.
.
Percival has no want of any human traveling in and out of this city. But there is a boy, silent and obedient, who murmurs his hymns and flushes so ugly when Percival's eyes wander over him. The black oak pews usually are empty. The white-wax tapers burn long and bright in the cold shadows.
But the boy… he gives Percival shaky and sickly warm, moist handshakes during evening services. A twinge of something deeply unfamiliar resides in Percival's chest, when they lock eyes.
"Credence," Percival announces his name, offering a gentle expression when the boy lowers his head dutifully. Credence has dark, penetrating eyes — the color of volcanic rock forged in a hellish rage. And yet, Credence has a sweetness and innocence about him that Percival wishes to remain unbroken — by all others.
His angelic grace repels all of the men seeking Credence's virtue.
Perhaps he should consider his own virtue and patience, when Credence's pink, spit-sticky lips open, exhaling soundlessly. But living inside, controlling this priest's body, none of Percival's angelic manner can be tainted. Nothing of his Grace or his Immaculate Light.
"Father… I've sinned again. It's been too long since seeking atonement for it." Credence appears so desolate, his mouth trembling. Dark eyes watering. Standing this near to him in the aisle, tenderly cupping the boy's face with one hand, Percival can memorize each of Credence's long, full eyelashes. "I don't want to be wicked like this… I don't want to lose you…"
Percival shushes him, leaning in and brushing his lips to Credence's forehead. What he assumes to be Credence's mother blanches, then reddens with fury, hurrying out of the pew in the background.
She will never touch Credence again. Credence is his to look after now.
(Is that love…?)
He truly does not understand if it's truth or a fantastical concept. Percival notices him waiting on the steps to the small Gothic-Renaissance church once more, Credence's fingers smoothing worshipful over the red-and-gilded edges of a prayer book. He wants the sensation of Credence's fingers doing the same against Percival's naked ribs, wandering down to his dripping-wet, stiffened cock and relieving him.
"Father…"
"Father…"
"Father…" Credence whimpers out, his hot, wriggling tongue scraping over Percival's teeth, his hips bouncing down restlessly on Percival's lap, his lily-white, bony arse exposed. "I musn't…"
"I only want what you want, my darling," Percival whispers into his ear, reveling in the boy's shudder for, more, more, Father, please, grasping one of Credence's hands and pressing it over his erection in his trousers. His velvet, purple priest-sash dangling off his shoulder crookedly.
Credence whimpers louder, his breathing gone erratic within the private confessional box. He's faced away from Percival, but reaches with both arms for him, hooking his arms over Percival's neck and trying to gain leverage.
"Good boy," Percival breathes out, groaning. There's no reason they shouldn't reach this bliss together…
"Stay with me…"
But something else rises - Percival's angelic powers burst out into the opening, like a whiteout glow, obliterating the confessional box.
That's when he notices the miasma of dark, shimmering energy hovering around Credence.
Credence's eyes paled-out.
"Yes, Father," he rumbles out, his demonic-Obscurial presence mingling to Percival's angelic Grace, strengthening both of them instead of naturally repelling Credence.
Percival wants to flee, to shed this aging, deceiving human flesh, and instead kisses Credence's swollen pink, perfect lips and hugs his arms around Credence's waistcoat, rocking him slowly, humming lightly into Credence's mouth and filling himself with Credence, Credence, Credence.
They were drawn together because of this.
He would Fall for this.
.
.