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glitchykaii · 2 months

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Into The Eyes Of Fire (Chapter 2)

[prologue] [part 1] [part 2]

Rating: Mature (no actual sex but some kissing and plenty of horniness) Pairing: Aether/Dew Featuring: Wound-tending. Tension. Kissing. Internalized homophobia and religious guilt. Improper use of a confessional (non-smutty edition). Crying. Penance. Justice for Dew's pretty face (some guy gets pushed around a little but he deserves it). Pining. Oh lord, the pining. Scent kink and boners. Slight hints of dick-touching. A dramatic face-off in a dark church. More kissing. More religious guilt. Shameless pathetic fallacy. Word Count: 8.5k

Now with incredible accompanying art from @ghuleh-draws, be sure to go check it out (after you've read the chapter, there are spoilers).

Warnings: As well as the blasphemy you should have come to expect, this chapter contains a very brief comment that could be read as transphobic about a boy with long hair, and talk of homophobic violence and indirect references to wishing death on a gay character (not from Aether). More in-depth warnings are in the tags of the main post if you need them. Please look after yourselves. Also I guess you could interpret a part of this as a non-consensual kiss, but it's closer to "misreading the vibes" than "forcing something on someone".

In which Aether has to face up to some realities about himself and do some very unpriestly things, Dew cries a lot, some familiar faces appear in unfamiliar forms, the clothes are paid actors, and even more side characters appear. I would promise to stop but I am, in fact, only going to keep getting worse.

Apparently I have a taglist now, lmk if you want to be on it: @0-miles-away

If seeing Dew without his jacket made him look small and breakable, it was nothing compared to the sight of him in Aether’s old cardigan. He’d grabbed it and draped it around those narrow shoulders without thinking, and the way Dew had immediately stopped shivering as soon as the thick, warm wool wrapped around him made something swell almost painfully in Aether’s chest.

Now he sat at the big wooden table in the kitchen, its surface strewn with first aid supplies and a bloodied towel, drowning in a cardigan twice his size and hugging it around himself protectively and looking more fragile than Aether had ever even imagined he could look. He bit his lip to hold back whatever words hovered on his tongue. He knew they wouldn’t be helpful. Instead, he just picked up a clean alcohol wipe and tucked one finger under Dew’s chin, and tilted his head up gently.

Dew looked up at him like he was the only thing in the world.

Aether couldn’t meet his eyes. He just couldn’t. He focused instead on the cut on Dew’s lip. The majority of the blood had been cleaned from his face, but the cut lip had opened up again in the process and it was slowly oozing more blood, not enough to run down Dew’s chin but enough to make the wound bright red and shining in the yellow light of the kitchen. As he watched, Dew’s tongue flicked out instinctively and swiped up the blood, and he tutted softly.

“Stop that.”

“Can’t hel- ah -” Dew hissed at the sting of alcohol in the wound, but didn’t pull his head back out of Aether’s grip. “Can’t help it. ‘M not doing it on purpose.”

“I don’t think you are,” Aether said softly as he found a clean spot on the wipe and went in again, earning himself another, softer hiss. “But if you keep licking it, I’ll just need to clean it again.”

Dew very visibly restrained himself from making a comment, and settled for tugging the soft wool a little tighter around himself. He let Aether work, barely flinching as he cleaned the scrapes over his cheek. When he got to the split in his eyebrow, Aether paused - the wound already looked slightly healed, or, at the very least, not deep enough to have produced the amount of blood he’d cleaned from Dew’s face. But he brushed past it. He had no business contemplating Dew’s body.

He tightened his grip on Dew’s chin just a little before he swiped the cloth over the wound.

Dew gave the most pained little whimper, teeth digging deep into his bottom lip with the effort of not moving, and Aether’s heart ached.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, soft and calming, and Dew relaxed a little under his hands. “You’re fine, I’ll be done in a second. Not much more, okay?”

Dew made a quiet, strained noise that he chose to interpret as agreement and forced himself to stay still. After a few more moments, Aether dropped the now-blood-soaked cloth to the table and stepped back to… what, admire his handiwork? What a stupid thought.

Dew looked up at him, his gray-green eyes big and wary, and he sighed as he let his head drop a little. “Dew -”

“It wasn’t Mist.”

He raised his head and met Dew’s gaze. There was fire in his eyes now, fierce and determined. No guile, no lies that he could detect. “You promise me?”

Dew scoffed derisively. “Mist would rather die than let me get hurt. When she finds out about this, she’s gonna lose her whole fucking mind.”

There was such conviction in his voice, Aether couldn’t help but believe him. He pulled out the chair adjacent to Dew’s, settling himself into it and resting his arms on the table. “Then who did?”

“I don’t know.”

“Dew.” There was an edge in his voice that surprised even him - and Dew, as well, judging by how he stared at Aether from across the table. He felt a deep-buried twinge of guilt, but it was quickly overruled by the burning he felt creeping up his throat. An urge to protect, to defend. To hunt down whoever did this and make them suffer for it. “Who did this to you?”

Dew sighed and leaned back in his chair. All over again, Aether was struck by just how small he looked like this. How much his heart cried out to protect him. “I don't know. Swear. Me and Mist had an argument. But no worse than any of our other ones. I got mad and walked out of the house to cool down, didn’t stop to put my jacket on or grab my phone. I run hot, I figured I’d be back before I got cold and I didn’t want her calling me just to keep yelling.”

Aether made a soft noise of encouragement, his stomach dropping as his mind began to fill in the blanks.

“I was walking through the little… what’s it called, when you have a bit of grass in the middle of a bunch of houses?”

“Park?”

“That. And this guy walked past, and…” Dew gave a soft, bitter laugh and pulled the cardigan a little closer around himself. “Guess he didn’t like the look of me.”

Aether’s blood turned cold as his fear was confirmed. “Oh, Dew…”

“I’m usually pretty good at defending myself,” Dew continued, as if Aether hadn’t spoken. “But this guy… he was twice my height and broader than you. And I was still so mad, I wasn’t paying attention, he got me off-guard and…”

He broke off into a badly-concealed sniffle, and Aether instinctively reached across the table, offering his hand if Dew wanted it. He didn’t move, except to look at the hand like he could draw strength just from seeing it.

“Called me a filthy fucking queer. Said if I had any decency, I’d -”

“Hey, come on, don’t upset yourself even more,” Aether murmured urgently as Dew only just managed to bite back a sob, pulling his feet up onto the chair like curling into a ball could defend or hide him. He found himself climbing to his feet before he knew he was doing it, something deep inside him telling him to be closer, to offer his presence in absence of anything else to do, and his hand had barely settled on Dew’s shoulder before long, thin fingers were closing tightly around it like Dew was afraid Aether would leave if he didn’t cling hard enough. “I’m not going anywhere. I swear.”

Dew gave a weak smile as he sniffled again, raising his head reluctantly to meet Aether’s eyes. The tears he saw made his stomach turn viciously. What right did anyone have to make someone feel like this?

He brushed his thumb comfortingly over Dew’s shoulder, the most feeble attempt at comfort but all he could really offer. His thumb caught on the torn edge of the t-shirt’s collar, and a sharp pang went through his chest. Dew obviously loved this shirt. To see it torn hurt him more than he thought it had any right to. “Are you hungry?” he asked, distracting himself with practicalities, and Dew shrugged impassively. “Dew, when did you last eat?”

“Today. I don’t fuckin’ know.”

“You’re eating,” Aether announced decisively, and gave his shoulder one last squeeze before he moved away, studiously ignoring the pained little noise he heard behind him as the distance between them grew. “Are you allergic to anything?”

“Homophobia,” Dew grumbled behind him, and Aether couldn’t help but smile as he pulled out the dish of leftover risotto from the fridge.

“This has mushrooms and shrimp, is that okay? I can make something else if you want.”

“That’s fine,” Dew said. “I eat them a lot at home.”

Aether made a distant noise of acknowledgement as he stirred in a little extra water to the bowl and put it in the microwave. “Where is ‘home’, for you?”

Dew gave a sad little huff. “Pretty far.”

“Alright, keep your secrets,” Aether quipped, and it was enough to draw a weak chuckle from Dew.

“I’m not trying to be -”

The phone rang. Loud enough in the quiet of the house to make them both jump.

Dew looked at him, wide-eyed and guilty. “If it’s Mist, I’m not here.”

Aether’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Dew, she’ll be worried sick, I can’t -”

“Please. Just trust me. Promise me.”

Aether stared at him for a moment, and Dew stared back, stubborn and immovable. Aether shook his head in disbelief as he strode over to the phone and snatched it up. “St Jude’s?”

“Hi. It’s Mist. Dew’s sister.”

He didn’t look back, but he could feel Dew’s presence in the kitchen doorway. “Mist. Hello. Are you okay?”

“Never mind me. Do you know where Dew is?”

“I -”

“He walked out of the house, like… an hour and a half ago. Maybe more. I tried calling him but he left his phone and he doesn’t have a jacket and it’s a really rough neighbourhood and -” Her voice cracked and she swallowed hard enough for it to be audible over the phone. “I’m just worried about him. The last thing I said before he walked out was ‘fuck you’ and I… I just… Please. Please tell me you’ve seen him.”

He looked back at Dew. Dew stared back, his eyes wide and wary, clinging the thick purple wool of Aether’s cardigan to his thin frame as he held his breath. Something almost like hope flickered in his eyes, and Aether sighed in defeat. “No. Sorry.”

Mist made a quiet, choked little noise. From the few interactions he’d had with her, she always seemed like she was made of steel and salt. It hurt to hear her so weak. But, he realized, not as much as the betrayal on Dew’s face would have hurt him if he’d told the truth. “Okay. Thank you. If he turns up, please ask him to call me.”

“I will. I’ll… I’ll pray for him.” The words caught in his throat like they wanted to suffocate him. Mist just laughed bitterly and hung up. He let out a long, heavy breath as he set the phone back down. “I won’t lie for you again, Dew.”

“I won’t ask you to,” Dew promised, and Aether was saved from trying to reply by the microwave pinging.

“I’m going to go and get one of the spare rooms ready,” he announced, and Dew nodded, still staring at him owlishly. “Forks are in the big drawer, and cups are in the cabinet above the microwave, help yourself to anything in the fridge. Will you be okay?”

Dew nodded again, his lips curling in the faintest, weakest smile. “Now? Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

Rather than attempt to decipher that, Aether simply turned and headed up the stairs, feeling Dew’s eyes on him the whole way.

The biggest spare room was by far the most comfortable, but, for some reason, he felt drawn to the one adjacent to his own room. The bed was pressed up against the wall right on the other side to his bed, and, he reasoned, if Dew got ill during the night, he’d have a higher chance of hearing it and getting to his side sooner. He thanked his past self for his policy of always leaving a sheet on the mattresses of all the spare beds, for just this sort of emergency, and tugged blankets and pillows out of the closet. One of the pillows wasn’t quite fluffy enough, so he shoved it back in and pulled another one out. A quick test found it to be much better, and he set it carefully into place with the other, smoothed the comforter out with far more care than he made his own bed, and tossed another blanket on top of it.

Was that one too scratchy? Were there too many? Not enough? Why did he have so many blankets, anyway? Would Dew think he was babying him if he put too many out - or neglecting him if there weren’t enough?

He was saved from descending into a spiral of bedding panic by the sound of Dew’s feet on the stairs, and he sighed in relief and headed out into the hallway. “Bed’s just made up for you,” he announced, and Dew made a quiet noise of acknowledgement. “If you need more blankets, they’re in the closet, the bathroom’s through there, my room’s just here, you know where the kitchen is…” He trailed off at the end of his list of things he could possibly have to tell a last-minute guest, and Dew’s lips quirked upwards in a quietly-amused little grin. There was color in his cheeks again, and the sight of it made Aether’s heart a little lighter.

“Thank you for this, priest,” he murmured, and Aether waved it away.

“I can’t leave you out on the streets, especially not after what you’ve been through.”

“You’d have a right to. After how I acted.” Dew’s eyes dropped to the floor in embarrassment, and Aether wanted nothing more than to take hold of his chin gently and lift his face again. He contented himself with holding one hand to the smaller man, an offer of reconciliation, and Dew stared at it blankly for a moment before he looked up to meet Aether’s eyes, jaw hanging open just a little in disbelief.

“Pax?” he offered, smiling hopefully, and Dew raised an eyebrow.

“Are you offering for you, or for God?”

“All for me,” Aether assured him. “I don’t think He cares much about a petty little squabble between friends.”

After a moment where Aether could clearly see the calculations occurring behind Dew’s eyes, he eventually took Aether’s hand, clasping it tight like it was his safety in a storm, and once again Aether was struck by just how warm his skin was. Part of him wanted to cling to it forever and never get cold again.

“I don’t care what you are, you know, Dew,” he murmured at last, and Dew’s eyebrow quirked upwards in confusion. “If you’re atheist or… or if you’re one of those pagans who worships the goddess of death -” Dew laughed softly, and squeezed Aether’s hand a little before letting go. He tried not to think about how it made his chest ache emptily. “I don’t care. It won’t change how I think about you.”

Dew smiled sadly and tried to stick his hands into pockets that weren’t there, resorting to folding his hands behind his back in a gesture that seemed simultaneously too rigid for how Aether knew him, and somehow the only thing that seemed right. “You’d change your mind if you knew the truth, priest.”

“So you keep saying, but you never actually tell me what the truth is,” Aether shot back.

“Maybe that’s because I don’t want to lose your good opinion yet.”

They stared at each other for a moment, each willing the other to be the first to speak, until Aether surrendered with a vague gesture over his shoulder. “I’ll… find you something to sleep in. I should have something that’ll tie down enough to fit you.”

Dew nodded, visibly chewing the inside of his cheek, and Aether didn’t hang around to see if either of them would embarrass themselves any more.

It took a while, but eventually he found a pair of old sweats without elastic in the waistband that he was sure could be persuaded to fit Dew’s narrow hips. From the hallway, there was the sound of movement, but he ignored it in favor of continuing his search, until he found the shirt he was looking for stuffed in the back of a drawer. The unworn black cotton was stiff from lack of use, but it was probably small enough for Dew.

He delicately ignored the part of his brain that was thinking a little too hard about the idea of Dew in his clothes and stepped out into the hallway, the thick carpet muffling his footfalls as he moved to Dew’s door. “I found something that should - Dew?”

The room was empty.

“Over here,” Dew’s voice called from across the hall, and Aether turned sharply in surprise, stepping across the hall to the doorway of the smallest spare room, where Dew was piling the blankets onto the little bed that took up almost the whole room. He looked up and smiled guiltily. “Sorry. It’s… The windows. Too much light.”

Aether hummed in understanding and set down the pile of clothes on the dresser. “I keep meaning to get thicker blinds for the whole house, but…”

Aether trailed off as his eyes suddenly noticed that Dew had taken his shirt off.

Dew turned to look at him, curious at the sudden silence, and he shook his head hard and gestured to the clothes again. “Found you some sleep pants, you should be able to make them fit you. And there’s a spare shirt you can wear until you can look through the clothes donations in the morning, I ordered the wrong size a while ago and never sent it back. It’ll be a little too big and it might fit weirdly without the collar but it should be bearable while we have breakfast. If you want breakfast, I mean, I can do without it if you just want to head home right away.” He was babbling, he was completely aware of it and yet he couldn’t make it stop.

Dew huffed out a soft laugh and, after smoothing the last corner of the comforter into place, turned to face Aether and took a few steps towards him. In the dim glow of the lamp and the hallway lights, his eyes were drawn to the dark, vicious bruise staining the whole left side of Dew’s chest. He hissed instinctively in sympathy, and Dew glanced down in confusion before he let out a soft oh. “It’s fine.”

“Dew -”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been kicked in the ribs, priest. I’m fine, I promise.” He was close now. So close, Aether could see his chest moving as he breathed. Painfully close, in the cramped space of the tiny room. He could make out every little freckle that dusted Dew’s shoulders, copper like his hair against the warmth of his skin. And then he looked up towards him, his eyes crinkled slightly with the soft smile on his face, and the bottom fell out of Aether’s stomach. “But I’m grateful that you’re so concerned.”

He swallowed, painfully loud in the stillness of the night.

Something shifted in Dew’s eyes, from gratitude to something Aether almost thought could be called yearning, a split-second before he dropped his gaze to Aether’s lips.

His own parted, ever so slightly, and he muttered something so quietly Aether couldn’t have hoped to hear it.

And then there was an insistent warmth pressed against his mouth, and all his senses were filled with smoke and honey and salt.

For a moment, something lifted, hopeful and desperate, in his soul.

And then everything crashed around him and he pulled away frantically, heart racing in panic and his every instinct screaming, because Dew had just kissed him and how in the name of God was he supposed to do anything else?

Dew scrambled back just as quickly, his eyes wide and frantic as he covered his mouth guiltily. “I… Fuck, I’m sorry. I just…”

“It’s fine.” He tried to smile reassuringly and put on his usual calm demeanor, and failed miserably.

“No, it’s not. I shouldn’t have done that, I… Fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean -”

“Dew, it’s fine.” God above, he hoped his voice sounded steadier than it felt. “You’ve had a stressful night, I don’t blame you for… I don’t know, seeking out comfort and affection.” He tried another smile and forced himself to release the dresser where he’d gripped onto it to keep himself steady. “We should both get some sleep.”

Without another word, he turned and fled into his room and shut the door behind him with a harsh slam. Leaned against it. Dropped his head into his hands. And let out a low, agonized groan of despair.

God help me, I thought I was past this…

Ten years since the last time he’d even thought about something like this. Thirteen since Zeke left him with this sin woven deep into his soul and ran, the coward’s way out, while Aether stayed. Aether kept going. Aether pressed down those thoughts and those secrets and resolved to forget about him and be good. Be right. Be pure.

And then along comes this stray of a man and ruins years of work without a thought.

He slid down until he was sitting on the floor, curled up in a ball against the door with his head in his hands, and tried with all his strength and willpower not to think about the fact that he was fucking hard. His body was screaming out for the touch of another man and he could still taste the sweet smoke of him on his lips and it made his cock ache with need like it never had before.

God and Mary and all the saints and angels in Heaven above, he really was broken. He’d tried so hard to fight it but, even after all this time, it was undeniable.

He heard his own voice as if it came from the next room, desperately babbling through a prayer, and didn’t try to stop it. He needed the focus, the direction. He let the words run through his mind, familiar and grounding and safe. As they became clearer to him and he realized just what he was saying, he felt his heart slowing, his blood returning to its proper places. He begged Michael for strength and protection from the snares of the Devil and let himself hope.

He was strong. He had spent too long denying that hidden, secret part of his soul, planted by someone who claimed to be a friend, to fail now. Sin was not in temptation, it was in surrender. And he would not surrender. He was strong and calm and good.

He could never see Dew again, he realized with a jolt of his heart that felt like poison. That was where the temptation was. As long as he didn’t have to see his sharp, handsome face again, he wouldn’t have to think about the fact that he’d lingered. He’d let himself enjoy it, just for a second, he’d actually dared to enjoy the press of those soft lips against -

He shook his head sharply and clambered to his feet. Enough wallowing. Enough self-pity. He would just go to sleep, somehow get through the ordeal of waking up to a house with Dew in it, and then tell him, politely but firmly, that this nonsense was over. He got changed and climbed into bed, pulled the covers tight around himself, closed his eyes firmly, and resolved to go to sleep. To ignore the ache between his legs, and the muffled sound of footsteps on the hallway carpet that lingered outside his room for a second before retreating again.

He fell asleep with more ease than he’d expected.

And in the morning, Dew’s bed was empty.

No note. No voicemail. Nothing. Just a messily-made bed and a bowl in the sink to prove anyone had ever been there at all.

He should have been happy. The problem had solved itself. Dew had taken his cardigan, sure, but at least he’d be warm on the way home. And, really, that cardigan was a reminder of his own selfishness, bought in a moment of weakness and greed and the desire to own something fancy. Dew would get good use out of it, and he would never have to be reminded of his own weakness again, and they would both be happy.

Apart.

Thursday midday mass came and went. He prayed, and worked, and focused, and didn’t think of Dew once. He didn’t snap at the deacon when he made one of those smarmy, self-righteous comments over Aether’s attention to the readings - he was better than that. More charitable. Patient and kind. He listened to Mrs Peterson’s gossip, and fondly scolded her as he always did, and she smiled affectionately, patted his cheek like he was her own son and praised his goodness.

She told him he looked brighter than he had all week. He smiled through it while his mind screamed at him that it was all a mask, that he was lying to himself and to her to cover up what he was too afraid to face up to.

That night he knelt at his bedside like a child and prayed to the archangel again, over and over until the words blended into each other. He was used to the empty nothingness that answered his prayers, had been quietly accepting it for years, but tonight it felt almost deliberate in its silence.

Friday morning dragged him out of bed with more vigor than he’d felt for a morning mass in months. If he was up and working and praying, he couldn’t languish in bed with his thoughts. If he was staring out into the faces of the congregation, he wasn’t thinking about Dew’s face and how soft and hopeful he had looked just before he - Aether forced the thoughts down and scolded himself sharply.

Aiden all but cornered him in the vestry and demanded to know what was wrong, why he was so distant and distracted. He smiled and patted the boy on the shoulder and assured him everything was fine, and swept out of the room before he could try to argue.

That night he shut himself in the church and knelt until his knees ached and his eyes burned and the statues seemed to whisper about him above his head. He would have fallen asleep there, laid out beneath the altar like a coffin ready for burial. He scolded himself for the indolence of needing the softness of his bed to sleep and opened the window so the cold air would sting his face in the night.

He woke with his head under the blankets and denied himself his morning coffee to make up for it.

He’d never been so happy that so few people ever came to confession. He opened the church, tucked himself away in the confessional, and resolved to spend every spare second of the hour praying for strength and forgiveness.

He laughed to himself bitterly as he reached the end of his third rosary. Forgiveness. What a fucking joke. He was glad none of his flock had come, that soon he could run away and hide until afternoon mass. He didn’t think he could stand the irony of absolving those innocent, trusting souls, knowing that this was hovering over him. He had stopped, of course he had, pulled away the instant he realized what was happening, but -

Footsteps tapped slowly up the outside steps and into the church.

He sat up straighter, set his rosary down and opened his prayerbook. Shook the cobwebs out of his brain and did his best to set his mind to the task. This was important. He had a job, a duty. They relied on him, and he would not let them down.

The soft footsteps approached the confessional, and the door squeaked open and closed. A sigh and the sound of a body dropping to its knees softly. Then nothing.

He waited.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

His heart stopped dead in his chest and his blood turned to ice. “Dew?”

Dew sniffed quietly and, if Aether had to guess from the way the shadows moved across the screen, pushed his hair back from his face. “I’m sorry, I just… I couldn’t stay away.”

“Dew, you’re interrupting something incredibly important and sacred,” Aether snapped, trying not to think about how weak the venom he’d tried to fill his voice with was. “I told you not to worry about it, I just want you to let it go and move on. Both of us.”

“I don’t want to move on from this,” Dew shot back, and the note of desperate pleading in his voice was unmistakable now. “I’m sorry for what I did because I know it bothered you, but I don’t regret it, not for -”

“Well, I do!” Aether hissed sharply, and in the quiet he heard Dew flinch. “I don’t care what your life is like, it’s no business of mine what you do with your own body and soul, but don’t drag me into it!”

On the other side of the screen, Dew pressed his hand against the wood, like he was trying to reach through and grab him. “Do you really think it’s so wrong? When it can make people so happy, do you really believe we’re not meant to do it?”

“The temptation of the Devil doesn’t make people happy, Dew! It only tears them apart!”

Dew let out a weak, agonized little noise as he pressed his forehead to the screen. “Aether, please -”

“No, enough!” Aether. Not priest, but his name. The first time, apart from in those first few moments, that he’d heard it from those blasphemous lips, and it burned like fire. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I don’t want to talk to you. Just get out of my church.”

Dew stood up so fast, so violently, that Aether heard the hassock rattle against the floor. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice thick and choked, and it took until he heard the heavy doors slam shut behind him for Aether to connect the dots and realize Dew was crying.

It took him a long, long time to notice that he was, too.

He threw himself into the rest of the week with such aggression that even the deacon noticed something was wrong. He’d never seen genuine concern on Jim’s face before, and now that he had, he selfishly decided that he liked it.

Sunday passed by in a haze, and on Monday he drove out to the next town for his own confession, as he always did. He swore to himself, as he stepped into the church, that he’d talk it through with Father Peter. They heard each other’s confessions every other week, they had for years. He could trust Peter with this. But the second he knelt down, his courage snapped. Every ounce of resolve in his body evaporated, and he told himself it was fear of judgement from someone he trusted so deeply that kept him from baring his soul. He tried to drown out that voice in his head that kept repeating When it can make people so happy, do you really believe we’re not meant to do it?, and made up a list of trivial excuses for sins, and was sitting in his car before he even realized he’d left the confessional.

He bribed Jim with a bag of expensive coffee beans to do the rosary service that evening and locked himself in the rectory with the lights turned off.

Tuesday dawned as gray and miserable as his mood. It took all his energy and willpower to force himself into the vestry to get ready for midday mass, he put half his vestments on backwards or upside down, and he would have put the wrong chasuble on if instinct hadn’t made him double-check the month’s calendar taped to the closet door.

When the service was over, he escaped into the vestry immediately instead of heading to the doors to say his usual goodbyes. It was too gray and overcast to blame the heat for his need to get out of his vestments immediately, but that was what he would say if anyone asked. It was the only thing his brain was capable of inventing. All he knew was that they burned, they scratched, they hung heavy and leaden on his shoulders and if he didn’t get out of them he would scream.

By the time he made it out to the courtyard, most people had given up and left, but some remained - Mrs Peterson and some of her friends immediately surrounded him like a pack of worrisome hens around a lost chick and began fussing over him and the flush on his cheeks. Miss Locke blamed the humidity of the approaching storm, and he was only too glad to agree with her, if it gave him an excuse.

And then, over their chattering, he heard another voice. Just unfamiliar enough to draw his ear, just familiar enough to tell him who it was. David Miller, Aiden’s uncle. Since his brother’s death he visited just enough to maintain his control over the family but not enough to actually be useful. A vaguely unpleasant man, Aether had always thought.

“- people like that deserve everything they get.”

“You still shouldn’t have done it,” Mrs Miller scolded meekly, and David just laughed unpleasantly. The sound grated on Aether’s soul.

“Why not? Don’t tell me you’re getting all defensive about the queers now, Stacey, it’s bad enough Aiden’s growing his hair out. Looks like a fucking girl.”

“David, please,” she begged, glancing over fearfully at Aether. He felt the weight of her gaze, but didn’t meet it. He stared up at the back of David’s head, set above shoulders much broader than his own. Things were falling into place in his mind. And he didn’t want to be right, but somehow he knew he was. “Father’s right there, he -”

“Oh, he doesn’t care,” David assured her breezily, turning to face Aether with an unpleasant grin on his face. “Right, Father?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aether began, a little coldly, as he stepped out of the ring of his little old ladies. “But I have to say, I don’t usually like to hear cursing so close to the church.”

David scoffed derisively and stretched his neck out. He was tall, Aether realized as if it was the first time. Easily a foot taller than… “I did you a favor, Father. Taught some disgusting little queer a lesson about decency.”

“Oh, yes?” Aether replied, and there was something in his tone that made the ladies behind him flutter into silence, and Stacey tug frantically at her brother-in-law’s sleeve. He ignored her and stood his ground against the priest. “And how did you do that?”

David’s smirk was something truly vile. “Gave him a few nice bruises. Maybe broke a few ribs. No less than he deserved.” Aether’s hands twitched at his sides. “Told him that, if he had any decency and respect for good God-fearing people, he’d do us all a favor and throw himself off -”

Aether’s body moved of its own accord - or, maybe, it followed the instincts he’d been working so hard to suppress. All he knew for sure was that his hands were twisted in David’s shirt, holding him in place and pulling him down to his own eye level with a strength he’d forgotten he possessed.

There was genuine fear in the man’s eyes, and he loved it.

“You are a disgrace,” he murmured, low and dangerous, and David’s throat moved as he swallowed. “You think you have the right to go around dispensing your sick idea of justice, because you’ve decided it’s right?”

“I just -”

“You just thought you’d turn yourself into judge, jury and executioner. You just thought you had the right to decide what’s good and bad in the world.” His hands twisted just enough in the fabric to make David wince in concern. “Well, you don’t.”

David attempted another derisive scoff, but it came out weak and shaky. “What, you care about the plight of the gays now?”

For a moment, white-hot wrath flared in his stomach, and he shoved David away before it could bubble out of him into anything destructive. The taller man stumbled for a few steps before catching his balance, staring at Aether like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the pantry, somehow so much smaller now than he had been moments ago. “What I care about is the safety of the people in my care,” he hissed, pulling his cuffs back into position angrily. “And as long as someone like you is here, that safety is in jeopardy. So I’d like you to leave my church and not come back to it.”

David hesitated for a minute, almost like he expected Aether to back down and take it back. When the priests’ cold glare made it perfectly clear that wasn’t happening, he turned to his sister-in-law, who refused to look at him. He looked back to Aether with utter hatred in his eyes, scoffed loudly, and turned on his heel to storm away.

Aether sighed and turned to Mrs Miller, but she was already being ushered away in a cloud of fussing and clucking. He let it happen. They would do a better job of looking after her than he would.

He turned with a dissatisfied click of his tongue, just to do one final sweep of the courtyard, and almost jumped in shock at the sight of not one small figure waiting at the gate, but two very tall ones. Just because they were in Dew’s spot didn’t mean they were Dew’s friends, but somehow he doubted he would escape that possibility.

Sighing heavily again, he beckoned them over.

They looked at him. Then turned to each other, and seemed to mutter something. The slightly smaller one looked back at him, and gestured questioningly between himself and his companion.

Aether gestured pointedly at the two of them and beckoned them over again, a little more insistently.

They glanced at each other again, and then, slowly and warily, took a step over the boundary of the yard. When nothing cataclysmic seemed to happen, they looked at each other and shrugged, before making their way over the yard towards Aether.

“What can I do for you?” he asked as they approached, hoping that the tiredness in his voice didn’t show too evidently. The smaller man - small in comparison to his friend, although he was easily a couple of inches taller than Aether - coughed almost nervously, and elbowed the other.

The taller one held out a bag from behind his back. Aether stared at it warily. “It’s from Dew,” he supplied bluntly, and Aether gave a soft, resigned ah of understanding. He took the bag and peered inside, to find the soft deep purple of his cardigan and the black shirt. “He was going to bring it himself, but…”

“But he didn’t want to piss you off even more,” continued the other, pushing back a tangled mess of bleach-white curls from his eyes. “You really upset him,” he added reproachfully, and Aether resisted rolling his eyes with every scrap of willpower in his body.

“Thank you for bringing this back,” he said instead, and they darted a coordinated glance at each other like they were somehow communicating. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Yeah, he, uh…” The blond turned to his friend and gestured urgently. He shrugged and nodded towards Aether, and the blond groaned in despair. “Have you found his t-shirt? The one with the skull on it? It’s really important to him and he can’t find it, the only place he can think it would be is in your house.”

“Can’t say I’ve seen it,” Aether replied coldly.

“He wants to come and talk to you,” he blurted out, and the taller one elbowed him so sharply he hissed in displeasure.

“It would mean a lot to him,” he added, in an accent oddly similar to Dew’s and Mist’s, and Aether bit the inside of his mouth to keep himself silent. “We’re all leaving town tomorrow, and he just wants to -”

“He said everything he could have to say on Saturday morning,” Aether interrupted sharply, and although they both opened their mouths to argue, he took a few steps back from them and gave his best attempt at a smile. “If it means so much to him, tell him I accept his apology, and I hope he finds someone to make him forget about me. Now, if you don’t mind, I'm going to get inside before the rain starts. I suggest you two do the same.”

Without waiting for another word, he turned on his heel and stormed back into the church.

The storm descended an hour later. Aether sat in his office for most of the evening, watching the lightning flash across the sky, staring out of the window in a trance at the fury of nature. At the power that the heavens were capable of unleashing upon the innocent earth, without provocation or mercy. He watched the blocked-up drain on the other side of the street fill up, then overflow, the floodwaters creeping across the road like a predator. A car drove by, far too fast for this kind of weather, and sent two arcs of water up to wash over the walls on either side.

He pushed himself out of his chair and wandered through the house, and got halfway up the stairs before he decided why he was doing it. A bath would help. He could ignore the world, do a crossword, and put the last week out of his mind for a while.

Halfway across the hall, he hesitated. Right outside the smallest spare room.

He couldn’t say what instinct made him go inside, but he crossed the threshold slowly, like he was stepping into a tomb. Everything lay just as it had when Dew had left it - he hadn’t had the courage to come in and tidy up. The tangled blankets, the dented pillows. He found himself sitting on the bed, picking up the top pillow and setting it in his lap morosely, running his fingers gently over the pattern on the pillowcase. Imagining where long copper strands had formed a shining criss-cross on top of the soft fabric. He could still see where Dew’s head had rested, the dent in the stuffing still mostly visible even after a week.

No-one was around to see him. And he was already in as deep as he could get.

Slowly, like he was afraid of being caught alone in his own house, he lifted the pillow and buried his face in it.

Dew’s scent washed through him and he groaned out a low, hopeless noise, tossing the pillow aside like it had burned him and covering his face with his hands. As if the pressure could remove the scent of smoke and honey and salt from his lungs, from his memory. Oh, he was broken. Hopeless. Beyond redemption now.

His eyes flickered open and fell on a small, dark pile under the chair next to the bed, and, to distract his mind, he stood up and picked it up.

As it unfurled in his hand, he saw the faded orange design on the fabric, the tear in the collar, and his heart pounded against his ribs like it wanted to escape.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had pressed the t-shirt to his face, inhaling the scent of Dew’s skin like it was oxygen. He groaned again, loud and helpless, ignoring the rush of blood through his veins for now in favor of filling his lungs with Dew, with the wrongness of it all, the intoxication of surrender.

A sharp, frantic moan bounced off the walls of the room as the heel of his hand pressed against the ache behind his zipper where his cock lay rock hard and desperate, and he stopped, frozen in horror, for just long enough to process what he was doing.

He dropped the shirt and bolted.

He’d never been more grateful for the connecting door between the rectory and the church. He slammed through it, the heavy wood and metal bouncing off the old stone wall behind it, and dropped blindly into the first pew he came to. He hadn't even bothered to turn the lights on - only the streetlamps outside illuminated the church as he clasped his hands so tight it would have hurt if he was capable of noticing it, and began to pray.

St Michael. St Jude. St Catherine, patroness of the sick. St Benedict, the first exorcist and guardian against evil. The Blessed fucking Mother, who had promised faithfully never to abandon anyone, to always intercede for sinners.

They were all so silent, it was like lead had been poured into his ears.

He felt the change in air pressure more than he heard the doors open and close, twisting in his seat to bark an order for whoever it was to leave. The words died in his throat.

Dew.

“Don’t tell me to go again,” he begged as he strode down the church, dripping rain from his hair and jacket onto the stone floor, and Aether scrabbled out of his seat and into the aisle to face him.

“I told you to get out,” he croaked, his voice rough and broken in his throat, and Dew shook his head desperately.

“You didn’t tell me not to come back.”

“I told your friends I didn’t want to hear your apologies, Dew.”

“So say it to my face.” Dew shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over the end of a pew, before he began moving down the aisle - stalking, he would call it, if he had to choose a word. With every step he took towards Aether, Aether took one backwards, but his were smaller, less certain, and soon enough Dew was too close for comfort. “Tell me, right now, to my face, you want me to leave and never come back, and I will. I’ll get out of this church and I’ll leave in the morning and you’ll never see me again.”

Aether shook his head, his eyes almost stinging with tears, as Dew reached him. So close he could see the freckles across his proud, straight nose, the nick in his eyebrow and his lip, the silver ring in his ear under the copper of his hair. So close he could smell him. So close, he could reach out and grab him if he wanted.

“Tell me,” Dew demanded, his voice low and desperate, and Aether watched as his eyes dropped unashamedly, just as they had a week ago. He could almost feel the pressure of the gaze trailing along his mouth. Dew’s tongue darted out for a moment, a quick, instinctive flick over his own lips, and Aether could see his thin shoulders shaking slightly with the effort of not moving. “Tell me to leave, if you really mean it.”

Something snapped inside him.

His hands closed around Dew’s jawline and pulled him in before he could stop himself, and Dew groaned into his mouth and clung to him like he was water in the desert. He whined, weak and hungry, as all his senses were flooded with Dew, the scent of his skin and the feel of that lithe body pressed up against him, pushing him back against the end of a pew . He felt a warm pressure trace along his lower lip and opened for it entirely through instinct, and when the taste of Dew hit him he felt his knees give out. He would have dropped to the floor, he knew it for damn certain, without the pressure of Dew’s body pinning him to the pew, without those deceptively strong arms wrapped around him and one lean thigh pressed so tight against his achingly hard cock he thought he’d go insane before he broke this kiss. Dew clung to him like he was afraid of letting go, like he wanted this, wanted him, and for a moment it was enough to make him forget. Forget where he was, who he was, what he was doing. All that mattered was kissing Dew, letting this gorgeous, sinful man lick into his mouth and undo years of work and prayer in one simple action. For a moment, he didn’t care.

He tasted blood when he pulled away, both panting like they’d run a mile, and Dew gave a breathless, wild little gasp of a laugh as Aether pressed their foreheads together, still clinging to Dew’s cheeks like they could keep him from sinking into madness.

“What have you done to me?” he panted, and Dew laughed again as his hands drifted up to settle around Aether’s neck. It wasn’t a mocking sound - it was victorious and almost disbelieving.

“Made you realize the truth,” he replied, in barely more than a whisper. He tilted his head, pushed up on his toes to bridge the gap again, and this time Aether’s instincts kicked in in time. He twisted out of Dew’s grasp, stepping away and out of his reach, licking the nick on the inside of his lip so the sting and the taste of blood would drag him back to reality. “Aether -”

“Shut up,” he begged, turning his back like that would change anything. “Please, just… just don’t.”

“Tell me you want me,” Dew begged behind him, and Aether gave a disbelieving laugh of his own as he drifted up the aisle almost without realizing it, towards the altar. It didn’t feel safe, not anymore, it didn’t feel like home. But it was solid and familiar. “Just say it! We both know it’s true, Aether, you can’t hide from it anymore, I just want to hear you say it!”

“What, you want to hear me admit that I’m broken? That I’m a failure and a fuck-up and a disgrace to everything I’ve ever pretended to be?” Aether demanded, not daring to turn to look at Dew, not once he’d heard the hurt little noise the words dragged out of him. “Okay, fine, here it is! I fucking want you, Dew! You’ve been in my head since the first moment I saw you, I haven’t been able to think about anything else!” He bowed his head as he clung to the altar like a shipwrecked sailor, and outside the thunder crashed so loudly it shook the windows. “And I’ve always been like this,” he continued, softer now, less frantic now that the first rush of the confession had faded. “I lied to everyone around me, told them I was better, I was righteous, I could control it. That I wasn’t like that. But I was, Dew. I always have been. And if Hell is real…” He laughed, weak and shaky, and scrubbed a tear from his cheek. “If Hell is real, I’m going there.”

“Oh, Hell is real, priest.” Every candle in the church flared into life at once. Panic shot through his body and Aether spun on his heel sharply, and when his eyes fell on Dew, on the gray of his skin, the fire in his eyes and the sharp fangs behind his knowing, satisfied smirk, his blood turned to ice in his veins. “Ask me how I know.”

#Holy shit.#ooh I love this so much #quite literally invested heavy in this #someone please tag me on any updates I beg #dewther #aether ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #the band ghost #nameless ghouls

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