Unholy

5. 2

The hallucination continues to try to communicate with me, touching me and speaking, but I steadfastly ignore it. Now that I’ve finished evenly distributing the freshly baked bread, I turn my attention to the wine. Normally I would use wine from a large jug, but today I bought some nice wine special for the occasion.

“I’m real,” Killian says, and out of my peripheral vision, I watch around the altar. I use a corkscrew to open the wine with an audible pop, then I pick up a glass with a shaking hand, intent on ignoring the demon and pouring the wine.

“You can feel my touch.” Killian’s hand circles under the top layer of my robes, fingers dancing over my hip bone, settling under my belly button. I hiss a breath, forcing my hand to stay steady as I pour wine.

“You can hear my voice.” Killian’s lips graze over my ear, his voice deep and sultry, making the fine hair on the back of my neck stand to attention. Killian’s free hand snakes onto the altar, grabbing a small piece of bread from one of the plates.

“You can smell my body.” Killian holds the piece of bread up to my nose. I inhale the smell of flour, and a hint of sweetness touching my nostrils.

It’s not real. It’s a hallucination. Not real.

“You can taste my blood.” Killian dips his finger into the chalice of wine I was pouring, then holds it up to my lips. I can smell the dryness of the wine on his finger. I watch a light red drip trail down Killian’s finger. He presses his finger against my lips, parting them to force me to taste the wine coating his skin.

“I’m real, Father. I have come back for you. I’ve missed you.” Killian’s voice is barely above a whisper as he looks into my eyes with an emotion I have never seen there before. There’s a twinkle of something soft and warm in those eyes. They’re almost different, yet exactly the same. Like when I saw them before, they were just a green field of grass with no stars, but this time, the stars have come to twinkle above the field.

“But… I’ve been dreaming of…” My voice trails off.

“I know… I was there.” Killian smiles, his features soft and almost fond.

“What do you mean you were there? They were just dreams…”

“Yes. In a way, they were, but that was really me in them.” Killian cups my jaw, his hand warm and sure. I barely resist the urge to nuzzle into him. “I visited you. It’s part of the demonic abilities I inherited from my father. ”

“What?” I ask, my too tired brain trying to process what Killian is saying. I’m still not convinced that Killian isn’t a hallucination.

“I could never leave you completely,” Killian says softly, free hand coming up to cup the other side of my jaw tenderly.

“Is- Is that why God hasn’t visited me in them?” I ask, finally putting the pieces together. It makes perfect sense and explains everything. God’s silence. His absence.

“What?” Killian dark brows crease in confusion.

“God. He used to visit me in my dreams.” I start, taking a step back from Killian. “We would talk. Sometimes angels would as well. Now, it’s silent.” I take another step back, needing distance. “Is that why he hasn’t visited me? Because of you? Because you’ve been in my dreams?”

“Are you kidding me?” Killian asks, rolling his eyes and taking a single step toward me.

“It’s because of you, isn’t it!?” I yell, holding my hand out toward Killian so he can’t get any closer. “I repented. I begged for God’s forgiveness. He’s been giving me small signs that He’s there, but no grand gestures. I begged Him to visit me in my dreams, but he couldn’t, and now I know why. It’s because you were stopping Him!”

“Are you saying I’m a God?” Killian’s head tilts to the side as he looks at me with sharp eyes. The new softness that was there is quickly replaced by harsh, sharp edges. There’s the demon I know.

“No! Never!” I vehemently shake my head. “There is only one God!”

“Then how exactly did I stop Him from visiting you in your dreams?” Killian asks, head tilting toward the other side, studying me.

“I- You-” I try to think of how to answer, but the words won’t form. My head hurts. I’m too tired to form a proper argument.

“You don’t have an answer because, if I were stopping Him, then that would mean He isn’t all powerful or I was a God. And if I weren’t stopping him, then you will have to admit that he chose not to visit you.”

“No…” The word is barely above a whisper, my eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“So, which is it, Father? Am I a God or did your God just abandon you?” Killian asks. The tenderness that was in his tone before has vanished, leaving something sharp and menacing .

“He did not abandon me! He’s just… just… punishing me!” I yell, needing something to hold onto before my world crumbles around me.

“Still?” The word is so sharp, I feel like it stabbed me in the heart. Killian takes another step closer. “Isn’t He supposed to be the forgiving type? You’ve asked for forgiveness. You were true when you asked that. You stopped sinning, started walking the holy path once more. So why is he still punishing you?”

“Because I deserve it!” I scream, stepping closer to Killian as I forcefully poke my chest.

“Doesn’t everyone deserve forgiveness according to your holy text?” Killian asks, gesturing toward the Bible sitting on the altar.

“Yes…”

“Then why, Father, is He still punishing you?” Killian asks, head tilting to the side again, feline like.

“Because…. Because I…” I say, but no explanation comes out.

“Here, let me help you out.” Killian leans down so that he’s looking directly in my eyes. “He’s a petty child who's all pissy and butthurt that a demon coerced one of his followers over to the dark side for a single day.”

“A single day?” I ask because that doesn’t sound right. It had to be more than a day. It feels like it’s been a lifetime.

“Yup. One whole day. That’s all it was. A single day of sin.” Killian holds up a finger. I think back on it, trying to remember. I went to Killian’s house that night around 8pm. I stayed the night, came home. He followed me. He was gone by 10am. It wasn’t even a whole day.

“Sin is sin,” I try, but my head spins with the realization.

“People sin every day, and they’re forgiven easily by Him… and yet you stand before me… still being punished. Why?”

“I don’t know His reasons!” I shout for lack of anything better to say.

“I’m telling you his reasons. He’s petty. He’s petulant.” Killian spits the words. “God is not the father, he’s the fucking child.”

“Don’t say that about Him!” I scream, and Killian turns away, taking a few steps, letting out a frustrated breath. He turns back around, taking slow steps toward me again .

“He could have easily come to see you in your dream. He could have sent his angels. He could have told you that you haven’t earned forgiveness yet, but to keep trying. Anything. Anything at all to give you a little bit of hope, but he chose not to.” Killian grips my shoulders. “He. Chose. Not. To.” He shakes me a little with every word.

“But… he didn’t…” I’m running out of steam. I can’t think of anything to say. Can’t think of a single argument. It reminds me of the guy that was just in the confessional. A deadbeat dad that’s blaming his child for his problems. Blaming his child for cheating on his wife. I can’t help but see the parallels.

“Oh my god, would you stop that? He did!” Killian yells, voice echoing off the stone walls. He lets go of my arms to walk away. “Why are you so fucking loyal to him? Why are you loyal to a God that would punish you for one single day of sin?” Killian asks, turning back around. I open my mouth to respond but can’t find words. Can’t find a fair and just explanation.

“A God that would punish you for months, give you the fucking silent treatment like a petty, passive-aggressive child for months, all because of less than 24 hours of sin! A sin that he didn’t even fully see! He doesn’t even know the details… and yet he’s still fucking punishing you.”

“He holds me to a higher standard because I’m a holy man of the cloth. A priest. I made a vow to him. Of celibacy. And I broke that vow.” I finally find the explanation, and I barely resist the urge to yell ‘check-mate’ as if playing chess.

“Oh please, Father. He gives less punishment to priests who molest children!” Killian throws his hands up in the air, standing in front of the altar.

“That’s not…” I take a step toward Killian, the tears in my eyes finally making their way down my cheeks. I don’t stop them. They are the manifestation of my acceptance that maybe Killian is right, and I can’t stop the realization.

“Yes, it is! And yet you’re still loyal to him. Why? When it’s been me who has been visiting you for the past few months. Me who has appeared in your dreams to talk to you. Me who missed you so damn much that I couldn’t stand the thought of going more than a day without slipping into your mind while you slept.” Killian holds both hands to his chest, pressing harder with each sentence .

“It hasn’t been every day!” I say, but the response is weak. A tear falls off my chin, landing on my robe.

“Just because I didn’t make my presence known doesn’t mean I wasn’t there. I wanted to watch over you the only way I could, in your dreams. So, I checked on you to make sure you were okay. Sure, there were some days that I couldn’t be there because I was indisposed, but I tried. I always came back.” There’s a sort of desperation in Killian’s voice, as if he needs me to hear what he’s saying. It makes my heart hurt, and I can’t help but step closer to him. Killian reaches out but does not touch me. “I always saw you. I listened to you. I made you feel good.”

“He would have, too,” I respond, but I’m not sure I even really believe myself at this point. I’m only arguing to hold on to a last shred of hope. To convince myself more than Killian.

“But He didn’t! He could have but He chose not to!” Killian yells, looking me in the eye. “I chose to. Yet you’re still praying to Him. Still worshiping Him.”

“Of course! He is my God!” I yell back, because the entire thing sounds ludicrous. Who else am I supposed to worship? Of course, I would worship the God that could send me to paradise to live for eternity with the rest of my family and friends that I had lost along the way.

“If He were in this room right now, what would you say to Him?” Killian asks, and the question catches me slightly off guard.

“Why won’t you forgive me?” I respond.

“I said what would you say to him, not what would you ask.”

It takes a few seconds for me to think about it. Everything I come up with are questions about forgiveness. “I would… I would say that I’m sorry for what I have done. I would tell him that I’m a good person, and I-I don’t deserve his silence.”

“You shouldn't have to beg Him to do anything.”

“None of it matters because He isn’t here!” I say, looking around the room, hoping that maybe God would make His presence known. Maybe he would finally see me in such distress, such peril, that He would intervene and smite the demon. But nothing happens. Just echoing words and silent tears.

“But I am! It’s me who has been here all along!” Killian hits his chest so hard, I don't know how he didn’t knock the wind out of his lungs. “I’m right in front of your fucking face, and you still can’t fucking see me! You’re still looking for the God that abandoned you. But He will never come back. So, open your fucking eyes and see me, Levi! I’m right here! I’m not going anywhere! I’m not going to punish you and leave you! I will be here forever, if that’s what it takes! God made His choice! You have one too!”

“But I’ll burn in Hell if I choose you!” I scream, my voice raw with emotions as a steady stream of tears fall down my cheeks.

“Then I’ll set fire to my body, so you won’t burn alone.” Killian’s voice breaks, a single tear trailing down his cheek. I have never seen him cry before. In all honesty, I didn't think he was capable.

I pause, breath heaving, tears falling. Killian’s words send shivers down my spine. He would set fire to his body so I wouldn’t burn alone? God would never do that. In fact, He is clearly going to make me burn for a few hours of indiscretion. Hours that He didn’t even see.

How would He know what I had done? I had been honest with Him after that. I confessed to Him, but He’s still punishing me. Why? Is Killian right? Is He a petulant child? Why haven’t I been forgiven when those who have committed far more heinous crimes have?

“How? How do I let go of Heaven?” I ask Killian. The tears in my throat finally break my voice, and desperation fills up the cracks. I look at Killian, silently begging him to explain.

“You don’t let it go, Levi. You find it.” Killian closes the gap between us, pulling my body against his. His body is hard and warm, perfect in every way I remember. “You find Heaven in me. In us.” Killian captures my lips with a gentle kiss. And I know this is real. Killian is real. I don't pull away from the kiss. I welcome it. I have been starved of touch and acceptance. Killian is willing to give me both, not God. So why am I even fighting?

“Let me give you Heaven,” Killian murmurs against my lips. “I don’t want anything in return. No strings attached. I don’t need your worship or your loyalty. I just want to give you paradise.” Killian deepens our kiss, and I open my mouth to allow it.

If God wants to be a petulant child over something so minor, then I will stop giving Him attention. I will do the opposite. And what's more opposite than kissing a demon on holy ground? It’s the divine equivalent to sleeping with my boyfriend in my parents’ bed.

“Is this okay, Father?” Killian asks, breaking our kiss completely. I whine, missing the contact of his lips immediately. It takes me several seconds to register what he asked.

“Yes…” I respond, confused. Why did he ask me for permission? He’s never done that. He just took what he wanted.

“Good.” Killian reaches beside us, grabbing a piece of bread from the table with a smile. “This is my body, which is given for you.” He holds it up to my lips. I don't even think about it; I refuse to. If I think about it, I may stop it, and, God help me, I don't want to stop this. Not anymore. “Do this in remembrance of me.”

Killian places the piece in my mouth. My lips close around Killian’s fingers, my teeth grazing just the tip of his thumb as he pulls away. He kisses my throat as I chew, and I allow myself to get lost in the moment of it all.

“This cup that is poured out for you.” Killian grabs the chalice of wine I had poured. He holds it against my lips, the metal cold in contrast to Killian’s warmth from just moments ago. “This is the new covenant in my blood.” I tip my head back, letting the liquid slip down my throat as he pours. He wastes no time replacing the rim of the cup with his lips, tasting the dry wine on my tongue, moaning in abandon.

Killian’s arms circle my waist, palms coming down to grasp my ass cheeks. I moan into his mouth, the sensation of the touch going straight into my cock. I didn’t think I could get hard so soon after coming, but my cock desperately twitches.

Too many clothes. Too much damn fabric is between us. Killian lifts me, and I circle my legs around his waist. I groan when our cocks rub together, only the layers of our pants separating us.

Without looking, Killian swipes his hand across the altar, the plates of bread and cups of wine crash to the floor with a loud clatter. I don't even protest. Don’t care to. I am too busy savoring Killian’s kisses, committing the taste of his mouth to memory because I never allowed myself this luxury before .

“Wanna see you,” Killian murmurs against my lips. He gently lays me atop the altar. He leans over me, his hard body pressing against mine, capturing my lips once more. He braces an arm above my head, fingers laced in my hair. His other hand is on my hip, trailing long fingers down my torso, dipping into the waist of my slacks. His nimble fingers unbutton my pants. His hand dips into the waistline of my pants and underwear. I lift my hips, helping him slide them down my legs.

“Killian,” I moan, my slightly hard cock exposed to the cool morning air. Killian stands up, looming over me with dark eyes. His big hands are resting on my hip bones. I arch my hips up, trying to get him to touch me, but he doesn’t. He just looks at me, as if he can’t believe his eyes.

“You are the only angel this church will ever see,” Killian says, and I’m not sure I was even supposed to hear him. His flat palms rub up my torso, but he makes no move to remove the rest of my robes.

“Killian. Please,” I beg, unsure I can take the anticipation much longer. Killian cups my face with the palm of his hand, touching my lip with his thumb. The gesture is so gentle, I’m not even sure I felt it. Where was the harsh demon I was so used to?

“Be still before me and wait patiently for me.” The twisted Bible verse on Killian’s lips comes out so deep, I wonder if it made its way from the depths of Hell. I stop moving, trying to be patient as he commanded. It’s difficult. I want to be touched. I want my body to be explored like it’s the Promised Land.

Before I can register what’s happening, Killian lifts my hips with little effort and flips me over. The hard surface of the altar is beneath my stomach. I hiss when my cock presses against the rough tablecloth, arching my back so that my ass pops up in the air. Killian’s firm hand pushes onto my lower back, forcing my hips back on the table. He grips my thighs, pulling my legs a part. Killian splays out my body, spreading me on the altar like a sacrifice.

“What are you doing?” I ask, not even bothering to remove whatever is now lodged beneath my collarbone.

“It’s the Last Supper, Father, so I shall feast,” Killian responds, big hands messaging my ass cheeks. Those gravelly sounding words move over my body, making every area they touch tingle in anticpation. I shiver, cock twitching against the altar. I look back at Killian whose eyes are trained on my body. I face forward again, looking directly between the rows of pews lined on either side of the shiny wood floor.

I close my eyes, waiting for something, anything to happen. My skin prickles in eagerness, nerve endings assessing every inch, trying to determine if there’s a touch. When I’ve almost given up waiting, I feel the lightest touch on my lower back, tracing from hip to hip. It’s too soft to be Killian’s fingers. It almost feels like a…

“Flower?” I finish the thought out loud, looking back to find Killian holding a white Easter Lily that he clearly commandeered from the arrangement next to the altar. He traces it down my ass crack, circling my hole with the soft point of the pedal.

“I missed you,” Killian murmurs almost more to himself than to me. When he traces my hole again with the lily, I moan, pressing back into the flower.

“Killian, please . ”

“What do you want, Father?” Killian asks, voice so deep, I could very easily drown in it and be born again. Like I did last time I was around water with Killian. I am so caught up in drowning, I barely pay attention to the question. He traces the flower up my inner thigh effectively bringing me back to the surface.

“I-I don’t know,” I respond, biting my lip on a moan. Killian isn't even really doing anything, but that damn flower is making my entire body quiver with anticipation.

“Come on, Father. Tell me what you want.” Killian bends over my body, and I can feel the outline of his hard cock pressing against my crack. His lips graze my ear, but instead of biting the tip like I had expected, he whispers a single phrase. “Pray to me.”

“Oh my God ,” I moan at the word, something deliciously sinful about the very idea.

“That’s the start of it, Father,” Killian responds, grinding his hips against me, and by some miracle, my cock gets hard again.

“I-I don’t know…” I am so turned on, but I don't know how to ask for what I want. They didn’t teach me this shit in seminary school. I don't even kn ow the words to use. I had intentionally kept my body and mind away from such entertainment, fearing the pull would be too much.

“Yes, you do, Father. Describe it to me.” Killian pulls his hips away from my ass. He replaces his body with the flower. It lightly strokes my skin again, continuing its lazy exploration.

“Your mouth. I want it on me,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. I can feel my cheeks getting hot, embarrassed by saying the words out loud.

“Where on you?” Killian asks, the flower circling my hole again because he knows exactly where. I bite my lip, not wanting to say it out loud. “Come on, Father. We’re in a church. This is where you pray.”

“On my…” The words trail off. I take a deep breath in an attempt to muster my courage. I hiss out the breath when the petal is replaced by Killian’s dry finger. “Your mouth,” I blurt out, unable to hold it in any longer.

“My mouth? Where do you want my mouth, Father?”

I look back at Killian. He isn’t smirking like I thought he would be. He just looks at me, a softness in his eyes. His chest isn’t rising and falling, as if he’s holding his breath awaiting my answer. I close my eyes, pushing my request from the most depraved part of my soul, through my lips and into the air of the church. “God, I want your hot mouth on my hole.”

“Hear me when I say this, Father, I plan to answer every single prayer that comes out of that divine mouth of yours.” Killian falls to his knees behind me. I am praying, but Killian is the one that’s on his knees.

I face forward again. The very image of Killian moving to lick my hole would be my undoing, so I won’t watch. I can’t. Instead, I focus on the large, heavy doors of the church. This place used to be my sanctuary, but now it feels like my prison. When I open those doors to leave today, it will be for the last time. I’m not playing God’s game anymore.

I am forcefully pulled out of my thoughts by Killian’s lips, kissing the top of my tailbone. Killian spreads apart my ass cheeks, trailing kisses lower and lower, circling my hole before kitten-licking it. I get up on my tip-toes, trying to offer more of my body to Killian.

“Your tongue. God, I need your tongue,” I beg, and Killian answers the prayer by circling his tongue around my hole. I moan. I ignore the pain in my injured hand as I grip the other side of the altar so hard, I fear it will splinter like the lattice.

“Deeper.” My hips grind against Killian’s face. His moans caress my skin before he shoves his tongue deeper. My hard cock is stuck between my body and the unforgiving altar, and heaven help me, I think I could come like this. But I don't want to.

“Fuck, God, just like that. Yes. Yes. Yes,” I chant like a mantra, as if I have sinned and am saying the word as penance. But this isn’t about penance. This isn’t punishment. This is celebration. This is rebirth. This is resurrection.

I brace my hands against the altar, lifting my chest. When I look straight down, the Bible from my beloved father is open below me. It had been under my heart the entire time. It’s opened to John in preparation for Easter Mass. Chapter 4, verse 16 stands out to me. “God is love”. Is this a sign?

“Wait… stop.” I stand up abruptly, eyes trained on the Bible. On the passage .

“Is everything okay?” Killian asks, concern lacing his words. I look back at Killian; his eyes are soft, but also full of fear. As if he’s afraid he’s done something wrong and hurt me. I look back down at the Bible, laying splayed on the altar. God is love.

I have the sudden urge to cross out ‘God’ and write ‘Love’ because Love is Love. The love between a man and another man. The love between a priest and a… a demon. I push the Bible off the altar. It hits the floor with a resounding thud, papers creasing in on themselves. If it was a sign from God, I hope that asshole has heard my answer loud and clear.

“Everything’s fine.” I turn around completely, circling my arms around Killian’s neck and smiling. “I just had an idea.” I kiss Killian’s jawbone, right beside a small cut that is there. My fingers find the buttons on Killian’s shirt, unbuttoning them quickly. He starts to protest, but I’m already pushing the sleeves of the shirt from his arms. I hiss out a breath when I take in his body.

“What happened?” I ask, my fingers gently tracing a particularly jagged cut on his ribs. It looks like it is almost healed, having happened weeks ago. My eyes scan his exposed skin. He has cuts all over his torso that weave in and out of his tattoos. Some are worse than others. All are in various stages of healing, as if he was getting frequently getting hurt over the span of a few weeks or even months.

“It’s not important.” Killian takes my hand in his before I am able to touch the large, purple bruise that is over his heart. My brain flashes to my dream. The one he had just hours ago. The bruise is in the exact same spot the hand had thrust into. He said that he’s been communicating to me in my dreams, but why did Killian want me to see that one?

“Yes, it is important,” I respond, looking up at Killian.

“I promise, I will tell you afterward.” Killian holds his chin between his thumb and knuckle, watching my expression. “You said you had an idea?” Killian asks, hopefully.

“Yes. Yes. I have an idea,” I concede, my cock winning the battle with my head and deciding to drop the subject. I trust Killian will tell me.

I unbutton and unzip his pants, sliding them down his body. In true Killian fashion, he isn’t wearing underwear, so his erection springs free. I grab it, the flesh soft and warm in my hand. I use his cock to steer him backwards.

Once I get Killian into place, I lift his right arm to the side, tying it at his wrist, then I do the same with the other wrist. After he is secure, I reach over, grabbing a flower crown and placing it on his head. I step back, breath leaving my chest at the image in front of me.

Killian is on his tiptoes, hands tied to either side of the wooden cross with the white material that had been draped there. All around him are flowers, on top of his head, a white lily flower crown mingling with the dark hair brushing his collarbone.

His body is a direct juxtaposition to the beauty around him. His flesh is battered and bloody, scars, fresh cuts, and bruises marring his torso, weaving around his tattoos in intricate patterns. To marry the two images, light is coming through the stained-glass window, painting Killian’s beautiful, bruised body in a kaleidoscope of colors.

Every muscle in his body flexes, trying to stay in the position to relieve the pressure on his arms. I want to lick the contours, replace the rainbow light with my fingers and tongue. Killian is exquisite. Mesmerizing. The God that is deserving of this church. I reach my hand into the pocket of my robes and drop to my knees in front of Killian.