Saintsmourn

[giveanything]

"Bless me father, for I have sinned," the words tumbled past his lips, ingrained in the well worn pathways of his memory from the years he'd spent in catechism and as an altar boy. Not that Liam was devout anymore -- how could he be, given what he'd become, given what he did and continued to do. The confessional booth was small and dark, light filtering in only dimly through the door and its screen that kept him hidden from the sanctuary beyond and from the priest he assumed would be on the other side.

"It has been... a very long time since my last confession."

What was he doing here? This was ridiculous. He couldn't possibly expect forgiveness and absolution. There had to be true repentance for that, real contrition, and Liam knew he couldn't manage either. He hated what he did, despised every moment of it, but he wouldn't stop. He couldn't stop. The price for disobeying was far too severe, and he would not be the one to pay it. The price for his disobedience and his failure would be paid by his brother, and he couldn't live with that.

So William had made his choice, made it again and again, putting that one life ahead of so many others. And oh he was good at what he did, talented at ruining people, in shattering whatever it was in a human being that kept their souls in place, until they were ready to throw it away. His watcher commended him for it, in a sick and sadistic sort of amusement.

Today's lost soul had been... fuck. It had been hard. She was young, barely nineteen, and her road had already been a hard one. He'd played the game with her for the past few weeks, insinuating darkness and doubt into the cracks of that already-battered soul. Today. Today she'd shattered, and there would be no recovering from it. Another soul for the demon who owned him.

He could feel the panic rising up in his chest, cold and hard and threatening to freeze his lungs so he couldn't draw in enough breath. In the dimness and silence of the confessional, all the carefully constructed walls and facades trembled and fell away. Gone were the easy smiles and quite literal devil-may-care attitude, all the charisma and charm that he relied on in his cursed excuse for a job. It was him and his breathing and the silence and the faceless priest in the chamber beside him. Liam wondered if he could hear the panic in his breathing.

"I... sorry. This was a mistake. I should go. I'm sorry, Father, for wasting your time."

Comments

[giveanything]

Was a smile supposed to feel like a blessing? Because this one did, a wash of warmth through him that for the briefest moment seemed to banish the shadows that always clawed and tore at him, and Liam forgot how to properly breathe. That warm, gentle touch did not help. A blush raced over his cheeks once again, and he ducked his head to hide it.

A laugh and he nodded. "That's true, yes. But some of us have fallen farther than others."

Some were still tumbling.

He turned his hand as Riley's withdrew so that his fingertips could graze along the priest's, though he did not try to stop him from withdrawing, just a stolen little returned touch. "You have warm hands."

[eblouissant]

"Oh do I? It is likely the tea." he said as he resumed his hold against the mug and then to illustrate it-- he raised it up. "Still a bit of warmth there clinging to to the drink."

Did he feel the slight jolt of awareness at the fleeting touch, like fingers that wanted to cling and hold onto the moment before it became a shadowed memory of the past? Of course he had felt it and it reverberated strongly, that pull once again evidencing itself. It was a slow honey-like sinful feeling, only honey would feel this good-- the whisper of temptation.

If he was being honest, he could have twisted the feeling and poured it right into his tea. But it would've been too indulgent and he.. he could not allow that, could he. Best to play it off as if it had not attempted to rewrite his entire world, with the focus and center being a pair of mesmerizing dark eyes. "Have you ever heard the story of the One-Winged Angel? Perhaps I will tell you one day.. on one of our walks."

[giveanything]

God he'd be the worst thing that could possibly happen to this pretty priest, wouldn't he? He'd stain those cerulean eyes with clouds they'd never truly clear. He should walk away now before he ruined a beautiful, warm thing. He should for once in his goddamned life do the right thing.

But he was too weak, maybe. Whatever magnetism had manifested itself between him and Riley had Liam so firmly caught in the field that there'd be no real escape. He'd only wind up further tangled the more he struggled.

"Ah right, the tea. Must be. Of course, that doesn't explain your smile, so I think there's something more than chai going on with you."

The question earned a shake of his head. "Can't say that I have. I'd like to hear it, Father. On one of our walks."

[eblouissant]

"You mentioned my warm hands, not warm smile. It appears that you have tossed yourself into a lake of your own making and you need help fishing yourself out." and then another smile before he brought the tea to his lips and then he downed the rest of it-- but honestly? There had not been that much left.

Which meant that their time together was growing far shorter.

He tapped his fingertips on the table. debating the wisdom of giving this man his phone number.

But honestly, one could not make arrangements to meet up for a walk unless they were given some form of communication. This may be his first mistake, or perhaps his second-- it was hard to keep track at this moment. He wrote his number on a slip of a napkin then and then passed it forward.

"Whenever you are interested in a walk, here is my number."

[giveanything]

"You've got me. Always in over my head. Story of my life." And god that was true.

Maybe Liam watched a little too closely at the way those lips met that cup, but he realized his focus and shook his head at himself before sipping at what was left of his own latte.

He reached out to slide that now very precious napkin closer to himself. Well now, this felt like an accomplishment. "Well, this will be quicker than going to the confession booth to find you anyway. Thanks for the company. I've enjoyed our chat."

[eblouissant]

It was sad but true that Riley had things to do, and also perhaps he had to go to confessional himself, confess that he was having thoughts about smouldering eyes and a roguish smile that played on his mind and brought to the forefront exactly why he had entered the priesthood, to control thoughts like this.

Perhaps if he had not certain inclinations, he would have married. But his family was not accepting and he had thrown himself into the seminary as a way to curtail those sinful desires.

And now he was being tempted. But he could not take his invitation back-- better that he would have to fortify himself against whatever this; it was a test and he would be stronger for it.

Right?

"I should head back, but it was a lovely meeting, thank you for the Bearclaw." And then he turned and perhaps walked a bit too quickly away.