“Hey Vlad…Who do you think would win in a fight: Zombies or Vampires?”
After almost two years of living with his girlfriend, Vladimir Popescu was used to the never-ending sea of both strange and completely nonsensical questions that never ceased to meet his ears. They were often had absurd, 'what if' scenario's to them, or they didn't matter to society in any way, shape or form. For example, one such as "What if a possum goes into a coma? Do all the other possums think he's faking it?" had been asked of him only last week, and he was still baffled by it's utter strangeness.
Sure there were normal ones, like "Why is the sky blue?" or "Why was Holden so concerned about the ducks?" These he could immediately answer, sending you back into whatever thought your question had robbed you away from.
Then there were the trickier ones, like "Why do you think people on the internet love potatoes and bacon?" or "Do animals have swears in animal language?" It was incredibly confusing at first, but after awhile, he soon became used to it. It was just a normal thing with you, a normal thing for him.
And yet, he always wondered what some sort of malignant, strange labyrinth of mind you must have to ask him such questions.
Like this one. Did it matter?
Why was he intrigued?
He couldn't say.
Looking up from his lengthy spell book, the Romanian regarded his lover with a rather incredulous expression. “What?”
“Like, say a vampire was hunting this girl,” You said, watching his face shift deeper into confusion. “And, like, she smelled really good to him. Good enough to kill for. You following?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Okay, then just bear with me here,” You carefully drew the picture from your pocket, and held it up for him to see. “At the same time, this zombie” You raised your eyebrows a bit. “This rather…sexy…zombie is stalking the same girl. Her brain smells just as delicious as her blood.”
Vlad gazed at the picture, noticing the zombies lack of, well, to put it simply, zombie-ness. His skin wasn’t rotted, muscles and decomposing tissue weren’t exposed. He didn’t even look horrifying, with his wind tousled black hair and vibrant blue eyes. He looked like any teenage girl’s wet dream. Under it, the caption read “Nicholas Hoult-Warm Bodies.”
“Now, only one can have her; who would win?”
Vlad stared at her with an expression that could only be described as disbelief, his ruby red’s shifting from the picture and back to you. “Well, that seems rather obvious,my dear,” He replied, shaking his head in slight amusement.
“I knew it! Alfred now owes me twenty bucks.” (Y/N)stalked over to the vintage phone(and by vintage, it means one purchased in the nineteen-tens. "This one has character!" Vladimir would cry every time you suggested a replacement.), turning the number dial. “Geez, I mean really! Everyone knows that a zombie could totally kick vampire ass.”
Looking up, you found your boyfriend hovering above you, his eyes almost popping out of his head. “What?” You responded, holding the phone up to your ear. The dial tone ended with a click, a loud proclamation of "Hey dude!" on the other end. “Hey Alfred, I was right! Zombies-”
“No,” he snarled, tearing the phone from your grip. Slamming it onto the receiver, he turned back to you, face still stretched into astonishment, and…maybe a little hurt. “I meant that it was apparent that the vampire would win. Not some pile of rotting flesh.”
“Seriously? You too?” You rolled your eyes, grabbing the telephone again. “Really Vlad, let’s be logical here.”
“Logical?!” He huffed. “You be logical, (Y/N). We vampires can move wayfaster than those brainless drones.”
“So?” You countered. “Zombies can walk in the sunlight. And they can bite through solid flesh.”
“I have fangs! And I’m super strong!”
“They can wipe out entire civilizations in a matter of weeks!”
“So are they!”
“Enough!” Exclaimed your now slightly pissed boyfriend. He crossed his arms, and stuck out lower lip, almost pouting. Even his hat seemed to droop a little.
“I thought you liked vampires,” He moped dejectedly. He looked almost childlike; as if he was four again, and he popped his beloved balloon pet. It took all you had not to run over to and give him a spine-crushing hug, making promises for chocolate chip cookies and a tasty blood pouch if he would just flash that bewitchingly sweet smile.
“I do, Vladimir,” You responded kindly. “It’s just that they have been so overused. Truly, zombies are where it’s at right now. You understand-”
And there they were. His slightly chapped but nevertheless pulchritudinous pair of lips were, as whenever he wished to 'win' an argument, pressed to yours. They were soft, they were sweet, and acted gently, but held the power and lust of someone much more ferocious than Vlad.
The vampire inside of him.
He pulled away, smirking at your mystified expression. Oh how wondrous, he couldn't help but to think, to be able to have this power over you. Vampiric seduction but also the amount of love his cold, dead heart could produce. Much better than any undead beast could ever hope to have.
Diving back in to give you more of his sweet nothings, he let slip a tiny laugh, his forehead pressed against yours.
“Zombies may be better in the killing department,” He whispered, nuzzling against you. You let out a contented sigh, closing your eyes as he moved to nip at your ear.
“But vampires are much better lovers.”