Disclaimer: This fanwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by Minekura Kazuya. No copyright infringement is intended or implied. No profit made.
Marc glanced up at the waitress briefly as she set down their coffees and a tray of biscuits, his expression unchanging before he swung his gaze back to the street. He listened as John picked up his slack, thanking the girl graciously before she left their table. A frown creased Marc's brow as he considered the many tiny politenesses that got people through their days. It seemed that there was always something that one was supposed to do - or not - depending on the time of day and the company one was in. Those were the rules, and you didn't question or flout them unless you wanted to find yourself a pariah.
He waited until John had finished the preparations for his coffee, judging by the now familiar sounds when it was safe to assume attention. Still watching the people pass, Marc didn't bother to lift his chin from his hand as he said quietly, "Do you suppose that Lucifer knew what the consequences of his disobedience would be?"
"Do you think," John returned smoothly, "that it would have made a difference, if he did?"
Marc grinned, giving John a sidelong look. In the short time since they had met, John had managed to rise to the top of Marc's esteem. Well-educated and soft-spoken, he never failed to make any conversation one worth having...and Marc was honest enough with himself (if only himself) to admit to the fact that John's being easy on the eyes didn't hurt. Recently, that last had caused Marc a bit of discomfort, given that they shared a room at the seminary. Dreams, he had discovered, rarely respected the boundaries of propriety.
"Well," he drawled, straightening to pick up his coffee cup, "that depends on whose point of view you're looking at." John's turn to grin, and Marc allowed himself a moment of aesthetic appreciation as he sipped at his coffee.
"Meaning?" John prodded gently.
"God's will overrides all, yes?" Marc said, leaning back in his chair, "So, if the Fall was what He wanted, Lucifer was just a puppet."
Raising an elegant eyebrow, John chuckled quietly. "But, if God allowed the angels free will, would Lucifer have changed his course of action?"
It was one of the things that drew Marc to John, this ability to stay on-track through the many twists and turns of Marc's arguments. The only time John allowed the backtracking and double-talk was when he was content to provide company on the verbal equivalent of a pilgrimage. It was, in Marc's experience, a trait rare unto singularity.
"Would that free will not still fall under the will of God?"
John inclined his head, graciously acknowledging Marc's point, then promptly swatted the ball back to his court. "And if God didn't want him to fall?"
Shrugging, Marc said simply, "Well, he is God. Before the Fall, there was either no sin - in which case punishment for it seems a bit unreasonable, really-" he took a second to enjoy the tugging up of the corner of John's mouth, "or sin has always existed, as a necessary adjunct. In that case, the commission of sin was also necessary, and so the Fall was inevitable."
"So," John said slowly, a small smile playing about his lips, "if not Lucifer, then the next angel with a chip on his shoulder? Who it was made no difference at all?"
"It makes as much sense as God choosing to force his right-hand man into it," Marc replied lightly. He reached for a biscuit, giving it a once-over before taking a large bite.
"You're very aggressive with God," John observed with a tilt of his head, and Marc narrowly escaped spraying biscuit over the table as he laughed.
"He deserves it," he asserted, when he had himself under control again.
"Because he either does or does not force the commission of sin."
"Broadly, yes."
"You're also very odd."
Marc had to check himself on his coffee this time, shooting John a Look. He was beginning to think that his respectable companion was timing his statements for maximum culinary damage.
John returned Marc's gaze levelly, but the light of amusement was in his eyes as he continued smoothly, "You don't feel that knowledge of the result would have made any difference, then."
Thinking ahead this time, Marc sipped at his drink and put the cup down before speaking again. "The deck was stacked against him, wasn't it?"
"Even if he had free will?" Frowning a little, John paused with his cup nearly against his lips. This was an earnest question, the usual baiting and prodding aside.
"Mm," Marc agreed around a mouthful of coffee, pleased with himself. "Of course. If you take each option as being of equal weight, Lucifer had - at best - a twenty-five percent chance of remaining in Heaven."
John picked up a biscuit of his own, breaking a small piece off and popping it quickly into his mouth. He hummed contemplatively as he chewed. "Is that all?"
"Well," he paused, watching his companion's movements, "In two questions, it gets down to that. Free will or not, each weighted at fifty percent, yes? So that's fifty percent lost to the absolute will of God."
Shifting a little in his chair, John brushed his long hair back from his face. Marc found his eyes following the movement as John nodded, "And the other fifty percent..."
"Either he would make the choice to rebel, or he would not."
"No guerrilla options in Heaven?" John teased, and Marc couldn't stop himself laughing at the image it created.
"No, I'm afraid not. So, it divides neatly in half again, leaving him with - at the best, most basic and forgiving evaluation - a seventy-five percent probability of being thrown from Heaven." Marc shrugged.
"But," John's voice was contemplative, with a tiny edge of amusement, "God, it has been stated, requires devotion and trust from his followers. What of that?"
Marc waved vaguely at the question. "If sin didn't exist, He would have that without exception." He narrowed his eyes, letting a bit of his glee in the question show, "In which case, why would He choose to create it by throwing Lucifer over?"
That earned him an outright grin. "So, God has ulterior motives?"
He returned the grin with a wicked one of his own, "Either that, or He's got a secret."
John sat back, coffee cup in hand, studying Marc for a long moment as he ran down the end of Marc's statement. "Either God wants man to sin, then, or He's concealing the existence of a chaos. Something outside of his control."
"Precisely," Marc replied, "But God is God. Creator of all, yes?" He waited for John's nod, then, "Since that necessarily means that there cannot be anything outside of His control, the secret must be that God wants us to sin." Another pause, watching John closely. "And if God wants us to sin - enough to appoint someone to take care of making sure that happens - then it must follow that there is value in it."
The slow smile that spread across John's face and the mischievous glint in his gaze warmed Marc. The man wasn't nearly as pious as his reputation would have it, in the end.
"And the value of sin?" John pushed, his voice as innocent as his expression was subversive.
"Well," Marc mused, "didn't God create man in his own image?" He watched the ground while they walked, the afternoon sun making him squint if he looked up.
"That seems to be the consensus, yes," John replied, his little smile audible. He was always in a good mood after confession, and Marc had never figured out if that was the result of the ritual, or (as in Marc's case) that it was over, with nothing left but the pleasant walk back to the dormitory.
"And God is omniscient."
"So they say."
"Which means that God understands everything."
John actually chuckled at that, "That's a logical conclusion."
Taking the hint, Marc glanced at John from the corner of his eye. "In which case, He has also granted man the potential ability to do so."
"Do you think so?" John turned his head, looking squarely at Marc. The words would seem a challenge, the tone similar, but his gaze was open, almost affectionate.
Marc raised an eyebrow, huffing a quiet laugh. "Wouldn't be much of an image, if He left out the most important part, would it?"
"No," John agreed, his smile widening, "I suppose not." He took a deep breath, training his eyes back on the path, his steps slowing minutely. "So, if He gave man that ability, you believe that man is capable of understanding Him? That's a very...unique view."
"Yes, yes.." Marc said wearily with a dismissive wave, "all that 'mysterious ways' nonsense."
"Mm."
A long, quiet moment passed, during which their pace slowed a little more. It seemed that with each passing day, with every evening spent in quiet conversation, the rhythm of their steps fell more in sync. Marc could only hope that John was also pleased by it.
"But if that's so," Marc continued after a moment, adjusting his glasses absently, "then striving to understand God is far more important than striving to love Him."
John hummed low in his throat, taking time to consider that before he responded. "Quite possibly. And so the question then follows, 'how does one understand', yes?"
"Yes. And beyond that, what is the path to that enlightenment?"
"We are told," John intoned, and Marc smirked, hearing the platitude on the horizon, "that it is obedience and devotion to God."
Marc couldn't quite contain his snort. "When was the last time following orders without question enlightened anyone?"
"Ah! There you are, then," John sighed in mock surrender, "The essential paradox."
"If you believe what we're told, it is," Marc replied, the implication that neither of them did clear in his tone. A tiny huff of amusement from John, and Marc smiled.
"Right. God says 'obey', but if you simply obey without thought, then you do not understand," John mused, "and yet, how does one become worthy of God without comprehending how to be worthy of God?"
"Exactly!" Marc exclaimed, letting his pleasure get the best of him for a second. Catching himself and shooting an apologetic look at John (who honestly only seemed to have been entertained by the outburst), he continued, "So...if you follow that line of logic to its conclusion, it becomes evident that the experience of sin, the lessons one takes from it, are necessary to the most complete comprehension of God."
John grinned at him. "But then, would not the most incorrigible of sinners also be the holiest of men?"
"Don't mock."
"My apologies, I simply couldn't resist the temptation."
"You're forgiven," Marc grinned.
"And thus," John said, lifting his hands a little and looking up to the sky, "I come just a little closer to God."
Just barely managing to twist a giggle into a more acceptable chuckle, Marc returned, "Repentance and absolution are the bedrock of enlightenment, after all."
John nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. "In providing a recourse, I assume."
"If God wishes for man to sin in order to learn, then condemning him to hell for doing so would be somewhat counterproductive."
A small shrug, "And yet, He has been known to ignore the human concept of 'fairness'."
"That is true," Marc conceded, waiting for John to pick up the other thread. That he would was not remotely in question; John had an active, subtle mind.
"Though, I tend to believe," he went on, for all the world as though the break had never happened, "that if God wanted everyone to go to Hell, he wouldn't have bothered in the first place, hm?"
Marc smirked, turning to look at John, "It does seem a bit pointless, though with God, it's always a possibility. Unlikely, however, and it renders the discussion moot. So, if we could ignore it for the moment?"
Giving him a smile and a little half-bow, John said, "By all means." Marc watched as John's attention was briefly stolen by a particularly large and beautiful flower on a nearby hedge. He kept quiet, entertained as always by John's inherent engagement with the world. "So," the blond continued after a moment, "the existence of absolution is, by extension, a covenant?"
Still smiling a little at John, Marc took a moment to arrange his thoughts. Subdued, he went on, "He has given us the means by which to ensure that a life spent in the fullest pursuit of Him will not necessarily result in hellfire. I think it's implied in the concept of absolution that a man who learns from his sins is beloved of God."
Picking up Marc's trail seamlessly, John followed it to the end. "And for those who don't, there is Hell. Because if there were only one fate, there would be no reason to seek God."
"It's a wonderfully cyclical system isn't it?"
"Indeed, if it is true."
"Which," Marc sighed, "brings us back to Lucifer."
"Mm," John agreed, stepping a little closer to Marc in order to avoid a hole at the edge of the path. "If your theory is correct, the Fall was orchestrated in order to ensure that the most beloved - the most trusted - of the angels would hold dominion over sin."
Marc smirked, noting that John didn't step away again, nudging him lightly with his shoulder where they brushed together. "And so, the office of the Devil was filled, neatly completing the good-evil and sin-repentance cycles that simultaneously elevate men and weed out the undesirables."
John grinned and stopped, ushering Marc to precede him through the fence around the dormitory.
John's long blond hair shone in the candlelight as he plaited it for sleep. Marc watched him, still as enthralled by the ritual as he had been the first time he'd seen it. John had told him, when they had first been housed together, how he had avoided cutting his hair. A pact with God, he'd said to the priests, to symbolise his vows with the cutting. That had tickled Marc immensely.
Already dressed in his nightshirt, Marc had been getting in a bit of studying at the small wooden table in the corner of their room when John had released his hair for brushing. As usual, that had put an end to the studying - of books, anyway.
John frowned a little with a quiet, thoughtful hum. "It's a conspiracy, then," he said suddenly, and Marc had to scramble to tear his attention from John's motions to his words, dragging up the conversation that had stretched for weeks, now.
"Why not?" Marc asked, meeting John's gaze, "It's far more likely to work, isn't it?" He took a deep breath, lining up his thoughts, "Every day, all over the world, men are interpreting God's words in radically different ways. The only thing that remains the same throughout is the idea that God demands perfect obedience while simultaneously allowing for repentance, penance and forgiveness."
"Perhaps that's just sleight of hand," John replied, finishing up with tying off his braid and flipping it back over his shoulder.
"Not if you include the one thing that everyone seems happy to ignore when it doesn't directly benefit them."
"The omnipotence of God," he filled in, with a strangely knowing smile.
"The omnipotence of God, exactly," Marc agreed, half-consciously returning John's smile. "If God is omnipotent, then it must follow that the Devil, evil and sin are inherently useful."
John raised an eyebrow, "And if God is just capricious?"
Marc chuckled, grinning at the arch tone, "Then we malign him daily with all this talk of mercy and forgiveness." He shook his head, continuing more quietly, "That aside, however, sin still functions as a cautionary tale. The sheer number of things proscribed between the old and the new testaments would seem to indicate the opposite, but were it so...then there is no reason to make the attempt, is there?"
"Because there is no practical way to avoid Hell," John supplied, giving him an oddly speculative look that sent a tiny shiver down his spine.
"None, whatsoever. By that count, even the fact that we believe Him to be just and loving would be enough to consign us to chewing on brimstone for eternity."
"But there is forgiveness," John deadpanned, his handsome face carefully blank.
"You tease."
He gave Marc a look of such utter, dramatic innocence that Marc actually spluttered as he burst into laughter. After a moment, he managed to gather himself sufficiently to move on. "There's not enough absolution in the world," he growled, turning back to his books, gathering them up. "Should even one millionth of the population of man descend from a life of cave-dwelling hermitage and into the world, the priests' tongues would fall out from overuse at confession."
John laughed aloud at that, nodding. "That is probably true," he conceded, "It also implies that, should God be truly that austere and uncaring, ignorance is blessed." With that, he pulled himself up onto his bed, stretching his legs out and leaning against the wall with a soft sigh.
"In which case," Marc went on, shuffling his books into a neat pile, "He's done a rather poor job of design, and has only Himself to blame for man's imperfect love." Turning to John with a smirk, he crossed the short distance to the beds. Obeying a sudden impulse, he sat on the edge of John's bed, rather than going to his own.
Completely ignoring the oddness of Marc's actions, John chuckled, "Well, you do seem to have thought yourself into a nice little coil, there."
"A logical one, though," Marc grinned.
"It seems so. Predicated on God's infallibility, at any rate." He fixed Marc with another of those strangely assessing looks, setting off an unfamiliar flutter of nervousness.
"A fallible God isn't worth bothering with," Marc asserted quietly, his absolute belief in the statement clear.
Watching him steadily, John chewed that over, eventually replying equally quietly, "You may be right, there. So in the end, we are left with the conclusion that either God wants us to sin, or he needs some of us to, in order to keep things moving."
"Precisely. And so..." Marc's voice faded, an unsettling kind of buzzing radiating through his body.
"And so?" John prompted, so softly that Marc saw as much as heard it. Or maybe that was the effect of the buzz.
"As men of God, it is our job to lead in the understanding of Him," Marc breathed, shifting closer to John almost unconsciously, "And so...my sin for God's will...I'm going to kiss you, John." Leaning in slowly enough to allow John time to stop him, Marc pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to his mouth. John didn't move, his body seemingly relaxed, and Marc thrilled with a glimmering of hope. After a long moment, he pulled away, swallowing hard as he waited for John's response.
"I see," John murmured, studying Marc intently for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he slipped long fingers into Marc's hair, cupping the back of his head. Tugging him in close again, John whispered against Marc's lips, "Well, I wouldn't want to get in the way of God."
Marc whimpered with relief when John kissed him again, a wave of weakness rolling through him. He'd spent so many months holding himself back and trying (mostly unsuccessfully, he knew) to keep his growing attraction under wraps; this kiss was so much more than he had ever hoped for, and it was already nowhere near enough. Reaching up, Marc tangled his hand into John's hair, revelling in the silky touch after wanting it for so long.
He deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue past John's lips, moaning at the intimate taste of him, marvelling that he still wasn't pulling away. Indeed, John returned Marc's kiss, fingers curling in dark hair, encouraging him with a soft sigh. Breaking the kiss, Marc exhaled shakily, searching John's eyes for misgivings. As much as he wanted - and God, did he want - he wasn't willing to risk John's friendship for a tumble.
John smiled and reached out for Marc with his free hand, curving it around his waist, pulling slightly at him. Biting his lip lightly, Marc climbed up onto John's bed, stretching out beside him as John shifted to lie down. He propped himself up on his elbow, though his shoulder threatened to tremble right out from under him, and looked down at John. Grey-green eyes met his evenly, John's countenance serene as he slipped his hand up to cup Marc's neck. Marc rested his hand on John's stomach, fingers curling in soft strokes there as he leaned down to kiss him again.
A quiet moan and the gentle arching of John's body against him lit a slow fire in Marc's belly; he deepened the kiss, claiming John's mouth possessively. Marc knew why John lay soft and pliant beneath him, and was grateful to him for it. There would come a time, maybe, when John took him over this way - if this wasn't to be the only time he was allowed this privilege.
Marc dragged himself from the beguiling spell of John's mouth, nipping and kissing a trail along his jaw, rolling his hips slowly against John's body. The thin cotton of their nightclothes did little to mute the heat that seeped through, each to the other, and Marc found himself trying to get as close to that warmth as possible. John tilted his head, baring his throat, and Marc breathed his name with a sigh.
John purred low in his throat, the sound tugging at Marc, making him want to hear it again. He slid his palm slowly over John's hip, fingers curving around the back of his thigh as it travelled down toward his knee. John turned his head, seeking Marc's mouth again, and they rocked together as they kissed. Past any desire to think now, John's invitation certain, Marc slipped his hand up under John's nightshirt, humming appreciatively at the feel of his skin.
Moving to kiss Marc's throat, John slid his hand down from Marc's neck, over his chest and abdomen. Marc hissed as the heat of John's hand pressed against his erection through his clothes, his hips hitching involuntarily into the contact. Biting his lip against the sounds that rose in his throat, Marc pressed his palm against the naked skin of John's stomach, twisting his wrist to let his fingertips slide beneath the waist of his underwear. Whimpered as John's hand stroked slowly up his length.
With a muted growl that sent shivers down Marc's spine, John bit at his neck; he could feel the restraint in it, knowing that he was conscious of leaving marks, part of him wishing fervently that it wasn't necessary. Marc pulled at the tie that bound John's underwear, leaving it loose for the hand he slipped inside. Curling his fingers around John's arousal, Marc moaned at the way John moved into the touch. He ducked his head to nip at the skin on the underside of John's jaw, marvelling at the strange softness of it, so late in the day.
Rocking slowly against John's hand, Marc began to stroke him in rhythm, his breath catching hard at the feeling. The sound of his name falling on a whisper from John's lips shocked Marc, a current racing through him and leaving him gasping. John nudged at him, and Marc moved, nearly senseless of the purpose until the heat of John's hand enveloped his sex, skin on aching skin.
John rolled his hips, tightening his grip on Marc with a low, insistent moan. Speeding his strokes, rewarded with John's gasp, Marc claimed his lips again, deepening the kiss to feel his sounds of pleasure, drinking them in. He was drowning in the sensations, the scent and taste of John, his body rushing headlong toward release.
Nipping sharply at Marc's lip, John moved faster on and against him, the colour of his passion high in his cheeks as he spiralled toward his own climax. John moaned Marc's name against his lips, pushing him forcefully over the edge. Marc buried his face in John's neck, unable to hold himself up as pleasure gripped him, gasping and trembling against him as he came hard in John's hand.
Returning to himself, Marc's movements slowed as the intensity of his orgasm ebbed, gradually catching his breath. He tightened his hold on John, stroking him harder and faster than he had before, raining kisses on his mouth and cheeks and throat, watching John's pleasure avidly.
Lips parted, his colour high and his body writhing under Marc's touch, John was nothing short of beautiful; that he was the cause of it was deeply gratifying. John's name was a prayer on Marc's lips as he stroked him to his peak, covering his mouth with a kiss when John would have cried out, his body surging in Marc's grip.
Pressing in close, Marc moved with John through his release, speaking his name again and again in reverent whispers. John slowed against him, his breath sharp and quick as he opened his eyes, catching Marc's gaze and holding it.
"I think" John murmured with a soft smile, "that your theory may have merit."
Marc grinned and kissed him again.