armcandy of every other bastard here, all behind their wives' backs? Can't think of a better way to spend my time. Can you?"

A smile, like he could read Jehan's own laundry list of places he'd rather be than here, a little more full of wine he couldn't even buy himself than he should be and left in a crowd of people who all knew he was less than a whore.

"I have to apologize, s— Ashmedai," Jehan said finally through a sheepish grin. "I'm about as useful to do business with as those men."

"I doubt that very much," Ashmedai said. His arm went around Jehan's shoulder, like they were two friends, like they'd always been friends. "You're Emilein Tiefer's boy, aren't you?"

"Not to be rude, but," —Jehan glanced aside at Ashmedai, noting how close they were, remembering the last time Tiefer caught someone merely looking at him wrong— "if it's business you're after, I'm happy to get Adam for you, he—"

"If I wanted The Church's little puppy, I'd find the mutt myself," Ashemdai hissed. "I didn't ask you if you got down on all fours and barked for your whoreson master, I asked if you were his boy." A pause, as if considering. Or recalibrating. "Unless that's what he likes in bed. Wouldn't shock me, the man fucked his sister before and after she passed..." He smiled, all genial pleasantries. "Not to be rude, of course."

"O...of course." Jehan grabbed his third glass of wine for the night from a passing server and took a gulp.

"So, you are his boy then aren't you?"

It was a question but they both knew the answer. The question was just a pleasantry.

"I am."

"What do you think happens to his boys? Once they've lost their...charm."

"What do you mean?"

In response, Ashmedai hailed a server with a tray of drinks and pulled out a flask from his chest pocket. He poured a large amount into one of the drinks, lifted it from the tray and toasted the server with a wink as she left before turning his attention to Jehan. "That girl, she's pretty, yes?"

"I guess."

"Unlike your beloved Father, you don't have to play gay for me, Jehan. If she came up to you after this whole shitshow were over and offered you her cunt, you'd take it, wouldn't you?"

Jehan didn't offer up the fact that he had never even seen a girl's cunt, outside of magazines. "Sure, yeah."

"Sure, he says!" Ashemdai laughed, taking a sip, his other hand squeezing Jehan's shoulder tight. "Pretty thing like that, of course you would! But she won't be so pretty forever, will she? And a pretty face and tight little ass is what earns such lovely tips."

Jehan watched the server glide around the room, smiling, targeting the guests whose drinks were on just this side of empty and whose hands so desperately needed a glass, doing just as brilliant a job as any. Surely, her assets were more than what Ashmedai described; yet still, he watched the men in the room (most of the men, at least) follow her when she turned, eyeline snapping from her face to her ass as soon as it wouldn't be too terribly gauche to do so (and more not even bothering to look her in the face when there was more distracting entertainment for the eye.)

"I guess she won't."

"Age is cruel to us all," Ashmedai said, all but pouting over the rim of his glass. "But she, well, she at least knows how to take care of rooms upon rooms of guests, anticipate their needs, make sure no man goes hungry...forgive me, Jehan," — and he did sound truly repentent, glass clinking as his long nails tapped the sides — "but can you ever serve The Church? Or just wet your master's cock?"

Taken aback, Jehan sputtered, "I...I'm not...I'm not useless, I—I can do things..."

"Has anyone ever let you? Taught you even?"

"No, but..." Jehan's hands shook, the wine glass threatening to spill. "I'm not just a whore." His voice sounded as small as he felt.

"Oh I don't doubt that. But ask yourself, where will you be when Emi looks for some younger, tighter cunt to breed?"

He downed the rest of his drink, winced once, and then smiled as if he hadn't completely upended a young man's world and security within it.

"Metaphorically, of course. Haven't seen that man fuck a cunt since his sister—and you know..." He yanked Jehan in close, voice a stage whisper. "Word is, she forced him, that poor bastard. Personally, I envy him: that woman, God rest her soul, could step on my dick any day and I'd thank her." He winked.

Jehan did not wink back.

"Oh forgive me, Jehan, I've forgotten myself!" He released his shoulder with a heavy clap. "I only say all these depressing things with the concern and wisdom of a man who has been where you once were."


"Was a man's boy? In so many words." Ashmedai lowered his voice, as if it were a secret, as if he held as many secrets as some of the men here had boats or whores and Jehan was the only one he could trust with them all. "I've been many things for many people."

"But you're..."


Jehan hesitated, finishing off the rest of his wine in an effort to buy some time. He didn't know what this man was — eccentric, genial (overly so, like an alien wearing a person suit who only learned how to be human from television), not great at boundaries...

"We're all equals here, Jehan. You can say it."

"...fuckin' weird."

He hadn't meant to say that thought out loud.

An apology was on his lips, but Ashemdai only laughed. "I am, aren't I? But I'm also not any man's boy. I learned. I climbed. I think you could too, if only anyone gave you a shot."

He reached inside his suit again, hand passing his flask, and pulled out a card, black as pitch, that he kissed, leaving a light sheen of lip gloss against it, and handed to Jehan.

"You don't have to decide now. But before you find out what happens to those in the underworld who outlive their usefulness, I do hope you take your shot."

He clapped Jehan on the shoulder one last time and made to leave, hailing the same server and handing over both his and Jehan's empty glasses, before clapping his hands together. "Oh right! I almost forgot!"

Ashmedai leaned in so they were nose to nose, his index finger straight up and pressed against both their lips. "Don't tell Daddy about this little convo, hmm?"

"I..." Jehan blushed. "I won't."

"Excellent! What a smart boy. I don't even have to tell you to guard that card with your life, I bet. Because if he sees it, well..." Ashmedai turned to leave. "He may just excommunicate you."

"Fuck I hate that Chink bastard."

"For starters, Boss, he's Indian. I think. Maybe Jewish."

"Jew bastard, then."

"Second, can we turn down the racism a bit?"

Tiefer glared at Adam as he poured his second glass of whiskey for the evening. The study was dark, lit only by the fireplace. "Sometimes, boy, I wonder about your priorities."

Adam raised his brow, watching Tiefer set the decanter down on his desk, now much neater than it had been the last time he'd been sprawled across it.

"We're a fuckin' mafia an' here you are worryin' about what I call the Chink Jew bastard who is tryin' to fuck us all up the ass!" He downed the glass he poured, cursed, and fell back in his chair. "Somebody needs to kill him."

"And have his goons turn their sights on us? You really want Dante to step up and lead the Seven Princes? Dude's a psycho."

"Yeah but I hear the kid's dick's big."

Adam rolled his eyes. "Priorities?"

"Let me dream, yeah? Mais..." Tiefer gestured to the large chair in front of his desk before pulling out another glass. "Besides, psycho or not — huge fuckin' cock or not — I want that kid playin' for our team."

"You want him?"

"Wouldn't you?" Tiefer poured him two fingers of whiskey. "Motherfucker's notorious for the intel he gets."

"For his methods."

"Don't be modest. We all torture here. How many hands you broken, hm?"

"We break people, sure, but he...destroys them."

Tiefer's eyes glinted in the light as he handed Adam the glass. "And we don't?"

Adam took the glass but didn't respond.

"My boy getting soft on me?"

"No." Adam took a drink, looking just as he had when Tiefer first met him. "I just don't think it wise to play dangerous games."

"Honey, you know we ain't never been above destruction."

"You're right, we're not." Adam sighed. "Even giants fall."

Tiefer stood, his fingers ghosting over his empty glass before stalking over to Adam, his hands slammed onto the chair arms. "That's why I want that motherfucker and his whole fuckin' gang dead before they encroach too much on our fuckin' turf and topple us."

"How? Ashmedai doesn't fuck around and neither does his right hand, Dante. As for Caleb—"

"His bitch?"

"He's just as much his dog as his bitch, Emilein. Not everyone's like you. Ashmedai's been training him."

Tiefer laughed, pulling away. "Oh, what? Does he bark on command now?"

"I'm not joking!" Adam stood, nearly nose to nose with Tiefer. He slammed his drink on the desk. "What about Jehan? You give him all he asks but keep him tethered. Meanwhile everyone knows he's special to you — enemies included. You think they won't target him? You think they haven't already?"

"They won't," Tiefer said as if it were law. "He's special, but useless. And I intend to keep it that way."

"Why? If shit goes down, he deserves a fighting chance. Right now he's a lamb for slaughter. Why won't you make him a real part of The Church?"

"Because I see what's happened to you!"

Adam stepped back, as if burned.

"You know what this fuckin' life does, Adam," Tiefer snarled, stepping back into Adam's space, like a threatened dog. "As long as all he is is my stupid bitch, he lives. Who's gonna target the dumb little boy who at worst gets fucked brainless in a meeting or two?"

Tiefer didn't wait for an answer. "He's stupid and pretty and if he's just a pet then to the world he's another expendable body to warm my bed. Ain't worth a bullet. You, though..." He jabbed a finger in Adam's chest. "Mais, you're smart and loyal and god damn valuable. If I lose you, I'm crippled. You think our enemies haven't noticed that?"

"You could go on. You've got Daniel. He's smart, he's your third—"

"Fuck my third, Adam — you're my boy."

That was about as close to 'I love you' as Emilein Tiefer, head of The Church, had ever managed with him after all their years together. Up close, in the crackling glow of the fire, Adam could see it wasn't a lie, either.

"But so is Jehan." It wasn't Tiefer who spoke into the silence, but Adam. "He's your boy too."

If it weren't for the fact that his eyes were dry, the laugh that spilled from Tiefer could have been mistaken for a sob.

"Yeah, Adam. He's my boy too."

"What will you do when he's no longer so boyish?"

He pressed his palm to Adam's cheek, thumb tracing his cheekbone. "You're still just as boyish as the day we met."

"I was grown when you met me. He's still just the boy you bought off an ex's widow."

"Does that upset you? You an' your..." Tiefer made a face. "Priorities?"

"If you mean my morals, I left them the night I went home with you."

A kiss, gentle, for once, and brief. "Ever the good dog."

"Always your dog."

Tiefer smiled, as brief and gentle as the kiss he'd pressed to Adam's lips, before it quickly turned sour, his lips set in a line. "You two are close if he's telling you that."

"We're friends." A shrug. "We talk."

"Hm." Tiefer stepped away, the firelight making his eyes look almost red. "You're right, y'know that?" He stalked back to his desk. "You were grown — grown an' smart an' already such a fucking liability. But him? What great big world does he know outside of the one I've made for him?"

He grabbed his glass and decanter.

"I don't keep him because he's young, Adam." He poured himself another glass. "I keep him because he's mine. We both know I'm not a fuckin' pedophile."

He shot the drink back before throwing the glass in the fireplace, watching the shards scatter.

"I'm a god."

"You ever fucked a girl?"

With a hiss, the smell of cheap beer filled Jehan's bedroom as Adam opened a bottle for each of them. Tiefer was away up river so they had been left to their own devices once more.

Adam laughed and handed Jehan a beer. "Just jump right on in to the up close'n'personal questions there, huh?" They both sat side by side on Jehan's bed, Adam's leather jacket and boots strewn on the floor next to most of Jehan's clothes, save the boxers still low on his hips.

"We're up close'n'personal all the time."

"Only when Daddy's not home," Adam sang between sips of beer, earning an eyeroll.

"You didn't answer my question."

Adam shrugged. "Lots of 'em." He grinned like a high schooler cutting class to smoke and talk shit in the toilets. "What, got your eye on someone?"

Jehan laughed and swung his arms around the room. "Who, Adam? The only girls here're the Playboys under my bed."

"Hey now" — Adam struggled to keep a straight face — "you'd leave out Sister Trish?"

"Trish is a 40 year old bulldyke tank Emi keeps on payroll because she'd beat the shit out of him if he didn't." Jehan rested the bottle rim on his lips, a smile tugging at each end. "I don't think I'm her type."

"Stranger things have happened." Another swig. "So what? You wanna fuck a girl?"

"Kinda." Huffing, Jehan fell back against his bed, grip tight on the bottle, eyes shut. "Shit, Adam, I'd just like to fuck something for once. Figured a girl'd be nice."

"Mm. Well, ain't wrong there. It's pretty nice."

"What's it like?"


A snort. "That it?"

"And warm," Adam added, looking Jehan over. "Soft too. Little less work than fucking a man and just as nice. Different but nice."

"Hmm." He cracked one eye open at Adam, peering up at him. "I wouldn't know."

"Would you like to?"

Both eyes opened at that.

"How much have you had?"

Adam raised his one bottle. "Same as you." He plucked Jehan's bottle from his fingers and placed both on the ground beside the bed. "Want to fuck me?"


"It's fine if not. Just thought I'd offer—"

Whatever else Adam had to say was cut off with a kiss as Jehan wrapped his arms around him and held him close. He pulled away only as much as was needed for air.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"You mean it?" Jehan hated how childish he sounded, like a kid on Christmas Eve being promised a present before morning. "No shit?"

Adam just kissed him, laughing. "Of course," he whispered between breaths. "Why wouldn't I? We're close'n'personal, ain't we?" He nipped at Jehan's throat before pulling away, leaning off the edge of the mattress and groping for his jacket. "Fair warnin'," he dug around in the pockets, "I know everyone's got their threshold so...ah!" He straightened up with a condom in hand. "If you're icked out about, y'know..." —he jerked a thumb backwards— "you can wear this."

Jehan simply grabbed the condom and threw it aside.

"I want to feel more than just The Church's dog's mouth around my cock."

"As you wish."

Tugging off his own shirt, Adam discarded it in the same direction as the condom before pouncing on Jehan, his arms around the boy's ribs, fingers groping along his scarred back and sides, mouth at his jaw, his collar, his throat, knee pressing between his thighs. His fingers found the waistband of Jehan's boxers and he tugged, exposing his hips, his thighs, his cock, flush and halfhard already.

He lowered his head, licking a long stripe along the underside of his cock before taking it in his mouth to the hilt.


He pulled off with an obscene little pop, as wet as his lips. "Don't worry, Jehan." His hands were on his belt, tugging it off. "I promise you'll cum in me."

If Jehan's face wasn't flushed before, it definitely was now.

"Lend a hand?"

Immediately, Jehan was up on his haunches, fingers at Adam's fly, pressing button through hole and pulling the zipper down, desperate to let jean and cotton follow the rest of Adam's clothes to the floorboards.

"Fuck me..."

"Ah-ah," Adam smirked, bare and hard before the other. "That's your job this time, kiddo. Unless you've changed your mind..."

Jehan responded with a hand to the back of Adam's neck, gripping tight, pressure hard. "Get on all fours, dog."

Adam snapped his teeth at him, a growl in his throat that turned into a laugh, and complied as Jehan moved out of his way and kneeled behind him. "You really are our Father's boy, ain't you?"

"Shut up." It was harsh, admittedly harsher than either expected. "Sorry."

"Don't be."

"I don't wanna think about him."

"Then don't." Adam laid his head on his arms, his knees apart, exposed. He brought a hand to his mouth, spat, and reached down between his legs, past his hard cock, pressing in once, twice. "I promise I'd much rather think about your pretty face as you cum in me than whatever bullshit he's up to."

That earned him a smile.

"You know how this works?"


It was all bratty bravado but Adam wouldn't embarrass him by pointing it out. Jehan's hands found his hips, gripping along bone, and Adam withdrew his hand when he'd stretched all he could, the air momentarily cold against him until the boy's body pressed flush to his body, cock sliding against his ass, warm and slick.


It took a moment — bravado deflated only somewhat by hesitation, the novelty of being on the other side, in control, almost too much — but the moment passed and all too soon Jehan had pressed the head of his cock fully inside of Adam.

"Oh God..."

Immediately, Adam rocked his hips back.


Adam laughed. "You said you wanted more'n my mouth."

Jehan dug his nails in Adam's hips, grounding himself. "It's so much," he whined.

"Move your hips, doll."

"I can't—I...I'll cum..."

"Thought you knew how this works?"

Jehan swatted his ass, earning a choked laugh-turned-moan from Adam. "I don't wanna just..."

"Men nut early all the time. It's fine."

"Easy for you to say! You get to fuck anyone you want whenever you want."

The silent "I don't" was left to hang in the air between them.

Adam got up on his hands. "Pull out."


"Trust me. Pull out, sit back, and get comfortable."

Jehan did as he was told, sitting back against the pillows and watching as Adam crawled up the bed to him, planting kisses along his chest and throat and cheeks as he straddled Jehan's hips.

"You still dictate the pace, kiddo," he said with a wink before sinking down on Jehan's cock.


Adam smirked, rolling his hips just so as Jehan gasped underneath him, hands finding Adam's hips, his sides, his ribs.

"Adam." His name was barely more than a groan. "Slow. Please."

"Whatever you ask."

Adam raised himself up, rocking forward, thighs taught, before sinking back down. "Good?"


Grinning, he ran a hand through his blond hair, shaking the ends out. "I'm no soprano but I can girly it up for you." His voice trailed up into a moan, higher than his usual, not totally fake but definitely put upon.

Jehan shook his head. "No. I want you, Adam." He tugged at his arms until Adam was leaned over him, his hair curtaining their faces. "Nothing else."

Adam only kissed him, his hips moving steady, only at Jehan's pace, only at Jehan's request, as Jehan touched him back, his hips moving in tandem with his as small sounds escaped his lips, most swallowed up by Adam between sloppy kisses.

"When you're ready," Adam gasped, teeth grazing Jehan's bottom lip, "push me down." He grabbed Jehan's hands, bringing them to his chest. He slid one hand down between his thighs, pumping his cock hard, "Hold me down and fuck me 'til you're spent. You're in charge, kiddo..."

Jehan pressed down and Adam grabbed his wrists.

"Only when you're just about to cum."

He ground his hips down, his hand tight around his own cock.

"Adam I can't—"

"Just a little more—"

"Please, Adam!"

Adam released his wrist, bracing himself as Jehan pushed him back, cock almost slipping out as he pinned Adam to the mattress, hands finding the older man's hips again, steadying himself, slamming back inside.

"I'm gonna..."

His hand slipped against his own cock, friction hard to come by between spit and sweat and precum.

"Wait, Jehan—"

He was almost there.

"I can't, Adam, I—oh, fuck!"

He braced himself in Adam's skin, fingernails digging crescents in his flesh, head buried in the hollow of Adam's throat as he spilled inside of him, dick twitching with each spurt.

"Fu-uh-uck, Adam..."

Adam's fingers found his hair and pulled, twisting, his own orgasm following in one, two, three short strokes of his wrist, white arcing between them and body shaking, muscles contracting, but Jehan had already spilled inside him.

"Sorry," Adam gasped after minutes in silence save each other's heaving breaths. "If I'd gotten there before you, your dick would've really been in for a treat."

Jehan just laughed, breathless.

"Sorry? Adam, I think I just saw God."

"Oh." The dumbest grin lazily spread across his face. "Tell Him hi for me."

Jehan merely kissed Adam and settled against his chest, disentangling only once his cock softened and the mess between them cooled.

"I'm, uh, going to go shower. You're welcome to join me. I just need to get clean before..."

"Before Emilein comes home. Yeah..."

Jehan looked away, his expression sour, and slid gingerly off the bed, steadying himself.

Before he could stop himself, Adam blurted out: "He loves you, you know."

He watched Jehan grab a new pair of underwear and a t-shirt from an old chest of drawers in pointed silence.

"He just wants to protect you, he—"

"Please, Adam. Don't lie to me."

From where he was sprawled on the bedcovers, Adam looked up at Jehan who stood, so small, across the room from him. His eyes caught the white scar tissue covering his thighs, his ass, his entire back—all punishments (or pleasures) courtesy of the man that kept them tied together— before finally meeting his.

"I would never."

Jehan smiled, a sad soft thing, before stepping over to the bed and kissing Adam softly on the lips. "Wait for me?"

"Of course, sugar."

"You really are the nicest thing about this place. I'll miss you, whenever I finally get out."

And with that, Jehan stepped into the adjoining bathroom, leaving Adam alone in his room.

Now Adam Gagnon, secondhand man of The Church and Father Emilein Tiefer's most loyal dog, was many things; what he was not, he always maintained, was a snoop nor a snitch.

He was, however, a terribly curious man. And being a curious man, Adam couldn't help but wonder what sort of girl Jehan would want. Not that he'd ever be allowed one. Not while he was Tiefer's.

Not until he was out.

So when the hiss of the showerhead trickled through the bedroom door, Adam hopped off and lifted the mattress, revealing the array of porno mags. He swiped the lot and hopped back on the bed. "Let's see what pages stick..."

He picked up a magazine, flipping through the pages. Nothing stuck.

A pitch black card, however, fluttered free right into his lap.


There were worse men than Emilein Tiefer in the world, and Adam was not about to let Jehan run straight to them.

Tiefer had made it in that evening, worn and pissed and barking orders before retiring to his office. Under any other circumstances, Adam would have steered clear. But the black card he'd lifted from Jehan's bedroom burned a hole in his pocket.

So there he sat, hands clammy on the leather chair illuminated by the fireplace in already too-hot weather while Tiefer poured another two fingers of whiskey on the rocks and lit himself a cigarette, slowly leaning against his desk, staring down at Adam. He took a drag and then gestured to the new oriental rug on his hardwood office floor.

"Like it?"


"Constance gave it to me." He took a long sip of whiskey. "Gesture of goodwill. Heh." He set his glass down. "Fuckin' pedophile."


"Bet he's fucked at least thirty kids on that thing. Probably can spot it in a few of the films he's made too."

"Boss, I really think—"

"I don't really give a fuck what you think, Adam!" Tiefer snapped. "Because right now I think I just spent all day sweet talking a man who makes even my skin crawl all 'cause he knows the Seven Prince's second better than that psycho brat'd like and right now I think I'd like a fuckin' break."

"Well before you take your fuckin' break," Adam said as he reached into his pants pocket, "take a look at this."

He held the card between his fingers.

Tiefer snatched it from him. "Where did you get this?" It came out like a hiss.

"I found it." His hands shook. "In the Playboys underneath Jehan's bed."

"Where he'd know I'd never look." For a split second, there was something in his expression as he stared at the card in his hand, dark and calculating and on the wrong side of madness, that made Adam's blood run cold. "Speaking of..." And then his gaze pierced Adam. "What exactly were you doing looking through his porn?"

"I told you, boss, we're friends," Adam hoped his voice sounded convincing. "We—"

"Talk?" Tiefer set the card on his desk. "And what," he asked softly as he pulled out a cigarette and lighter from his back pocket, "do you two talk about when I'm away?"

His eyes never left Adam as he lit up and took a drag.

Adam was the first to look away. He slunk down in his chair, feeling terribly like he was in the principal's office, desperate not to meet Tiefer's eyes.


"About what he wants."

"He's got anything in the world," Tiefer said with a puff of smoke, "if he asks."

"Except freedom."

Tiefer slammed his fist on the desk. Cigarette ash fell to the floor. Snatching the card up with one hand and grabbing Adam's collar by the other, he pulled him up out the chair until they were nose to nose. "And is this"—he waved the crumpled card in Adam's face—"what you call freedom?"

"He's not asking to be set loose!"

"He's asking to be destroyed!"

"He's asking to be treated like a person, Boss, not a pet." Adam's hands found Tiefer's, gently prying himself loose. "He wants to know he matters to The Church. To you."

Tiefer swore, turning his back to Adam. His grip was still a vice on the pitch black card.

"Ashmedai is a death sentence. We both know that. But he doesn't. Give him a leash. Just give him a leash however short. He'll take it. He'll take you, Emilein."

"Oh, he will. I'll make fuckin' sure of it." A drag, steadying. "Now...get outta my sight, Adam."


"I will not tell you again."

Adam did not protest. He retreated to the door as fast as he could. The moment his hand touched the knob, he heard Tiefer's drawl from behind him.

"Oh, an' Adam?"

He watched Tiefer, silhouted by the fire, rip the black card to pieces and let them fall onto the flames, as gentle as bird feathers or dust until they hit the fire.

"In the future, make sure your friends stay just friends. Clear?"

He didn't turn away from the fire as he spoke.

"Crystal, Father."

"Good dog."

The sound of that door closing echoed in Adam's mind long after he'd left the plantation or showered the panic sweat from his skin or even crawled into bed, his whole body on edge for The Church's justice to rain down on him. But twelve hours passed pain free. Then twenty four. Soon they were two days, four days, even six days out from that night in Tiefer's office and Adam was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.

And on the seventh day, it all went to shit.

"Jehan, I'd like to apologize to you."

Tiefer sat at his desk, sprawled in his chair and idly loading his revolver. Jehan sat in his lap, right where he'd been ordered. At his side stood Adam, loyal as ever. At the door stood Daniel, gun in hand and pointed forward, a proper guard dog.

Before his desk stood three goons whose names he hadn't even bothered to learn. Three pitch black cards laid on the desk, one for each of them.

"See, a little birdie told me," —Adam shifted uncomfortably— "that you wanted to be a sho'nuff part of The Church, rather than a fuck toy."

He put the last bullet in its chamber.

"So let this be your lesson, p'tit."

He closed the chamber, his free hand snaking around Jehan's waist, keeping him still.

"In The Church, we deal with lowly traitors like the sick dogs they are."

He raised the gun.






The final gunshot echoed through the office followed by the wet thunk of the last of three bodies crumpling to the ground.

"Daniel?" Tiefer settled his gun on the desk, his grip on Jehan's waist never abetting. "Take out the trash for us, yeah?"

Daniel did as he was told, dragging out each corpse one by one, before closing the door behind him. The lock shut.

"Follow me so far?"

Jehan nodded quickly. "Y-yes, Emi." It was the first time he'd seen a man killed in front of him. If he'd been younger, he'd probably have pissed himself.

"What did you learn?"

There was an edge to his question that permeated the eerie calm of the office.

"That traitors get put down."

"Lowly traitors, Jehan," Tiefer corrected, his hand cupping the other's face. "Lowly traitors get put down. The Church has no time or patience for fuckin' worms. But one of its chosen?"

His grip tightened, nails digging against jawbone.

"A Judas gets Hell."

He shoved Jehan off his lap and onto his desk, slamming his skull against the edge with a sick crack.


"Move without orders and I will fuckin' shoot you, bitch."

They were frozen there in a silence that could pierce eardrums: Jehan, pinned against the desk, head throbbing in pain; Tiefer, sleeves rolled up and hand resting heavy on Jehan's throat, body caging him where he was forced to lay; and Adam, in shock, beside the old desk chair, following orders.

"Imagine my sur-fuckin'-prise when Adam walked in with the little gift you got from Ashmedai an' ravin' 'bout givin' you a little freedom."

Jehan's eyes went wide, finding Adam. "You?" Shock immediately curdled into rage. "You rat—"

"No! Jehan, I didn't—"

"Shut up! Both of you!"

Tiefer pulled away just enough to grab his switchblade from his desk. He pressed the blade beneath Jehan's jaw, right against the carotid.

"The dog's innocent. Mostly." He glared at Adam. "He should know better than to touch what's mine. Let tonight be a lesson for you too Adam." The grin he flashed Adam did not meet his eyes.

"As for you, half the waitstaff were in my fuckin' pocket the night that bastard talked to you. Coupla my men had me suspicious but I never thought I'd hafta worry about you."


"Why worry, I said! He's a good boy, I fuckin' said! He has the whole fuckin' world at his hands, that's gotta be enough for a po' boy like him!"

Jehan wasn't stupid enough to struggle against the knife at his throat. He was, however, stupid enough to challenge the man holding the knife there. "The fuck'd you know about that, Father?"

Grabbing Jehan by the hair, Tiefer dragged him from the desk, kicking his chair over as he went, knife still in hand, still close. He threw Jehan onto the oriental rug and stomped down on his ankle—hard.

"Because, boy," Tiefer snarled, his accent eking out with every statement that was punctuated with another stomp of his boot, another crunch of breaking bones, "I came from shit, climbed up from shit, an' now I run this goddamn shit you think you're too fuckin' good for!"

"Fuck...fuck, Emi, p-puh-lease..."

A kick to the jaw.

"Shut the fuck up!"

Sobbing, Jehan curled up on himself as best he could, fingers ghosting over his broken ankles, trying to shield them.

Tiefer brought the heel of his boot down on his fingers, grinding down against the floor and earning a gut-wrenching howl flecked with blood.

"Boss, please..." Adam hadn't moved an inch, just as commanded, but his face was white. "He didn't know better, alright? He's just a kid."

"No. He's not." Tiefer got on the ground beside Jehan, on hands and knees, grabbing the boy's broken ankles and dragging him under him before pinning him: one knee in the stomach and one hand on his throat. "He's a traitor."

The knife glinted in his hand as he sliced through Jehan's clothes, ripping them off him, and dragged the tip down his chest, his stomach, his hips, and down between his thighs.

"An' if he wants to be a traitorous little cunt so bad..."

The knife grazed past his cock, down farther, coming to rest in the cleft of his ass.

"Let's make him one."

If he hadn't been witness to its source, Adam would have sworn the noise that echoed through the office was inhuman.

Instead, however, it was ripped from the very human vocal chords of the beaten and crippled sixteen year old being split open with a knife in a terrible pantomime of fucking as Tiefer thrust the blade in one, twice, a third time, coating his fingers, hand, forearm in blood. He then jerked the blade upwards, cutting through the boy's perineum then testicles and finally cock with a wet crunch before dragging it right back down, fast and hard; blood vesseles, muscles, sinew, and skin parted sickeningly, butchered beyond repair, leaving blood and gore and shit in the blade's wake.

It took mere minutes to split the boy so much and yet the screaming seemed to go on forever.

Tiefer seemed unbothered; if anything, it spurred him on, yielding thrust after thrust and scream after scream. He finally threw the knife aside, forced Jehan's legs apart— spilling more blood and gore and shit, staining the rug almost black—and, undoing his pants, he pulled out his cock.


Half-aware, Jehan tried to pull away from Tiefer but between his broken ankles, busted wrists, and the white hot pain from what remained between his legs scalding his every nerve, he could only strain and whimper, utterly helpless like a dying pet in the gutter, as Tiefer pinned him down and pushed inside of him—or of what remained of him, at the very least.

"You were my boy." It came out sharp, punctuated with thrusts that left a wet squelch and scent of blood and worse in their wake. "But here, cher, I'm god and I—ain't—merciful."

Tiefer patted Jehan's cheek, as if they were family, as if he had loved him, as the boy screamed and screamed and screamed, his own blood staining his skin, sticking to his hair.

An eternity later, Tiefer pulled out, his cum and Jehan's gore leaking out of the hole he'd made. The screaming had broken into hoarse gasps and whimpers, but it didn't matter to Tiefer: his point had been made to both of his boys. He tucked himself back into his pants, bloodying them further, and snatched up his discarded knife.


Slowly, he wiped the blood and feces that still flecked the knife across Jehan's cheeks, his lips, his chin, before spitting in his face.

"Here's your fuckin' freedom." He slammed the knife back inside of him, deeper and deeper and deeper, until he was elbow deep inside with his blade, until even the whimpers were ripped to shreds, until the small body underneath him no longer even twitched.

At some point, Jehan had vomited. It mixed easily with the rest of the mess.

Tiefer freed himself, wiping as much of the mess that clung to him off on the rug as he could. He stood, gingerly, before beginning to remove his shirt.

"I'm going to wash up and change my clothes," he said, as casual as if he were reporting on the weather, not looking at Adam as he spoke. "Wrap this trash in that godawful rug and put it in the van. I'll meet you out back." He pulled off his boots, then belt, then pants until he was completely nude. "You may move now, dog."

Immediately, Adam was at Jehan's side—and immediately Tiefer shoved him away. "Did I say you could fuckin' mourn?" His voice, though harsh, was choked.

"No, sir..."

"Then don't. Just do as you're fuckin' told."

Adam looked Tiefer over, slender and scarred and covered in gore. He dimly remembered the first time they had been intimate—not the first time they fucked—and had blurted out some dumb question about what turf war he got all those scars in. Tiefer had smiled then, cold and terrifying. "No one outside of my family has ever laid a hand on me," he had said, his delicate features and slight frame hiding a violence and bloodlust that few saw and managed to survive. He looked very much the same there in the office over the corpse of his pet.

That was Emilein Tiefer, head of The Church: delicacy and destruction all at once, always wrapped in barbed wire to never be the one hurt, even if it meant everyone around him was sliced to the bone.

That was the man who destroyed a boy on a cheap rug for daring to want for anything more.

That was the man he'd left his morals for.

"Yes sir."

Tiefer smiled sadly, reaching out to pat Adam's cheek; his hand was covered in blood and he quickly thought better of it. Instead, he left the office to find a shower and a smoke, calling out over his shoulder: "You've always been such a good dog, Adam."

"Always yours, Emilein."

There were worse men than Emilein Tiefer in the world, but as he wrapped the rug around Jehan's mangled corpse, Adam found himself struggling to name even one.

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Welcome Home


anne lives AU | explicit | tiefer siblings

read on AO3

Of all the people Emilein Tiefer — now Father Emilein Tiefer — had expected to see when he opened the front door of the clergy house on the old church grounds, it certainly wasn't his deceased big sister.

"Welcome back, Emi."

Correction: formerly deceased.


"We have a lot of catching up to do now that you've come back home, don't we?" Her hand struck him like a viper, fingers curled around his wrist, pulling herself closer, into his space, her eyes bright, her smile fake.

Tiefer simply stared, eyes flicking from her face to her fingers to the rise and fall of her chest. Definitely alive.

Shouldn't be alive.

"Why don't you let me in where we can chat?" Her fingers tightened around his wrist. "In private."

When her brother hesitated again, she pulled her hand away and pouted. "Unless you'd rather we talk out here 'bout the last time we saw each other." Her volume increased until her voice carried pointedly. "Hm?"

Immediately, Tiefer moved aside, eyes on his walking, talking, fucking breathing sister as she stepped over the threshold, heels clacking against the floor, blond curls bouncing as she strode past him through the entry way, down the hall, making a beeline for the kitchen liquor cabinet. He followed the sound of her voice and the clinking of bottles to find her pulling out glasses from the cupboard with three bottles beside her on the countertop: gin, vermouth, and absinthe.

"Shit, y'all fuckin' loaded — this all from Michaud or does the Church pay you that good?"

The answer was mostly Michaud but he didn't give it, instead slumping against the kitchen table, nearly missing the chair. His hands disappeared inside his cassock and quickly found his lighter and cigarettes; fingers shaking, he lit up and took a drag to calm himself. This was a dream — a nightmare — obviously born from anxiety about moving back here, back to this place. He must have just fallen asleep after moving his things in — or perhaps it was still the night before! Maybe he was still up in New Orleans and Fr. Michaud hadn't had a stroke that left a church empty and needing and he hadn't been assigned to the worst little town on earth and his sister was still dead—

A clink and the scrap of chair anchored him back to the reality around him.

"What's your problem?"

Annemarie Tiefer was sitting across from him, obituary in hand with another before her. Her head was cocked, as if confused at the less than warm welcome.

"My problem?"

She pushed the second glass towards him, a sly grin — as if some great joke had been told, as if they were best friends sharing drinks, as if time had never passed and their history was clean — pulling the corners of her mouth up, the lines of her face just a tad deeper than he'd remembered them.

"Well yeah. You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I saw you." Another drag. Still shaking so much. "I buried our son, I— You shouldn't be here."

Her grin faltered, the ingenuous facade melting.

"An' you shouldn't've stabbed me, fucked me in the ass, and left me for dead ten years ago, honey, but here we are," she said, splaying her fingers wide, painted nails catching the light. When she spoke, her voice was harsh. "For once, dad was useful. Swung by minutes after you ran off an' got me patched up." She took a sip of her cocktail. "The man's shit at most things but I'll give him this: motherfucker can lie like nobody's business. 'Specially to a cop. Spun a whole tirade to anyone who asked 'bout an ol' John who didn't wanna be a baby daddy...but that's not what I'm here for."

She leaned forward; Tiefer instinctively flinched.

"I'm here for you."

"I'm..." Gay? Didn't matter. Family? She never cared. "...I'm a priest."

A snort. Well, it had been worth a shot. "Yeah, how's celibacy workin' for you?"

Tiefer shifted in his seat.

"Mm, thought so." Another sip. "You know, that boy you liked still lives 'round here. Grew up damn fine. You should see him, he's so obviously hu—"

"And if I say no?" he interrupted.

Annemarie squinted her eyes. Her mouth split into a grin, all glistening teeth and bright red lips.

"Say no and all these fine people — in your church, I might add — will hear about how you knocked up your poor sister who lied to protect you, only to beat her within an inch of her life, sodomize her, an' leave her to die if it weren't for her prodigal father."


"You might've cleaned up, you in your little black dress, but you left here a freak and returned an outsider, godly an' needed or nah. Me? I stuck around an' been bustin' my ass — it's damn hard work bein' a charity case! You wanna take bets on who'll be believed?"


Tiefer knew it was a mistake to grab the drink she'd placed before him and a bigger mistake to toss it back in one go, but he did anyway, nearly slamming the glass back on the table once done. He ashed his cigarette against the rim before putting it out in the now empty glass, mouth tasting of licorice and a warm burn in his gut.

"Take what you think you're owed."

"Oh I missed this..."

His sister was on her knees before him where he sat on the full bed, his cock out and half-hard from her palming and touches, her hands gripping his hips through his pants like a small warning, her smirking mouth inches away from the tip. Her skirt was wrinkled and hiked up her thighs, bare knees against the wood floor.

Tiefer could practically smell how excited she was.

"Just get it over with."

Annemarie laughed and leaned down, kissing the crown before taking him as deep as she could (and God, he couldn't help the groan in his throat or the twitch of his cock at the press of her tongue, the heat of her mouth, her throat) before pulling back and off with a soft wet pop.

"I'll take my fuckin' sweet time." A nasty little smirk, a toss of her hair. "I'm owed it, aren't I?"

Her lips were red and wet and Christ he wanted to split them with the back of his hand, his fist, his boot until blood painted her mouth and stained her teeth—teeth that were now dangerously close to his cock as she took him inside again, one hand moving from his hip, pressing along the long scar (which she had given him) down to the base of his cock, fingers gently wrapping around him, tugging with each obscene slurp and pulling a few soft sounds from him.

He'd blame the way his hips jerked up with each bob of her head and the way his fingers found her hair and tangled tight all on the spirits he'd thrown back that left him tasting herbs and candy, his mind too warm and body too heavy, but they both knew an excuse was all that was.


"Almost there?" Annemarie asked, her lips brushing his cockhead, her warm breath ghosting against needy flesh.

Face flushed, chest heaving, Tiefer nodded dumbly.


Suddenly, she was on her feet, hands no longer on his hips, his cock, but on her skirt zipper, at her blouse buttons.

"The fuck? Anne—?"

She shushed him and made quick work of her clothing, now but a pile on the floor, leaving her in a lace bra and panties, still as rail-thin as ever. A white scar shone low on her gut, a memento of the last time they'd seen each other.

"I told you, Emi," she spoke as if he were slow, stepping up to him and mounting the bed, bony knees against hip as she straddled him, panties quickly pulled aside, "I'll take my sweet time."

His no died on his lips.

Annemarie was on him, around him, her hands on his chest, pushing him down against the bed — and he didn't protest or shout or fight (despite being strong enough now to lift her off of him and slam her into the wall again and again), booze heavy in his gut, her earlier threat as good as a knife to his throat.

"God..." She rolled her hips with a groan-turned-giggle. "You really have grown, huh?"

"Anne..." It was less her name and more a growl, if not a plea.

"Cum in me," she whispered, leaning down, embracing him, her lips close to his. "We don't hafta worry 'bout our last...mistake." Her fingers trailed the buttons on his half undone cassock, tugging slightly. "I want you to fuck me into this mattress and fill me the fuck up."

When Tiefer didn't move, content to crawl away and hide like a sick dog in the passivity she'd allowed him, she spit in his face.

"I wasn't fuckin' askin'!"

He snarled, cursing as he grabbed her hips, nails leaving red marks, and rolled her onto the bed, his cassock half covering them and the reality of their familial relationship. His hands found her throat: he gave a slight squeeze, his cock twitching inside of his sister when she winced, face flushed.

"Do it." Annemarie was grinning. Her cunt was clenching around him. "Do what you couldn't do ten years ago. See how well you fare after raping and murdering your own family!"

Tiefer wanted to do it, God, he wanted to choke her, cut the smile from her face and gouge out the gash between her thighs, erase her completely from the world, from his life, the way he thought she had been — and what, find himself in jail? In the chair?

So he released her throat and his hands grasped her hips instead, pulling her onto his cock as he thrust inside her. He had been close, so close, thanks to her mouth (and, thanks to his new life, he had been without longer than he was used to) that it was not long before his grip grew vice-tight, his breathing labored, and the moan he tried to keep down spilled from his lips as he spilled inside of his sister's greedy cunt.

"Fuck yes..." she hissed. "Oh fuck." Her heels dug into his back as she held him there inside of her, body swallowing spurts of cum, fingers reaching between them to touch her clit. "Keep goin', baby."

"Shut up." It was tired, hollow, as he followed her orders all the same, giving as she demanded, mechanical and distant in his movements, until there was nothing left. He didn't look her in the eye. "Happy, bitch?" He tried to pull away but her heel dug into his lower back.

"Clean me up."

"Let me go and I'll get a rag."

"No, idiot." She released him, spreading her legs. "Use that fuckin' mouth of yours an' clean up your mess."

Tiefer made a face. Annemarie merely laughed at him.

"What's the matter? You're still a faggot, ain'tcha?" She sat up. "You swallow men's jizz all the time—"

"That's different."

"Is it? Still a man's cum. Oh, what, you ain't a man no mo'?" A nasty grin. "You a girl now, Emmeline?"

His hand connected with her cheek but she merely laughed through a split lip, an infuriatingly girlish sound.

"Never took you for a tranny."

Tiefer grabbed her legs and shoved her off of him before getting to his knees on the hardwood flood and, yanking her towards the edge of the bed, he lowered his head between her legs, biting hard on her inner thigh before pressing the flat of his tongue against her leaking hole, fingers digging into the fat of her ass as he swiped up once, twice, before pressing inside, tasting his sister, tasting himself.

"Oh, oh shit," —she was panting, her fingers pressing on her clit, rubbing hard as he fucked her with his tongue— "oh fuck what a good boy..."

There was a very small, very embarrassing part of him that lit up at that praise, but it had always been easy to beat down, even easier when all he could taste and smell was her, when he felt just as small as he'd felt at eighteen or at fifteen or at eleven, when she first started their sordid ordeal, when she first realized she could get more out of her sister-cum-motherly duties than simply a punching bag for all her pain. It made him want to vomit (but then, he was sure that if he did, he'd have to clean it up too.)

"Don't stop..." Her hand threaded through his hair, tugging him towards her. "Do not stop."

He didn't—he fucked her with his tongue until she came, trembling, shrieking, her juices mixing with his cum and dripping down his chin, his tongue, his throat. Tiefer drank her through her orgasm, pulling out only when she'd released him. Wordlessly, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, stood, and turned to the adjoining bathroom door.

"What? No kiss?"

He looked his sister over. She was splayed on his bed, hair fanned out behind her, with spit and slick glistening on her thighs and blood drying on her lips that were turned up in a nasty little grin.

With a noncommittal grunt, Tiefer leaned down, grabbed Annemarie by her jaw, yanked her mouth open, and spit his cum, saliva, and what remained of her own juices into her mouth.

She shoved his hand away but swallowed all the same with a wink.

"Enjoy your little rebellion?"

"Just get out, Anne."

"That anyway to talk to your big sister?"

Tiefer shot her a dirty look, grabbed her clothes off the floor, and threw them in her face as he left to the bathroom.

"Fuckin' drama queen," she huffed. Annemarie readjusted her panties, slid off the bed, and pulled her clothes back on before sauntering over to the bathroom. She leaned in the doorway, watching her brother gagging over the sink, faucet running.


No response.


Their eyes met in the mirror. Tiefer immediately looked away, washing his face of whatever fluids of hers remained on him.


The water stopped.

"Annemarie. Please."

He was still hunched over the sink, water dripping off his nose, his chin, his eyelashes, some of his hair sticking to his face. His fingers gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white. A thousand words sat on his tongue—go, stop, fuck off, die, die, DIE—choking him into a silence his sister broke.

"I asked you for a kiss." Her hands were on his shoulders now, her fingers gripping into the cloth of his cassock, tugging. Her body was pressed against his, lips against his ear. "You too grown to give your own sister a kiss?"

Shoving her off of him, Tiefer turned and pressed a kiss to her lips, tasting dried blood, wanting instead to bite down, to hit, to rip and shred and rape and eviscerate.

He quickly pulled away, holding his sister at arm's length.

"There. You got what you wanted. Everythin' you wanted. Please..."—and his voice broke, just so slightly, and he felt eighteen and fifteen and fucking eleven years old again, begging his sister to leave him anything, the barest scrap of dignity.

A sniff, a pout — Annemarie appeared entirely unimpressed but deigned to relent. In silence she returned to the bedroom and gathered her purse and heels from where she'd tossed them by the door, a, "Welcome home, Emi!" called over her shoulder as she left down the hall and out the front door.

It wasn't until the door slammed shut and the clack of her heels against wood was no more that Father Emilein Tiefer broke down sobbing like he was eighteen, fifteen, eleven years old again, the acrid taste of his sister still lingering in the back of his throat.

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A Monster

Updated 10/03/2020

Vampire AU | explicit | tiefer/jehan

read on AO3 | in progress

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3

Chapter One: Wolf

“Parrain? Can I ask you something?”

Tiefer looked up from the fish he’d been cleaning on top an ice chest out on the wharf. He was in charge of Jehan and his flu-ridden brother while their mother was out of town all weekend until that evening, caring for her parents. “You just did, p’tit.”

Jehan folded his arms, shaking slightly, his fists clenched. “I’m being serious.”

“Mais, fine.” Tiefer put the filet knife down, still kneeling beside the chest. “Shoot.”

“What the fuck are you?”

His godfather had the appearance of an old painting – not a painting of a man over a certain age, mind, but a youthful one perfectly captured in time and immortalized with paint and canvas, the image ever unchanging even when the varnish yellows and the canvas pulls taut as years go by. It was uncanny, really, though of course no one seemed to mind or even notice at all (perhaps it was his prematurely white hair that made him seem older.)

That’s what had raised Jehan’s suspicions at first. He’d come across a picture of his baptism seventeen years ago: his mother and late father smiling as Fr. Tiefer, his godfather and presider at the sacrament, poured water on his forehead. His mother, like all mothers do, had aged since then, but his godfather looked exactly the same. At first, Jehan had simply shrugged it off: obviously, losing the love of her life and raising two boys almost entirely alone did not do the bags under his mother’s eyes or lines on her forehead any favors. Yet Tiefer was older than his mother. Much older. (Jehan had learned that and a new word years ago when he’d overheard his father and Tiefer talking one night: apparently, according to Tiefer, his mother was–or rather had been–jailbait.) Good breeding didn’t get anyone that far and Jehan sorely doubted his godfather could even lay claim to such a thing.

But of course Jehan couldn’t just ask his mother, his poor sweet mother who worked herself to the bone so that him and his brother could have a happy, healthy, almost-normal childhood like everyone else even without their father (God rest his soul) in their lives, why she looked as old as if not older than his allegedly forty-eight year old godfather. You just didn’t do some things.

Nor could he ask his mother who so very dearly loved Tiefer, the man who had been his late father’s best friend and who had done so much for her and for their family and who in Jehan’s mother’s eyes was practically a living saint, his poor sweet deluded mother, why it was that Fr. Emilein Tiefer, a habitual smoker and allegedly forty-eight year old man with a habit of never refusing a drink, could not only physically overpower him, a mostly physically healthy seventeen year old, on a regular basis but also constantly go more rounds than and outlast him, an admittedly horny hormonal teenage boy, in bed.

(Because that would mean telling his mother, his poor, sweet, stupid mother, that Tiefer had been sexually abusing him ever since he was twelve and, well. You just didn’t do some things.)

So Jehan waited. And watched. And made note of how often, when they were in bed together, Tiefer used a knife on him to split his skin and let his blood flow and how frequently Tiefer cleaned the blade with his tongue and kissed the wound (and always wanted more, as if he craved it, as if the food he regularly consumed were made of nothing but cotton candy); of how close Tiefer’s fingers would get to the holy water but never touched it when he made the sign of the cross upon entering church; of how his lips never seemed to touch the chalice and how he always used an altar cloth to hold the consecrated host – the host which he always seemed to ‘take’ when kneeling behind the altar, a motion that hid to the congregation whether he’d actually taken it or palmed it, a motion that any of the altar boys would have missed if they weren’t looking (but Jehan most definitely was.) And Jehan realized things weren’t adding up.

Or, rather, they were adding up, in their own terrifying, insane, inhuman way.

Excuse me?”

“I said what the fuck are you?”

Maybe it was stupid, Jehan realized, as his godfather whom he had known for seventeen long years, whom he had practically been raised by, with whom he routinely (albeit not totally willingly) shared a bed, stared at him blankly. Maybe he was going mad. Monsters weren’t real – the only real monsters were flesh and blood humans. Maybe everything he’d thought and planned was for nothing.

Maybe he shouldn’t have asked his abusive godfather what the fuck he was while he was using an incredibly sharp, incredibly lethal knife.

“Should’ve known it’d be you.” Tiefer huffed with the inconvenienced air of a child caught sneaking dessert, wiping his gorey hands on his dark trousers, staining them. “You really are just like your daddy.”

Or maybe, Jehan realized at the same moment he felt his stomach drop through the floor, his godfather was a fucking vampire.


“Mais yeah, boy, why you think he’s fuckin’ dead?”

“Wait–you killed him?!”

Tiefer frowned.“Well I didn’t mean to rip his throat out but accidents happen. You know I love your daddy–he even gave me his blood–but he was gonna tell, he was gonna ruin everything I busted my ass for!”

“But they said dad drowned! You, you found him…” Jehan’s eyes widened. His body trembled and he had to – had to – keep his fists clenched, his being composed. “You fucking put him there!”

“Drove him out past town, to the house I took you that one long weekend – you remember that, don’tcha p’tit cher? – and tied his body under the pilings for a few days until the bayou rotted him nice an’ good, then made it look like he’d had an accident fishing further up the bayou. Real easy when you know what you’re doing.”

“You…fucking monster!”

Tiefer rolled his eyes. “Thought you figured that out already. Ain’t that why you’re here?”

“I…” It was, it had been, he even had something of a plan – he just hadn’t expected to need it. “I thought…”

“You thought you were crazy?”

“That or wrong.”

Tiefer laughed, sitting down fully on the wharf and leaning back. “You fuckin’ came out here, fuckin’ dick half hard an’ guns blarin’, with the goddamn balls to ask me what the fuck am, and you weren’t even convinced? Fuck, maybe you ain’t as smart as your daddy after all!” He paused, eyes still alight. “Then again, Nate did think I was a rougarou at first so maybe none of y’all got much brains to pass ‘round.”

“You still haven’t answered my question, parrain.” His tone surprised even him.

It definitely surprised Tiefer whose expression soured. “Boy, I don’t gotta do shit for you!” he barked. “Go ‘head, my sweet stupid little boy, tell yo’ parrain what the fuck you think he is.”

“A vampire.”

It sounded as stupid aloud as it did in his head all those times he’d thought it, but his plan hinged on it, and by the way his godfather’s – the monster’s – sneer faded, it wasn’t as stupid as it sounded.

“Well. You ain’t wrong,” he said, finally, as he stretched his legs out, crossing his ankles, and fished for a cigarette in his pocket, before snapping: “Go get me my lighter. ‘S on the kitchen counter.”

“…is that supposed to be an answer?”

“Get me my lighter.”

“Are you a fucking vampire?!”


Fuming, Jehan turned and went back into the house. Minutes later, he returned, lighter in one hand, the other still clenched. Tiefer remained where he sat, his unlit cigarette between his lips. Jehan held out the lighter and got a stare in return.

“I got your damn lighter.”

“Yeah.” Tiefer took the cigarette from his mouth. “I can see that.”

“I want answers.”

“And I want a blowjob an’ world fuckin’ peace. Gimme a fuckin’ light.”

“Not until you tell me everything.”

“Light then answers, babydoll,” Tiefer said, uncrossing his legs. “C’mon, you know you can’t tell a good story without a smoke.” He slid the cigarette between his lips and waited, splayed on the wharf.

Tentative, Jehan stepped forward between his legs and leaned forward, flicking the lighter. Tiefer watched him, unblinking, as he lit his cigarette, slight tremors–from fear or anger, it was hard to tell–causing his hand to shake. Once the cigarette was lit, Jehan stepped back, about to pull his arm away, and found himself in a vice grip. Tiefer’s fingers circled around not the wrist whose hand held the lighter but his clenched fist. Twisting his wrist and tugging him down, Tiefer pulled Jehan in his lap, grabbed him around the forearms and chest and held him still, cigarette undisturbed.

“So,” Tiefer hissed around the cigarette clenched in his back teeth, his lips ghosting the back of Jehan’s neck, incisors grazing flesh, “what’ve you been keeping from your dear parrain?”


“Don’t look like nothing. I won’t ask again, Jehan.”

“I told you–fuck!”

He forced Jehan’s wrist back as he took the cigarette from his lips, taking a long drag, before letting go of Jehan’s wrist and putting the cigarette out on his hand, forcing a yelp from his mouth and his hand to release its grip. A communion wafer fell to Jehan’s lap.

“For someone so hellbent on answers, you sure seem confident with your Dracula guess, boy.”

“You weren’t taking it. I saw– in Mass, you never – at least, you look like you never–”

“Fuck, you really do got some huge fuckin’ balls if you thought you could just waltz on up here, boy, an’ take me out with a fuckin’ cracker,” Tiefer sneered and kissed the back of Jehan’s neck, the hand that had held Jehan’s wrist patting his chest lightly. “Well. Not literally. You’re kinda small. Not that I mind.” His hand slid down Jehan’s stomach and between his legs. “It’s actually a turn on…”


“You want answers, I want something too.”

“I gave you a fuckin’ light–”

“And then I had to waste it because a certain ungrateful fuckin’ brat who fancies himself a goddamn demonslayer right here decided he was too good to obey his parrain.” He relaxed his grip some, both hands coming down to undo the fly of Jehan’s jeans. “So what’re we gonna do ‘bout that, hmm?”


Jehan’s hand found the handle of the filet knife and he plunged it backwards, driving it deep through Tiefer’s right eye and dragging it down, the blade sliding through his skin like butter and lodging in the delicate bones and tissues of his eye socket. Tiefer howled and released his godson, his fingers scrambling to grab hold of the knife and staunch the flow of dark blood that was streaming down his cheek and into his mouth, staining his yellowed teeth a rotting crimson. Jehan scrambled to get out of his godfather’s grip and turned around only to see Tiefer’s good eye on him and mouth split into a nasty, bloody grin.

“My poor, sweet Jehan…” Tiefer’s lips curled into a pained snarl as he slowly pulled the blade out, gore and blood hitting the wooden planks with a wet, fleshy plop. “This really must be new to you…like your first time all over again, ain’t it?” Even before the tip of the blade slid out of the wound, the flesh and sinew had already begun repairing itself. “Don’t worry.” He stood up and dropped the knife, stepping slowly towards Jehan. “I’ll be gentle.”

Jehan lunged for the knife but Tiefer kicked it off the side of the wharf and it sank down, fast. Scrambling, Jehan’s hand closed around the communion wafer he had dropped as Tiefer grabbed for him and he shoved it into his almost-healed eye, grinding the host into the wound which split open, immediately, blood pouring fresh and hot.

“You fucking bastard!”

Tiefer violently scrubbed the blood and crushed host from his sliced eye, blood trickling down into his mouth. The wound had mostly closed but the host had left its mark: his eye was damaged and the skin would be scarred. Half-blind, Tiefer grabbed Jehan by his shoulders, nails digging into his skin through the thin material of his shirt, and slammed him down onto the splintering wooden planks, pinning him under him.

“Let me go!”

“You’re fucking lucky I don’t rip your fucking throat out right here, boy!” Tiefer spat, his own blood dripping from his lips as he tightened his hold on Jehan’s thin shoulders, bruising him. “But what a waste that would be…” He leaned down and kissed Jehan, teeth scraping his lips and blood dripping from his marred cheeks onto Jehan’s, who turned his head in a vain attempt to pull away. Tiefer only kissed him harder, pressing against him.

“Please don’t–” Jehan gasped once Tiefer pulled away only to kiss his throat, his teeth dangerously sharp and the threat still hanging heavy in the air. And if he really was a vampire… “Please–what’re you going to do…to me?”

Tiefer sat up, straddling Jehan’s hips, and his lips split into a nasty, bloody grin. “Nothing I haven’t done to you already.” He kept one hand squarely on Jehan’s chest, holding him still with a strength no human should have had, while the other wrenched open the fly to his jeans and shoved them down. “But after your little stunt, I really ain’t in the mood to be gentle…”

Despite it being broad daylight, Tiefer took him against splintering wood and covered in drying blood, hellbent on forcing from Jehan every choked sob and plea he could. If anyone had come up the bayou and passed by or if Jehan’s brother, sick with the flu, had wandered out onto the porch or out the front door in search of his brother or guardian, they would have been caught; at this point, however, their sordid intimate secret seemed so infinitely small. He had his teeth at his godson’s throat and both of their blood in his mouth and his secret laid bare and irretractable (both inevitabilities and yet regrettably so soon) – that fact that his cock was deep inside of his own pseudo-son hardly mattered to Tiefer (not that it ever really mattered before, in the moral sense.)

“Get up.” Tiefer’s voice seemed a mile away to Jehan who lay there, aching, spent, face wet from tears and blood, his gaze somewhere far off, until a hard slap dragged him back to the splinters digging into his back and bite marks along his throat and semen dripping out from between his thighs. “Up.” He was already standing, clothes straightened up and neat (albeit bloody), with an expression that seemed to alternate between disgust and impatience. “C’mon, Jehan, you said you wanted answers, yeah?”

Jehan nodded weakly and slowly picked himself up, fumbling with his clothes. Tiefer grabbed him by the wrist, ignoring that his pants were still undone, and dragged him up to the house. “Go clean yourself. I’ll get your clothes.”

“But what if my–”

“Your brother seeing you like this won’t matter. Now go.”

Silent, Jehan obeyed, hobbling into the house and down the hall to the bathroom. Tiefer went to Jehan’s bedroom, grabbing a spare change of clothes that he set aside, along with a few more changes of clothing, and a duffle bag he had under his bed. Shoving the clothes inside, he left the bedroom and dropped the bag and the spare clothes outside the bathroom. When the shower turned off, Tiefer handed Jehan his clothes, and began packing his toiletries. Once Jehan was dressed and Tiefer had finished packing and returned, having thrown the duffle bag into the back of his truck, he led Jehan down the hallway to the bedroom where his brother was fast asleep.

“You wanted answers, yeah? You wanted to know what I am?”


“Then let me show you.”

Tiefer slaughtered Jehan’s kid brother in front of him, draining him of blood and leaving his corpse mangled where it lie in the boy-sized bed. They waited together for Agnes to come home; Tiefer was kind enough to slit her throat with the sharpest knife in the kitchen the second she walked in the door, far before she could ever see her second-born’s body, and left her mostly intact and with dignity. “She was my friend,” he said just as simply as one would comment on the weather as he placed her body gently in her bed, almost like she had fallen asleep. The image of his mother, peaceful, merely asleep if not for the gash in her throat, stayed burned in Jehan’s mind as they drove off in Tiefer’s truck further and further way on down the road, just far enough out of town, towards the house that Tiefer had taken him to once before on a long weekend where he had raped him over and over and could have left him, could have killed him – where he had killed his father years earlier – where he didn’t want to imagine how many people met their deaths.

“So,” Tiefer’s voice, heavy from the fresh cigarette he had dangling between his fingers on the steering wheel, cut through the static of his mind and the mindless hum of the radio, “do you know now what the fuck I am?”

Jehan didn’t reply. He knew what Tiefer was; somewhere in his mind, he had always known what Tiefer truly was underneath it all.

Tiefer was a monster.

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Chapter Two: Home

Get your bag and get out.”

They’d pulled up to the old house after what felt like hours, maybe even a lifetime, later, but in reality was at most fifteen minutes. The sun was just beginning to set, the glare off the windshield making Jehan almost grateful they’d arrived at the dry-rotted shell of a home. Almost. It looked like a corpse, empty, filthy, and dark, and as he slid off the seat and out the truck, duffle bag in hand, and silently hobbled behind Tiefer down the overgrown lot and up the decaying porch steps, Jehan felt more and more like he was walking right into his future: a dirty, rotting corpse.

Part of him welcomed it.

“Watch your step,” Tiefer said as he pushed the front door open and stepped inside, “the floorboards’re  fucked. Too much blood.”

The wood was too dark to tell either way, in Jehan’s opinion. He wouldn’t have been surprised if they turned out to all be blood soaked, along with the rest of the house. The last time they had been here, there’d been very little in the way of furniture (at least in the rooms he had been allowed to go inside) – in fact, besides a dingy mattress that looked as if it had been there since the forties and a bed frame that looked even older, the only things in the house were a busted-up icebox, the commode, tub, sink and other such fixtures not so easily removed. Now was no different. The house was a skeleton, the last bits of flesh hanging on by a prayer at this point, home to dust and bugs alone.

Tiefer led him into the back room, the one with the mattress and skeletal bedframe. “Put your bag in here.”

Jehan, however, stayed frozen in the doorway.

“You deaf now?”

Jehan didn’t respond, his gaze flickering between his godfather and the bed. The last time he’d seen it…

Sneering, Tiefer yanked the bag out of Jehan’s hand and threw it in the corner. “Keep disobeying me and I’ll make last time you was here look like fuckin’ Christmas. Understand?”

Jehan nodded which earned him a slap across the face and his back shoved against the doorframe as Tiefer grabbed him by the jaw, squeezing hard. “You ain’t dumb, boy, speak up.”


“Yes what?”

“Yes sir!”

Tiefer let him go. “That’s better.” He pushed past him, heading back to what had once been a kitchen. “And you better get used to this dump, babydoll, whether you like it or not,” he called back, rummaging through what had assumedly once been a kitchen drawer, “‘cause thanks to you, we’re gonna be here for a little while.”

“Thanks to me?”

A snort. “Well yeah, sugar,” Tiefer said as he pulled a scrap of paper and a pencil out of the drawer, looking up as Jehan stepped into the former kitchen, “you’re the fuckin’ moron who had to go and blow my cover.”

“I–You killed– ” Jehan felt his face getting hot, his mother and brother’s corpses – or what was left of them – still too bright in his mind. “I didn’t do anything!”

Tiefer merely pointed to his freshly scarred up eye. “Oh really?”

“I wouldn’t have told – I never told what you’d been doing, you know I can keep a secret! You know!” He was starting to cry, he could feel it. “You know and you killed them anyway you fucking bastard!”

“Now Jehan, is that any way to talk to your parrain?”

There was silence for just a moment as Jehan stared at Tiefer, a mix of disbelief and rage in his eyes, before he lunged at him, screaming. Tiefer caught him around the waist and kneed him in the gut before slamming him down on the floorboards.

“Didn’t know you’d be ready for round two so soon,” he sneered as he kneeled down,pinning Jehan to the floor. “I’m sure you’d love to go back to that bedroom just like last time and let me split you open like the little cock-hungry slut you are, yeah?”

“No, please–”

Just no?”

“No sir!” Jehan grabbed Tiefer by the wrist, trying to pry him off as he begged, “N-no sir, please, no no no, I’ll be good, please don’t…please don’t do that, please, parrain,” he sniffled, the tears coming freely, his speech tripping over itself. “You know I won’t tell, I’ve never told, I never will, I-I’m a good boy, you know that, you know I can be good, please, I’ll make something up, I’ll never tell, please, sir, we can all go back to normal just please, let me go…just let me go home.”

Tiefer leaned down, pushing Jehan’s bangs from his eyes. “Oh Jehan…” He kissed him on the forehead, almost caring, before kissing him again on the lips “Look around you: this is your new normal.” He sat back on his haunches, giving Jehan space to breathe. “I am your home now.”

The quiet between them was only punctuated by soft, wet gasps and the occasional sniffle as Jehan tried to calm down where he lay, until finally his response came out, hoarse and harsh:

“Wish you weren’t.”

Tiefer narrowed his eyes. “Don’t be ungrateful. Your mama taught you better.”

“Yeah well she’s dead now, isn’t she?” Jehan knew he was vulnerable, still lying on the floor, on his back, while Tiefer essentially straddled him, but it was too hard to care anymore. “You killed her, you killed my entire family, and I wish you’d just  kill me too.” He wanted to go home, or heaven or hell or anywhere – just not here, not with him. “Please. That grateful enough for you?”

It earned him a huff and then a sharp smack across the face. “Boy, if I wanted you dead, I’d have killed you the second you asked what the fuck I was.” Tiefer smirked, his face lit up by the setting sun as it filtered in through the broken windows and cracks in the boards, his teeth glinting in the light. “Nah…I got something much more fun in mind for you…”

Jehan swallowed thickly. “You’re not…” God his teeth were sharp, he hadn’t realized just how sharp they were. Or, he realized with a sickening turn of his gut, how long eternity with this monster might just be. “You’re not gonna make me like you, are you?”

Those same teeth were just as sharp in laugh as a smirk. “Believe me, honey, if I could turn humans into what I am, I wouldn’t be wasting my sweet time with you – I’d’ve changed your father years ago, made him my eternal lover. Oh don’t make that face, boy,” he added at Jehan’s look of disgust and horror, “your daddy liked men too. Or, well,” his face fell, “he liked me too. On my knees at least. Your mama got everything, the lucky cunt.”

“God you’re disgusting…”

“You should be used to it, an’ if you ain’t, well, you better get fuckin’ used to it. We might not have eternity together but you’re damn sure stuck with me until the day you die.”

Jehan groaned. “Well if you don’t want to kill me and can’t turn me then why can’t you just let me go?”

“Your blood. And your body.” Tiefer paused and then let out a giggle. “Kinda like Jesus.”

“Which makes you kinda like a vampire.”

“You said vampire; I said you ain’t wrong.” Tiefer shrugged before scooting off Jehan and standing up. “Didn’t say you was right,” he said as he grabbed the paper and pencil he’d taken out the drawer earlier and began writing. “It’s more like a blood disease. Mama had it, my sister had it, I got it…”

“You told me your mother died,” Jehan said, standing slowly. “Your whole family was dead.”

“Yup. Just like yours!” He pursed his lips, scratched out a line, and then continued, slower now. “My mama killed herself and my sister…well…” He gestured over to where they’d first walked in, the area with the too-rotted floorboards. “I had had enough of that cunt. But don’t get no ideas though, baby – all them deaths were by a monster’s hand. You? You can’t kill me.”

Jehan was quiet as Tiefer continued to write, pencil scratching loudly in the silence. “But I can hurt you,” he muttered into the stillness.

The scratching stopped.

“Yes,” Tiefer said, finally, the levity gone, replaced by something cold. “I suppose you can.” His hand came up to his cheek, feeling the scar. He turned back, regarding Jehan for a long while with his now only one working eye. Eventually he resumed writing and, not even half a minute later, he held the pencil out for Jehan. “Sign this.”

“What is it?”

“Your confession. Gotta cover our tracks somehow.”

Jehan took the pencil in his hand but didn’t step any closer.

“Well?” Tiefer gestured to the paper. “You ain’t got eternity.”

“I could stab your other eye out.” His voice was soft. “I could ram this through your throat. I could hurt you.”

“You forget one little tiny detail, Jehan,” came Tiefer’s reply, almost far away to Jehan’s ears, “That host is what kept my eye from healing completely. The filet knife alone ain’t nothing, an’ it’d still be nothing if not for God’s little saving grace you stole. Here? Just you try an’ find God here, Jehan,” he sneered as he grabbed Jehan by the back of his neck and shoved him forward toward the counter. “I promise, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

Jehan considered Tiefer silently, fist balled tight around the pencil. He was right – the pencil would hurt, sure, but then what? Only holy items seemed to do anything at all, and the last thing he wanted was Tiefer mad at him. He was stuck.

“Whatever,” he scowled and snatched the paper up – he caught tidbits of his alleged confession, I’m so sorry, I had no other choice, I can’t keep going, Don’t look for my body – scrawling his name at the bottom before throwing the pencil and paper down. “Happy?”

“Good boy.” Tiefer ran his fingers through Jehan’s hair, kissing the top of his head. His fingers loosened from the back of Jehan’s neck only to slide down and around to his throat, gripping him tight.

Too tight.

“Unfortunately, I can’t trust you to behave while I’m gone.”


“To deliver your confession to the sheriff, of course.”


Tiefer squeezed harder, cutting off his air completely. “You’ll be dead to the world, Jehan.”

The last image in Jehan’s eyes was his godfather, eyes alight, teeth sharp as daggers, with his hands around his throat before everything went dark.

When Jehan awoke, it was to an almost pitch darkness, if not for the moonlight filtering through some of the busted boards in the wall. It was also to the alarming realities that his wrists were bound above his head, he was naked from the waist down, and there was a sharp pain at his throat accompanied by a very warm, heavy weight on his chest. So he did all he could do: he kicked and screamed.


And immediately went limp because he had just kicked at his godfather. His terrifying, essentially a vampire, godfather who, upon sitting up, Jehan could make out blood smeared on his mouth. His blood.

“Sorry–I didn’t mean–I didn’t know, parrain–”

“Shut up.”

Jehan felt hands on his hips, positioning him on his side as much as possible, and he couldn’t help but shake.

“Please don’t, I’m sorry, please don’t, please–”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” There was nothing questioning about it, more a barked order than anything. Moonlight crossed Tiefer’s face, illuminating a twisted mix of need and frayed concentration in his expression. “Tilt your head back and keep your thighs together. Ain’t got time to prep you.”

Jehan did as he was told, swallowing hard, his heart racing – he wasn’t stupid, he knew that what Tiefer did with him needed more than what he’d need if Jehan had a woman’s parts, he knew logically that it would hurt if he didn’t prepare him and that the only reason he’d been spared that brutality before was because Tiefer didn’t need his mother finding out (but she was dead so now Tiefer had free reign, didn’t he?) – when he felt something warm and wet deep between his thighs, followed by something harder, and his godfather pressed against him, leaning over him.

“Stay still,” he hissed against Jehan’s ear, teeth grazing the soft skin of his cheek and then his throat as he moved along skin, tracing muscle and veins. “Be good.” Tiefer bit him anew, lightly at first and then harder, breaking skin, blood smearing his lips all while he fucked his thighs, never slowing, like an addict needing a fix.

Jehan tried his best to stay still, his face screwed up in the darkness and his fingers wrapped around the tightly knotted fabric that held him in place, as his godfather drank his blood and effectively masturbated with his body. He was partly relieved – the panic at being entered with nothing more than spit (if he’d have even been that lucky) dissipated completely, only to be replaced with an equally white-hot fear when he had felt teeth at his throat. It had hurt, it still hurt, but he couldn’t help but feel a bittersweet twinge of gratitude when he felt his godfather’s hard cock press against his limp own with each thrust, knowing it could be so much worse.

It wasn’t long before Tiefer came, sticky and hot between Jehan’s thighs. Usually he lasted much longer – and Jehan realized he must have been using his body long before he had woke up, if the earlier sting of bites on his throat and blood on his godfather’s lips was anything to go by, though it wouldn’t explain why he hadn’t the time to prep him if that was the case – he’d obviously had all the time in the world to make him the perfect little fucktoy. Still, Jehan couldn’t be too terribly upset: he was still sore from their time on the wharf; he’d gladly prefer a mess on his thighs.

Tiefer kissed him, smearing his lips with blood, before pulling away. The sound of fabric and a belt clinking followed, then footsteps and creaking boards, slowly dissipating only to reappear moments later.


Fingers and something soft pressed against his lips.

“What is it?”

“Shit.” Jehan could practically hear the sneer in his voice. “It’s bread, idiot, now eat.”

Jehan did as he was told, slowly eating out of Tiefer’s hand. When he was finished, Tiefer’s hands moved to his own, beginning to untie the binds on his wrists.

“What do we say?”

“I need to piss.”

“You need to learn some fuckin’ manners, brat, or next time it really will be shit.”

“Thank you,” Jehan replied before hurriedly adding, “sir.”

“That’s better.” Tiefer finished untying his wrists. “Go clean yourself up.”

Jehan sat up, rubbing his wrists, and looked around. “I…I can’t see.”

A sigh. “Right. Fuck.” Footsteps again, then distant cursing. The creak of the floorboards and returning footsteps were accompanied by a dim light, as Tiefer returned, an old candle in hand illuminating the hall and doorway. In the light, his eyes (or what was left of them) were as red as the blood smeared down his face, though his gaze was distant, hungry. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He lead Jehan down the hall to what remained of the bathroom. A few roaches scuttled off as the light poured into the room. Tiefer balanced the candle on the sink and turned on the tub faucet. It gurgled, rust coming out with the water in wet plops against the ceramic bottom. “You ain’t gonna wanna sit in that. Just use your hands. Here.” He threw Jehan a moth-eaten towel and, thankfully, gave him privacy (for once.)

The privacy didn’t much matter as Jehan realized, after cleaning off the spit and semen between his legs and the dried blood on his throat, that Tiefer hadn’t returned his pants or even underwear. He tugged his shirt back on and, holding the towel in front of him, walked out of the bathroom.



Jehan followed his voice, candle in hand, going the opposite way he had come, to find Tiefer leaning against the old cabinets, smoking. A few candles sat on top the busted icebox, illuminating the room. The cigarette in his hand was down to the filter.

“Uhm…where’re my pants?”

“You don’t need them. Not while we’re in here. Don’t need that fuckin’ towel either. In fact, drop it.”


“Clothing’s a fuckin’ privilege,” Tiefer snapped, “an’ if you keep pushin’ it, y’ain’t gonna have no shirt either, got it?”

Jehan frowned, fingers bunching up in the ratty towel before wadding it up and throwing it at Tiefer’s feet.

“Much better – what a good little boy,” Tiefer added, a nasty smile on his lips as he took a long last drag, sucking all he could out of the burning filter before throwing it to the ground, stomping it out. “An’ don’t you even think ‘bout putting your hands in the way either. Ruins the view.”


“Oh go cry to your mommy about it,” Tiefer sneered, picking up his carton of cigarettes and fishing inside for another smoke. His face fell. “You’re fucking shitting me!” The carton went soaring across the room, narrowly missing Jehan’s head. “I thought I had one more – fuck! God, fuckin’ – fuck, your stupid brother–”

“The fuck does my brother have to do with that?”

“Your stupid fucking brother and his stupid fucking body full of stupid fucking blood, that’s fucking what!” He cursed again, slamming his fist against the wooden countertop. It splintered. He slumped against it, a fraught exhaustion wracking his body. “Fuck, I knew this shit’d fucking happen…fuck!”

Jehan stepped closer, warily. “What…happened?”

Tiefer’s head snapped up, a manic glint in his eyes. “Come here, Jehan.”

“No! The fuck is going on?!”

Tiefer cocked his head, as if shocked that Jehan wouldn’t obey, before a nasty grin split his mouth. “Come to daddy,” he snarled and lunged for Jehan, snatching him by his shirt despite Jehan’s attempts to flee, and, grabbed him around the middle, hoisting him onto the frail cabinets. His hands gripped Jehan’s thighs, spreading them and trapping Jehan’s squirming body between the countertop and his own body. “Thought I told you earlier to be good, didn’t I?”

“Let go!”

“You ain’t in any position to be giving me orders, brat. I could’ve left you tied up on that bed.”

Jehan stilled. “I was…” His eyes went wide. Being blind in the dark and disoriented, he hadn’t realized, though he should have… “I’m sorry.”

“The fuck you are. Show me you’re sorry – keep your hands still.”

“What’re you gonna do to me?”

“Whatever the fuck I want! Now keep your hands still!”

Jehan complied, shaking, and watched as Tiefer got to his knees and pulled Jehan forward to the edge of the counter, his breath warm against his thighs. He bit him once, twice, capillaries letting blood trickle out only to be lapped up, hungrily. Jehan tried to keep still despite the pain, but he couldn’t help the jolt that went through him when he felt lips and tongue, warm and hot – blood hot – on his cock, wrapping around the head before taking him whole. He whimpered, hands coming up to his mouth and hips rocking involuntarily as Tiefer sucked his cock greedily, his hands warm and heavy on Jehan’s thighs, nails digging into his skin.

“Parrain…I’m gonna…” It didn’t take him long at all – not with how Tiefer took him entirely down his throat, how he swirled his tongue around the tip – but Tiefer never pulled away, instead swallowing every drop like a man denied water in the desert as Jehan came down his throat. Tiefer still didn’t pull away. “Parrain…please…it’s too much…stop…” His fingers wound in Tiefer’s hair – accompanied by a hurried “I’m sorry!” –  and pulled him off. “You’re hurting me.”

Tiefer wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a mix of saliva, blood, and cum shining on his lips. “More,” he breathed, standing shakily, and Jehan could see the outline of his cock in his pants. “Now…”

He pulled Jehan off the counter, grabbing him by his hair and forcing him to his knees. “Don’t bite,” he ordered as he undid his belt and fly, pulling himself free and pressing the head of his cock to Jehan’s lips.

Not that Jehan had to be told twice or even at all – he knew what Tiefer liked, knew how to do it, and knew, by the terrifying look in his eyes, that he better behave. He gagged, unable to take Tiefer far into his mouth, but it didn’t seem to matter what he could or could not do – Tiefer grabbed his jaw with one hand, the back of his head with the other, and forced himself farther down his throat despite the keening whine and gagged coughs. He fucked his face even as Jehan tried to push him off, succeeding only in getting a few seconds to breathe before his jaw was forced open again and his throat was abused once more. They kept on like this for what felt like forever for Jehan, splinters digging in his knees, no end in sight, until finally Tiefer pulled away on his own, his cock still hard.

“Hands and knees. Now.”

“If it’s the cigarettes, we can get more tomorrow, please–”

Tiefer laughed, a genuine terrifying sound, his eyes red in the low light. “The fucking cigarettes!” He laughed again, a twisted, toothy grin on his face, blood drying on his lips, before he kicked Jehan in the ribs, knocking him to the floor. “That’s fuckin’ cute, you think this is ‘bout cigarettes. Oh you stupid little boy…” He knelt down, grabbing Jehan by his hips and propping him up on his knees, shoving his face down into the floorboards. “This is so much more than that…”

“Parrain, please, whatever it is, I’m sorry…”

“Oh p’tit, I’m sorry too.” Tiefer spat in his hand, sliding his fingers between Jehan’s legs, forcing a finger inside him. He pulled out, fast, and spat again, this time slicking up his own cock. “Because this is gonna hurt like hell.”

Jehan screamed when he pushed inside of him and kept on screaming with every thrust, screamed and sobbed until his throat gave out, fingernails ripping against the floorboards as he tried to pull himself away while Tiefer fucked him relentlessly, desperate to satiate something that had been disturbed.

At some point, surely, he had to have come – inside of him, as Jehan would later find out – but by that time Jehan had long since passed out, too exhausted, too broken.


Jehan awoke to Tiefer’s voice followed by something small, hard, and pointed hitting him on his head before falling and landing on his chest. It was light outside, the room brightly illuminated by the midday sun. He was in the bedroom, curled up on the mattress, and his hands were bound, His stomach turned. At least he’d been given back his underwear.

“What’d you just throw me?”

“Something to help you out.” Tiefer said from above him. He stood over the head of the bed, untying his hands from the bedframe. In his mouth was a cigarette.

Once one of Jehan’s wrists was free, he grabbed the tube off his chest, turning it over to read the side. “You got me Boudreaux’s Buttpaste?”

“Why not? Works on babies’ assholes,” Tiefer shrugged. “Figure’d it’d help.” He finished untying Jehan’s other hand before reaching down and putting a small shopping bag on the dirty mattress. “There’s some other stuff in there that should take care of you.” He headed out the doorway, calling back as he left: “Use it or not, I don’t care, but I imagine you’re sore as hell after last night…”

Jehan stared after him, the tube of Boudreaux’s Buttpaste still in hand, before reaching for the bag. There were lotions, creams, some sort of enema and cleaning solution, sensitive wipes… Tiefer was usually so careful, he always had been, even when he used his knife against his back he was still so careful, but Jehan could remember, dimly, the night before – the reason his knees were scraped and splintered, his fingernails were busted, his ass felt raw – and it terrified him to get a glimpse of how not careful Tiefer could be last night, and he knew now that Tiefer had no reason to be careful anymore if he didn’t want to be, saw how Tiefer could do anything he wanted to him at any moment.

And Tiefer chose to buy him goddamn Bouxreaux’s Buttpaste. Well, it was as close to an apology as he would probably ever get.

He slowly trudged to the bathroom, making use of the toilet and the odd display of Tiefer’s kindness in an effort to dull his discomfort, before following the hallway back to what had been the kitchen.

Tiefer was at the counter, a loaf of bread and some lunch meat next to him. He tapped his cigarette ash over the sink before returning it to his lips and turned around, plate and sandwich in hand. He held it out for Jehan.

Jehan just stared at him.

“It’s one in the afternoon, Jehan, you ain’t had anything for over half a day, besides some bread and precum,” Tiefer added. “I didn’t fuck with it, if you’re worried, it’s just a ham sandwich.”

Jehan took the offered plate, eyeing his godfather. “Thank you,” he said and took a bite. It was just ham. “Sir,” he added around a mouthful.

“Whatever.” Tiefer was back against the counter, taking a long drag. Gone was the manic look in his eyes from before. Not that Jehan trusted him – he sat down on the ground as far as he could from Tiefer, his back against the wall, and slowly finished his sandwich.

“Not to be rude,” he started, pushing the now empty plate away, “but what’s with…well, this?” He waved at the plate. “Or that, back there?”

“What, rather I’d be mean to you?”

“No! No, no, God no please, just…after last night…”

“Mm.” Tiefer didn’t speak for a long moment, instead taking another drag, delicately tapping his cigarette over the sink once again. “About that. I said I didn’t kill you ‘cause I wanted your body an’ your blood. I meant that. Your body, well…you know all too well I have certain…interests.”

“You mean little boys?”

“I meant I’m a faggot who likes it rough, smartass!” Tiefer scowled and continued: “Point is, I’d prefer having your body on hand to entertain those interests. Much easier that way.”

“What you’d prefer is my father.”

“Ideally.” Tiefer took a long drag. “Instead I got a cheap imitation. But that don’t mean we can’t make do with what we got. I can make it very good, for both of us. You know that.”

Jehan’s cheeks felt hot. Tiefer had made him beg in the past, willingly, for more – he was terribly skilled at it. “I do…” And given his situation, it did sound good. “But what’s the catch?”

“Simple: be good.” Tiefer stubbed out his cigarette which had worn down to the filter, grabbed another from his new and mostly full carton, and lit up. “Do as I say when I say it, want me, love me – or at least fake it – and I’ll treat you right.”

“You mean be your whore.”

Tiefer shrugged. “Well, if you wanna be nasty ‘bout it…”

“You don’t need sex, though. Er, do you?”

Tiefer laughed. “Nah, guess not, but where’s the fun in that?” He took a drag. “No one really does. But…” He pursed his lips. “Know why I did what I did last night?”

“Because you’re a faggot who likes it rough?”

“Smartass.” Tiefer took another drag. “The sort of…creature…that I am – that my family was – needs blood. But if we starve ourselves or if we overindulge, it’s…it’s like withdrawals. Too much blood at once an’ sure, we’ll seem fine, but we’ll come crashin’ down later, desperate for anything to stop the hunger. Blood is what we need but when you’re like that, well… You’ll just wanna glut yourself again. Plus, at a certain point, anythin’ helps: sweat, tears, cum, even human addictions. Why you think I was so fucked up over my cigarettes?”

He paused, taking a drag. “I was able to control myself from rendin’ your pretty little body to pieces thanks to them cigarettes an’ biting your neck an’ ruttin’ between your legs while you slept – thought I’d staved off a total crash – but God your brother had so much blood in him an’ you’d tasted so good but you’d come so fast when I sucked you off, I…I couldn’t rip your throat out, Jehan, I needed you, you get that, don’t you, so I…”

“So you shoved your dick in me and raped me like a dog.”

Tiefer sighed, flicking his ashes in the sink. “I did what I had to. I told you I didn’t have time to prep you, to go slow, that’s why I’d only used your thighs before, I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself.”

“You didn’t control yourself.”

“I kept you alive.”

Jehan was silent as Tiefer finished the rest of his cigarette. “What about too little blood?”

“Same shit, different story. More starvation means more desperation, ‘s all,” Tiefer said, plucking another cigarette out of the carton. He didn’t light it though, just rolled it around in his fingers. “We don’t need much blood to keep from goin’ into withdrawals or Dracula DTs or whatever you wanna call it, but we do need it. Regularly. Why you think I always sliced up your back when we fucked? Don’t say ‘cause I’m a faggot who likes it rough,” he added, pointing his cigarette at Jehan. “The knife let me control myself, control how much I took…My sister, she…she used to glut her fuckin’ face all the time and then when she crashed, well…”

He lifted his shirt, showing off the long, deep scar along his left hip, one that Jehan used to feel under his hands when Tiefer allowed him a semblance of control when they were in bed (or when Tiefer felt particularly lazy.)

“Always looked like that hurt,” Jehan said.

“Like hell.”

Jehan frowned. “Your knife hurts like hell too, you know.

“Mm.” Tiefer picked up his lighter. “Well, we can work somethin’ out,” he said with his cigarette between his teeth.

“What if I don’t wanna? What if I just wanna leave you here to starve?”

“Go right on ahead.” He lit his cigarette, took a drag, and plucked it from his mouth, his expression sour. “Walk on out that door an’ see how well you enjoy a life in prison, boy, ‘cause I guarantee your asshole ain’t fuckin’ ready for it at all!” Tiefer laughed but there was no joy in it. “People hear what they wanna hear and believe what they wanna believe. When I brought your confession to the sheriff and told him the ungodly scene I’d come upon? He ate that shit up.”

Tiefer took another drag as he stepped away from the countertop, stalking closer to Jehan.

“Sure everyone was real sad that poor recently widowed Ms. Agnes and her little boy were slaughtered in cold blood – that town loved your mama, with good reason, the church’ll miss her – but with no leads, no enemies, and a desire for closure? Your confession was exactly what they needed.

“It’s your choice, p’tit: prison or me. Now I swear to you, I’ll let you walk right on out that door – right there! I’ll even go get you your jeans so you ain’t wanderin’ the swamps in your drawers – shit, I might even drop you off right at your house if you ask nice enough – an’ you can see how far you get before your perky li’l ass is gettin’ traded ‘round a jail cell an’ meetin’ the wrong end of a shank. Or you can be a good, smart little boy an’ stay with your parrain. An’ we can figure somethin’ out – somethin’ real nice. For both of us. Just remember,” – Tiefer stopped right in front of Jehan and bent down, eye level with him. He raised the cigarette to his lips, inhaled, and then blew the smoke right back in Jehan’s face – “You’re a livin’ dead man, Jehan Prêtre.”

Jehan sat still, silently looking between the door and his godfather with his scarred eye, his still-bloodstained teeth. What good was escape if it meant even less freedom than what Tiefer was offering? This was the devil he knew…and the devil whose throat he could stand on, given the opportunity. He would just have to play nice. Real nice.

Reaching out, Jehan wrapped his arms around Tiefer’s neck and leaned in, kissing his lips and tasting nicotine and iron.

“I want a home.”

return to chapters

Chapter Three: Family

When Jehan kissed his godfather and agreed to stay with him – choose him – sure, he didn’t expect Tiefer to embrace him with open arms and suddenly give him free reign to come and go as he pleased, but he thought they would at least be beyond tying him down to the bedframe. Unfortunately, that was just wishful thinking.

“Parrain, please, you know I won’t leave.”

“An’ I believe you, baby, I do,” Tiefer said from above him as he tied his wrists to the frame, loose enough that he could move around, at least to roll his feet to the ground and piss in the bucket that Tiefer had dragged in from the yard and left beside the bed. “But I can’t go takin’ any chances. We gotta be careful now if you wanna live like a normal family.”

“Normal families don’t tie each other to the bed,” Jehan huffed, though he had laid in it willingly. Or, rather, as willingly as he could given the circumstances.

Tiefer frowned. “Mine did.” He tightened up the ties and then reached up, adjusting the freshly applied bandages he’d placed over his eye – “for appearances,” he’d said when he’d applied it, right before walking Jehan to the back bedroom. “I promise, it won’t be much longer. Just until I can transfer out of this parish, somewhere far from here. Then you won’t have to hide away.” He pouted mockingly. “I’ll just tell the archbishop I’ve been so traumatized with what happened and so grievously injured at the hands of the poor confused godson I cared for so much, he’ll have to grant my request. And if not, well,” a dirty smirk crossed his face, “I’ll just say I fucked a bunch of little boys. They’ll transfer me without a word.”

Jehan obviously didn’t find it as funny as his godfather did.

“Speaking of little…” Tiefer walked around the bed and grabbed Jehan’s hips, hands on the waistband of his underwear, tugging the cloth down and off his legs.

“No– wait–”

“Oh calm down, I’m not gonna touch you,” he huffed. “Ain’t got enough time to enjoy it.” He threw the pair of underwear to the other end of the bed. “Unless you’d rather piss yourself than use that bucket, you ain’t gonna want those on you.”

“Thanks…I think…” Jehan pouted, obviously preferring the third, unavailable option of an actual toilet but there wasn’t much he could do besides wait it all out: wait out the day, wait out Tiefer’s transition to a different parish, wait out his moods and trust until Jehan could get the upper hand…wait out Tiefer staring between his legs. When Tiefer’s gaze didn’t waver, however, he quickly crossed his legs, pulling his knees up to try and hide himself.

Unfortunately, it only gave Tiefer a very lovely and direct view of his still-smarting ass–an irony which was not lost on Tiefer, considering the sharp laugh he’d breathed out.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Jehan huffed, his face flushed.

Tiefer frowned. “Regrettably.” He leaned over Jehan, kissing him lightly on the forehead. “Gotta straighten out my story with my superiors,” he said, petting Jehan’s cheek and then his throat and his chest and his stomach until he reached between his thighs. “An’ then there’s the funeral service.” His fingers wrapped around Jehan’s cock.

“You said you wouldn’t–”

“Don’t interrupt, babydoll, that’s very rude,” Tiefer said, baring his teeth. “Like I was sayin’, gotta say the funeral for your mama an’ little baby brother.” He pumped him until he was just hard enough and then slowed, running delicate touches around the head. “Then, of course, I’ll have to tidy up on aaaall my duties that had gone slacking since I was…indisposed…” He glanced down at Jehan’s pink cock, flushed with blood, and grinned, teeth bared as he withdrew his hand. “Fuck you’re so cute, boy…too bad I won’t get a taste for a long while…”


“See you later, Jehan.”

“No, don’t– Come back!”

Tiefer all but disappeared in thin air with how fast he seemed to have left the bedroom, crossed the house, and gone out the sorry excuse for a door, leaving Jehan stripped, tied to the bed, and painfully, desperately aroused.

“Fuck.” He was in for a long day, alone with just his thoughts–thoughts of his (now late) family, his tenuous future with Tiefer, and his way out of all of this hell–and the latest ‘gift’ Tiefer deigned to bestow on him.

Time passed –or at least it had to have considering eventually, with a few less-than-appetizing thoughts, Jehan was no longer in the compromising situation he started in– and eventually Tiefer returned around sunset.

“Honey I’m home! Did ya miss me?” His voice carried down the dilapidated hallway and announced his arrival in the bedroom moments before he entered, face alight with a smug sort of glee. “Good to see you’re almost just the way I left you.”

Jehan was far less chipper. “I miss my mother, my father, and my brother; not you,” he replied. “Now let me go, I gotta piss.”

Tiefer frowned. “Missed you too, sweetie,” he said and nudged the bucket he’d left at Jehan’s bedside with the toe of his boot; the slosh of piss against metal replied. “Well, you obviously ain’t too good to use this.”

“‘Cause you left me tied to a goddamn bed all day long, what else was I supposed to do?”

Tiefer shrugged. “Piss yourself.”

“Look can you untie me so I can piss in the toilet like a goddamn human being?”

“That any way to ask for a favor?”

Jehan huffed, an angry desperation that quickly faltered when he met Tiefer’s gaze. “…Please?”

“Fine.” Tiefer circled to the head of the bed and began untying Jehan, still frowning at him. “I’ll let you go.”

“Thank you, parrain.” Jehan’s reply came quick, but Tiefer said nothing, expression still sour, until he’d finished untying him and Jehan found himself free to sit up, leave the bed, walk to the door, and–

“Where you think you’re goin’, boy?”

So much for Tiefer’s good mood.

Jehan froze. “The…toilet?”

“Ain’t you goin’ the wrong way?”

Jehan turned to look at him. “No?”

Tiefer pushed the bucket towards Jehan with the toe of his boot.

“But you said–”

“I said I’d let you go,” Tiefer replied. “Ain’t said you could use the commode.”


“Keep trying me, Jehan, and I’ll make sure your only option tomorrow is to piss yourself like the bratty little child you are.”

Jehan’s cheeks went red and he stepped away from the door. His gaze flitted between the bucket before him and Tiefer a few feet away, leaning against the bedframe, a dead silence hanging in the air.

It didn’t last long.

“Thought you needed to piss,” Tiefer drawled. “You know, I’m more than happy to help you with your sorry little excuse for a cock if you’re having trouble.”

“Can’t you leave? Or at least turn around?”

“ ‘Fraid not,” Tiefer replied, looking Jehan over and pointedly letting his gaze rest between Jehan’s thighs.

Scowling, Jehan spat something that sounded suspiciously like “pervert” before closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to meet Tiefer’s gaze and relieving himself in the bucket. When he was done, he didn’t look up but merely stepped back towards the door. “Happy?”

“I’d be happier if it were my hands on you rather than your own. But…” Stepping away from the bed, Tiefer scooped up the bucket and, as he passed Jehan, emptied it over his head before chucking the bucket aside. “Yeah, I’m happy.”


Tiefer sneered as he stepped out of the room, glancing back at Jehan, now piss-soaked. “We can do that later. C’mon, I brought home dinner – not that you deserve any.” He laughed and headed down the hallway, calling back: “Wash up first, you fuckin’ reek!”

Jehan bit back the urge to ask him whose fault that was in the first fucking place.

“I’m sorry.”

Those were the first words out of Jehan’s mouth as he walked into the kitchen, freshly clean of piss (or as fresh as he could get given their accommodations.) This new life of his was all just a game. He knew, in order to survive, he had to play nice, real nice, but good God did Tiefer make it difficult sometimes. Like earlier.

“Oh really?” Cigarette dangling from his mouth, Tiefer looked up from unwrapping the small take out containers from the bag he’d picked up on the way back to the house. His mangled eye was unbandaged. “What’re you sorry for? Besides getting dressed.”

Or like right now.

Jehan sighed. “I’m sorry for being a brat.”


“And for being rude.”


“And for…calling you a pervert?”

“Hm.” Tiefer pursed his lips. “Well I guess if that’s all you want to say sorry for…”

Jehan had to work to keep his incredulity from showing all over his face as Tiefer was still facing him.

“Here. Red beans.” Tiefer pulled the lid off a container and chucked a plastic spoon in it before he handed it to Jehan. “Eat up. Once it goes cold, it’s cold. We ain’t got shit in here to reheat it.”


“Not that you deserve it.”

Jehan frowned around  spoonful, swallowing hard. “If I don’t deserve it then why bother? We got cold cuts in the icebox.”

“You’ll be eating cold cuts for the next month until we leave.”

The spoon fell out of Jehan’s hand. “Excuse me?!”

Tiefer took a long drag. “I transfer out of here in one”–he held up a finger–”month so until then, we’re stuck here.” He paused, lowering his hand. “Or…well…you’re stuck here. I got my own bed to sleep in–and for appearance’s sake, I really should. Miss havin’ you in it, though…”

“Fuck that! I’m just supposed to be chained up here for a month?!”

“No. Not all the time. Just when I’m not around.”

“Which is starting to sound like all the damn time! Am I supposed to just be tied to that bed and hope you remember to maybe give me some food?”

Tiefer sneered. “Well maybe then you’ll miss me,” he said, taking another drag.

Jehan was silent for a moment. His hands shook. Then – screams.

“THAT’S what this was all about? THAT’S why I couldn’t fucking piss in the toilet–why you dumped it on my fucking HEAD? You’re mad ‘cause I didn’t miss YOU?!”

Tiefer pursed his lips, cigarette dangling between his fingers. “You done your bratty little tantrum?”

“No I’m not fucking done, you–you fucking–you fucking monster! I hate you! You’ve taken everything from me!” He threw what was left of the dinner Tiefer had bought him at Tiefer’s feet. So much for playing nice. “Fuck your house, fuck your stupid vampire blood disease bullshit, and fuck you!”

Slowly, Tiefer put out his cigarette. “You said you wanted a home,” he said, his eyes unblinking on Jehan. “You said you wanted to be with me. A nice, proper little family, you an’ me.”

“Didn’t have much of a fucking choice now did I, parrain?”

“I told you I could make this good for the both of us and all you had to do–all you had to fucking do–was be good. You think this bullshit” –he gestured at the spilled container on the ground as he stepped over it, coming face to face with Jehan and towering over him– “is being good?”

Jehan scowled up at him. “Blow me.”

Tiefer snarled before grabbing Jehan by the front of his shirt and pulling him up on his tiptoes to meet his eyes. “I didn’t even ask for your fucking love–you’re your daddy’s son, I know better than to expect that,” Tiefer spat. “All I ask is that you fuckin’ fake it, do what I say, and be good, and so far you’re doin’ a piss-poor job.”

“So get rid of me then,” Jehan replied. “Oh wait, that’s right! You can’t. Because I’m your literal fucking meal ticket. So maybe you should do what I say and I say don’t leave me tied to a bed all goddamn day and then throw piss on my fucking head because you’re so goddamn insecure that the teenager you’ve been fucking for YEARS whose entire family you also fucking MURDERED didn’t MISS YOU!”

For a long moment, Tiefer didn’t say a word. And then, he laughed, his sharp teeth glinting. His very very sharp teeth. That were inches from his face.

Jehan felt his heart sink like a stone into his stomach.

“Oh Jehan…” He leaned in, his lips barely brushing Jehan’s. “I gotta say, it is exciting watchin’ you get all riled up like that, thinkin’ you’re hot shit. Makes me wanna rip open your throat while I fuck your little boy cunt ‘til it bleeds.”


“In fact, I might just do that.”


“No? You’re gonna tell me no?” Tiefer sneered and closed what little space was between them, kissing Jehan hard before shoving him onto the ground and standing over him. “You may be right – I can’t get rid of you – but I can make not only this month but the rest of your miserable fucking life a living hell if I so choose,” he said as he positioned his foot between Jehan’s legs, the heel of his boot pressing down on his crotch, “and you, my stupid little brat, you’re really helping me make that decision.”

Jehan gazed up at him from where he lay on the dirty floor, wincing at the press of Tiefer’s foot between his thighs. “I…” This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have let his anger get the better of him. He needed to salvage whatever he could. “I’m s–”

“Screwing yourself? Pretty fuckin’ badly yeah.”

“No, I’m s–”

“Stupid? Yes. Yes you are.”

“I’m sorry,” Jehan bit out.

“Couldn’t hear you from up here, brat. Say it again.”

“I’m sorry.”

Tiefer pressed down, harder. “Louder, you stupid piece of shit!”

“I’m sorry!”

“‘I’m sorry’ what?”

“I’m sorry sir!”

“And what are you sorry for?” Tiefer asked. Each word was punctuated by a slow grind of his boot.

“I’m sorry for not missing you–sir!” Jehan added with a pained squeak. “And I’m sorry for being a brat a-and being rude!”

“Hmm.” Tiefer stepped off of Jehan and slowly offered his hand.

Cautious, Jehan reached out and was pulled to his feet–too hard, even, until he was flush against Tiefer’s chest.

Tiefer kept his grip on Jehan. “So, how you gonna make this whole little tantrum up to me?”

“By…not doing it again?”

It had been worth a shot.

Laughing, Tiefer let Jehan go. “I don’t think that’ll cut it.” He looked Jehan up and down. “Nah, boy, I think you better get your ass into that bedroom ‘cause you might’ve wasted your dinner but I ain’t wastin’ mine.”

“You’re not gonna rip my throat open, are you?”

“Mmm, depends. How good you gonna be for me, baby?”

Jehan was silent under Tiefer’s gaze, adrenaline from his outburst beating against every bit of good sense that reminded him he needed to behave, to play the long game, to be good

To play house.

Slowly, he stepped forward and, reaching out to put his arms around Tiefer’s neck, kissed his godfather, gentle and soft. His hands ghosted down Tiefer’s shoulders, his arms, stopping at his wrists as Jehan took him by the hand and lead him to the bedroom.

“Very,” he answered once they were beside the bed. Jehan stripped off what little clothing he still had on him and, turning around, sat on the bed delicately. “I’ll be very good for you,” he said, pulling Tiefer closer and adding, “Daddy.”

Tiefer’s eyes went wide and for a moment Jehan was afraid he’d gone too far and severely misjudged his godfather – at least, taste-wise – but then Tiefer composed himself, any shock quickly replaced with a snide grin and wicked gleam in his eyes as he tightened his grip on Jehan already flush against him and – oh. Oh.

He hadn’t misjudged at all.

“Prove it, then, my little brat.”

“Wait–wait, stop, please–parrain!”

Tiefer pulled away, blood reddened lips downturned in a frown. Jehan was stripped bare beneath him, his heaving chest and throat littered in bite marks and smeared blood; Tiefer had brought his hands down along Jehan’s behind, and in response Jehan yelped as if he had been burned.

“I’m still…hurting…down there.”

Something flashed in Tiefer’s eyes – anger and insult, perhaps, at being denied.

Jehan quickly wrapped his arms around Tiefer’s neck, pulling him down into a kiss as a hot, wet apology. “I’ll make it up to you,” he promised once he pulled away, breathing heavy, “if you’ll let me, daddy.”

Tiefer hummed something that sounded like assent enough and, much like a bored cat tolerating a favorite child moving it, allowed Jehan to roll them over until he was on his back and Jehan, naked and bloody and wincing, straddled his hips. There was drying blood on Tiefer’s lips and pinched boredom across his face, as if he was still largely put out and merely counting down the few moments of time Jehan’s slutty little whine of “daddy” had bought from him.

Reaching down, Jehan undid his godfather’s pants and gently pulled his hard cock out. He bit his lip, trying to keep his expression from turning to disgust as he spat in his hand and slowly stroked both himself and his godfather before leaning down, his hips against Tiefer’s, their cocks pressing together, hard and slick with spit and precum. It wasn’t awful, and the control was welcome (much better humping that huge cock than being split open on it) but the thought of another month like this, stinking of blood and sex in a decrepit shell of a house – the thought of a lifetime of this, living at Tiefer’s whims, having to wear a mask over his festering anger, having to play a fake role to avoid his godfather’s brutal rages, having to be a son, a friend, a lover – made his stomach turn.

The disgust must have shown on his face because Tiefer’s hands pressed heavily on his hips, keeping him still, his smaller cock trapped between Tiefer’s and his own belly.

“It must really hurt, baby, what with that face you’re makin’.”

“Oh.” Jehan sat back against Tiefer’s thighs. “Y-yeah.”

“Kinda hard to cum with you lookin’ ready to vomit all over me.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll do better, I–”

“Scoot up,” Tiefer interrupted, lazily beckoning Jehan further and gesturing towards his chest.

Jehan did as he was told, situating himself on Tiefer’s chest, knees on either side of Tiefer’s head, and letting his godfather pull him forward until his cock pressed against blood stained lips.

“Good boy.” He took Jehan into his mouth, as far into his throat as the teenager’s length allowed, his hands warm and heavy on his hips, pulling him forward.


Tiefer hummed softly – which earned a very startled jerk from Jehan – and pulled away with a soft pop. “Go ‘head, fuck my mouth,” he said before kissing the head.


“Do what Daddy says, Jehan.”

Jehan blushed. Tiefer had never told him to do that before – hell, he’d actively punished him for accidentally thrusting into his mouth without permission – and God, if he hadn’t thought about what it would be like, how fucking wonderful it would be to grab his godfather by the hair, nails digging in, and to abuse his throat, make him choke and gag until he vomitted all over himself, all the while pushing his cock down, fucking him harder and harder and harder –


At some point he had to have done it – his vision was white, his hands were tangled in white, and white trickled down Tiefer’s chin from where it had escaped his lips, stretched around Jehan’s cock, mixing with the blood smeared on his face. Chest heaving, Jehan let go of Tiefer and fell back against him, his cock making an obscenely wet pop as he went.

Tiefer merely watched as if nothing had happened, despite his flushed cheeks, messy hair, and burning throat.

“When I said I’d make this nice for the both of us, I meant it,” he said, slowly. “An’ ain’t it nice?”

Jehan was slow to nod. “U-uh-huh…”

“You want it to keep bein’ nice?”

“Yes.” At the look Tiefer gave him, Jehan quickly amended his answer. “Yes sir.”

“Then be good for Daddy, Jehan,” Tiefer ordered. “Y’can start by returning the favor.”

And as Jehan leaned down and took his godfather in his mouth and felt a hand in his hair gripping tighter than it needed to be, he knew he wanted it to be nice because nice was the only way he’d be able to keep behaving, to keep being good – to find a way out – without losing his mind.

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