Chapter Text
"As the hart panteth after the fountains of water; so my soul panteth after thee, O God." — Psalm 42:1
The priest suspected him.
No matter how friendly Erik spoke with him—outside the church, of course—there was a look in his ocean blue eyes that betrayed the suspicion.
It wasn't hard to guess why. Erik only ever showed up on cloudy and dreary days where the sun wasn’t out, and even then with a black parasol to shield himself completely. He never entered the church itself, and the moment he entered those iron wrought gates he couldn’t quite stop himself from wincing with every step.
It was sacred ground after all, and Erik was not so sacred a man.
But he was obsessed. Infatuated. Drawn in.
Drawn in by the one thing he couldn’t have: a deeply religious priest who looked like an angel himself with his golden curls and bright blue eyes. His smile and laugh was addictive and brought Erik back for more every Sunday the weather agreed with him. And he hadn’t even drank from the boy. Vowed not to, no matter how hard his instinct screamed and screamed at him to take. He could not bear the thought of corrupting the boy, but sometimes…
“You really ought to come to one of my sermons one day, Erik,” the priest, Raoul, said sweetly.
They were walking the gardens around the church, under the cover of the trees during a small drizzle. The weather threatened to turn good, though, and Erik was keenly aware of the sun starting to poke out from the clouds. And yet he did not say his excuses and left to save himself. He stayed and calmly walked next to Raoul, both of them dressed fully in black, but Raoul with the signature clerical collar inserted to his cassock.
Erik liked to delude himself they were friends. Even as he sensed the rush of Raoul’s blood at the sight of him. His heartbeat thundering. Even if they were not both men, surely it was the priest’s sworn celibacy. Erik’s way of life.
It was a most salacious forbidden fruit for the both of them.
Measured, he said, “I can not.” He flashed Raoul a smile. Flashed him his too-sharp canines. His voice lowered. “You know this, Father.” He twirled the parasol in his hand.
It was an unspoken thing, Raoul’s suspicion and Erik’s truth. For if Erik admitted it, Raoul’s profession forced his hand to slay the demon, and neither man could bear that fact. It was easier to stay blissfully ignorant, and Raoul seemed to feel the same.
Raoul softly hummed. “One can pray, can he not? Pray that God provides that which one so selfishly wishes.” He smiled as he stopped to look at a flower in bloom Erik recognised as a windflower the priest had planted last year. He fingered the red petals. “How beautiful, don’t you think? The flowers fare well in the garden these days.”
Erik didn’t look at the flower. His golden gaze was set firmly on Raoul—looking him over with a naked wistfulness he struggled to hide. He liked to think Raoul wanted more from him, too. Sometimes with the things he said it seemed that way, but it was impossible to really tell. What was Erik’s unwilling influence, and what was purely Raoul? Better to stay safe and keep it as it was. He was willing to endure the burning of his insides while walking this ground if it meant more time with Raoul.
“Say, when did you last confess?”
Despite himself, Erik let out a low chuckle. Flashes of him as a child came to mind. Lesser memories. “I believe I have not confessed since I was a child, Father.” And that was centuries ago. He met Raoul’s curious gaze with his own steeled one. “Why, Father? You wish to hear my sins?” His voice lowered to a sultry purr, and his undead heart skipped a beat at the delicious rush of Raoul’s blood speeding up. He leaned closer, close enough he could practically feel the heat radiating off the boy as their cheeks barely touched. “You wish to hear all I desire? The sins I commit?”
Raoul swallowed and took a breath, but even in the midst of his attempt to keep composed, his body was failing him.
With a self satisfied smirk Erik revelled in the sensation. The closest thing he’d ever get to touching Raoul in any way. He allowed himself these moments—to rile the priest up just so he could sense the rush of blood and hear the thundering of his heart. His desire. Desire Erik matched but would never act upon, lest he would lose control and lose the boy.
He pulled back from him, then, allowing him his personal space once more. He took a slow, deliberate breath to will down his lingering arousal. The things that happened after two years of longing and teasing. “No, Father, I will not be confessing anytime soon.” He looked back at Raoul and smirked.
Raoul cleared his throat as he regained his composure. His heartbeat and blood slowed to that normal thrum signalling life. He stepped back in line next to Erik, and slowly they continued their walk as if nothing had happened. The only thing betraying him were his rosied cheeks, but that could be attributed to the cold afternoon.
After a moment he broke the silence with a soft voice, “You spend an awful lot of time at the church for a man who does not believe.” A silent beat, and his lips parted, ready to say something else, but he smacked them shut and shook his head.
In his breath Erik could hear the unspoken words.
With me.
Erik simply hummed and peeked up at the slowly parting clouds. “Time I will have to cut short, Father.” He could not ever confess what he truly longed for. Not in confidence, and not in person.
Raoul followed his gaze, but unlike Erik, he smiled and closed his eyes at the first ray of sun poking through the grey clouds. “The day is good, Erik. You should stay out and enjoy it.”
Erik reached for his gloves in his pocket and slipped them on. His skin already ached. “I will enjoy my day at home, with a good book and perhaps some music.”
Raoul focused back on him. His gaze lingered on Erik’s deft hands sliding the gloves on. “How does the music fare you these days?”
He huffed out a breath and dipped the parasol lower. “Dreadful, I’m afraid. There is little inspiration and much distraction.” He kept his gaze firmly on Raoul for a moment too long—lingering just to see how he shined in the sun. His own skin started heating up, even though he was covered head to toe. He softly hissed and shook his head. “Until next week, Father.”
Raoul softly smiled. “May the weather be well enough you will come visit.”
Erik laughed wryly. “Pray for it, Father, and it just might.”
To his credit, Raoul laughed.