Title; Forgive Me, Father

Rating; It's dealing with every sin that Catholicism tells us to avoid! And boy love! It's M.

Disclaimer; If I owned it, the characters would be even more screwed up than they are now. No, seriously, not joking; note the basis for this fic.

Author's Notes; And the angst rolls on! I promise, the next thing I write will be fluffy and make you want to go hug puppies, or something. Fluff is good, allows my twisted sense of humor to shine through (coughTHEROSEcoughcough). But, yeah, this is not fluffy. This is rated M for a reason. If anybody has issues with murder and lust, guy love, etc.; leave. Hit the 'back' button right now and go read something where Tsuzuki turns into chibi-puppy. If writing that means I'll be getting less reviews, I don't care. I'm not trying to upset anybody. For everyone else, I hope this is sufficiently dark enough for people who, like me, enjoy looking into the human condition.

i. lust

It wasn't love he felt. No, because who could ever love a man so callous? So cold, so…cruel? Or maybe it was love, and as sick and twisted, hell, as perverted as it was he wasn't able to recognize it as love.

For Oriya it wasn't so easy to classify. The man would come for "visits", and instead of doing what any sane, normal thinking person would do, Oriya let him in. Told him he was welcome, asked him to stay. He would not beg; his well brought upbringing wouldn't allow for that. But he asked, even though he knew that meant condemning the people around him, and the women who worked under him and trusted him to rape, torture, and death.

Still, he asked the man to stay.

But when Oriya's eyes trailed across the other man, he knew it wasn't love. He cared for his friend, yes, but what made him do this, what tainted his soul, was purely physical. It was what allowed him to welcome the man time after time, and what made him open his bed when the man's hands were still stained with blood. Until he was stained with blood, dark crimson smears from where he was grabbed. And the blood of the innocents would never wash away from Oriya.

He may not have killed them, but he very nearly condoned it. His soul was tainted, he was manipulated, by just one touch from those murdering hands. One look from those cold eyes, and he was without hope.

ii. avarice

He watched, wanting, knowing he could never have.

Oh, Tatsumi knew he had someone else. The blond scientist had burst into his life, managed to breach every wall Tatsumi had painstakingly erected, and was now a substantial part of the secretary's life. He knew he could no more live without that presence than the air needed to survive.

Despite this, there were times when he found his eyes lingering just a tad too long on his ex partner, watching with a little too much interest, to much longing, when the man was enjoying his sweets when he should have been working, jumping around the office, and generally giving his younger partner a headache.

Tatsumi was always captivated by those eyes of his, at the same time they welcomed him, they warned him. Memories of their past would rise unbidden, and the image of those crying eyes was enough to deter him.

He knew that it was wrong, for so many reasons. Tatsumi had a lover, and had all he could ever need. But he still wanted more. So he silenced these feelings by yelling at the man, at the same man he desired to have him. Because, maybe, if he acted like he didn't want the man, he wouldn't.

iii. pride

How foolish they were, pawns to be used and thrown away at his disposal. No, not even pawns. Dolls, because they were beautiful, but he controlled them and everything they did, the same as his china dolls.

They were mildly entertaining for a while, but too soon grew dull and faded, so he threw them away to pick up another. The ones he killed, at any rate. For the ones that he allowed to live, they were placed on his shelf, and his to use again should he so wish.

Except for that one boy. Muraki always smiled when he thought of that young boy. He had killed him, a beautiful murder of blood and lust and magic. And he had watched that doll die. Fun for a while, but he couldn't keep someone who had seen him murder. Only to find him later, still the same beautiful creature, slender and fair, but to remain forever in that form. Which was all the doctor had ever done for him, really.

And, more importantly, he was a means to an end. His partner was wonderfully, predictably over protective, and he need only take the defenseless boy for a few hours, and he could get to the person he really wanted.

All of his dolls had followed his orders, moving in accordance to his plan before this man. And if he didn't love him so much, Muraki would have killed him long before. Probably tortured him, too, because he was so damn infuriating, and he needed to remember that the doctor's will was the only thing that had kept him alive, even now. That man had managed to escape him, for now.

But it wouldn't last, Muraki was sure of that. And when he did find them again, he would kill the little boy, the tiny doll that the man loved so much, because it was as Muraki said, they were the same. Both born of darkness, so he could never make the boy happy. And besides that, the boy had gotten in the way, and that was just the way it had to be.

iv. gluttony

It could be said that Tsuzuki was a glutton for many things. His love of sweets was well known, and he never limited himself or followed the idea of delayed gratification. He had little patience, he got what he wanted, when he wanted it, and if he couldn't, he'd find a way to get it.

His entire lifestyle followed this. Limited of funds though he was, his apartment was filled with knickknacks and wasteful things, tucked subtly away in corners, but obvious, if one really looked. He searched for comfort, as though if he had this, things would be better.

However, in his life (in a manner of speaking,) there was one thing he knew he needed. More addictive than any drug and more needed than air, was the presence of his younger partner. If allowed, he would gladly overdose on the boy's mere companionship, and sometimes he came off as overzealous in his need to be around the boy.

Tsuzuki wasn't wanted around him, though. Or, at the very least, he irritated him. It was a boomerang effect, though, and Tsuzuki accepted the abuse, all for the chance to overindulge on the feelings that were caused by the boy's looks, his personality (the non-violent part of it,) and the simple feeling of companionship.

Sometimes, it almost seemed like the boy didn't want him there, but other times, he knew it was worth everything for the few times when he was offered a smile or the opportunity to hug him without being reprimanded. And holding, having that small figure in his arms was worth it.

v. sloth

There were days when his duties were more like chores, when sleeping in seemed smart, and escaping to his quiet nook of the forest was the best idea he'd heard in a long time.

Lazing about in the sun was a pleasant past time, and it was often that the tiger god would spend hours out there in his animal form, basking in the warm sun that Gensoukai offered. Byakko, Ruler of the West, would look after his quarter of the imaginary world, of course, but there were times when the word of the insufferable dragon was almost too much to bear.

The Ruler of the East was a good leader, however, Byakko was convinced he blindly followed the Golden Emperor, when, over the years, there had been no proof the Emperor existed. He was too young to remember when (if ever,) the Emperor had been an active ruler of their imaginary world.

He didn't say it, but sometimes Byakko understood why Kurikara had started the war. He didn't condone it, but it was hard to follow the sometimes senseless orders of a maniac dragon, supposedly the words of an omnipotent ruler.

If he was omnipotent, why had the war been allowed that had divided their nation? Why had they been forced into hiding? Why were these wormholes threatening the only place they had left to live? Surely, if there was a supreme being, such problems wouldn't exist.

And there were days when Byakko pondered these thoughts, laying out on a rock in the sun, his eyes drifting closed in the afternoon heat.

vi. wrath

His anger was a near constant presence, bubbling beneath the surface, but always so close at hand. Sometimes, it was even worse than anger. It was pure hatred, aimed at everyone, and everything, and himself in particular. The vast majority of this rage was centered on the angelic looking man who had taken his life and his innocence.

Or, what little he'd had. Even at thirteen, his empathy had gifted him (or cursed, depending on your view) with an acute understanding of some of life's subtleties. Still, that man had taken his life, and still lived to kill more, to hurt him again.

Hisoka knew that his anger was unfair sometimes. Occasionally he realized it after having lost his temper, and felt a rush of shame that he hid behind his cool façade; however much he might've wanted to, it was too hard for him to apologize for yelling at his partner, the only man who had ever cared for him and taken him in.

But the man never seemed to care. He pouted, whimpered, sulked, and was back again once more testing the limits of Hisoka's patience. He knew it wasn't the man's fault, but the anger was still there, seething and looking for a convenient target that he just happened to provide. Hisoka's murderer was not there to take the brunt that should have been his to shoulder, and his partner took it without (much) complaint.

So he would yell at his partner for his over indulgences, his wasteful habits, his sweet tooth… the list went on. Hisoka would get mad, but the only man who ever loved him understood, and he could never fathom why, when he couldn't bring himself to apologize, or express how he truly felt.

vii. envy

Watching from the outside was hard, even harder when it meant watching the one you loved care for another. Even while he claimed to love only you. Watari knew these feelings were beneath him, and it was stupid to get worked up about something such as this. Or, worse, maybe these jealous feelings weren't beneath him, and that was the problem. That he was that sort of person.

He watched his lover's eyes linger too long, but none-the-less laughed at his would be opponent's antics. It was a smile to hide his ugly thoughts, but the smile hurt. As though his lips were chapped, and even such small motions were enough to tear them and make them bleed. And, afterwards, even though he knew that his lover was faithful, he would stop into his office, smile, laugh, and be so energetic and lively that the other man would simply have to allow himself to be caught up in everything. Watari needed to hear the, "Over dinner tonight, all right? I'm busy right now, and unless you want to help with tax deductions, I'd suggest leaving."

To which a lewd joke would be made about "helping" and Watari would run before shadows forcibly threw him out.

Sometimes, the scientist brought the other man to him. To his credit, more than half of the explosions that took place were actually accidents. Others, however, had been some combination of letting off steam, earning a laugh, or, more commonly, a way to get those blue eyes to look in his direction. This happened less often now that they slept together, but before, it had been worth it to receive the two minutes of concern, taking with it the thirty minute lecture about his spectacular failures.

So, there were times when Watari caught the man smiling in a way that even he couldn't make him smile, and it made his heart wrench. He looked to his best friend with jealousy, anger, and more than anything… yearning.

Author's Notes; Dear God, I have corrupted innocent minds, I think I'll get struck down by lightening. Just, "Bzzt!" I'm gone, God's pissed. (Just kidding.) I hope the story was good and not repetitive or anything (since I'm writing it, it looks repetitive. Did it come off that way?) Just wanted to clear up a few things: One, Tatsumi, you closet-emo, stop being hard to write. Two, number five up there seemed to be the odd one out. To explain, I couldn't really think of a character, and then the idea hit me, and I just went, "YES!" One, I love Byakko. That guy's awesome. However, for those of you who have only seen the anime, you're probably staring like, "Ehm, double-u tee eff?" Two, sloth is described not only as laziness, but rather as an inability to continue an active belief in God. So, basically, in this one Golden Emperor symbolized God (it was a stretch, I know. Go easy on me. Ever notice there are basically only six main characters?) Anyway, to conclude the Phoenix rant of the fic, I hope you enjoyed, and please review, despite the uncreative plot.

…The writing looks pretty, so you can forgive unoriginality, huh?

Humbly yours,
--Phoenix