Title: To Sin Without Restraint
Author: Gelise
Pairings, etc: Nearly Headless Nick/The Bloody Baron
Rating: PG-13...maybe an R
Word Count: Um...I dunno. I'm an idiot with Macs. It's a bit long, how's that?
Mini Summary: Every Saturday night Sir Nicholas goes to pray, and every Saturday the Baron comes to watch.
Warning: Slash ahead, plus it's a bit dark.
Dedication: Dedication goes to Kimglish. She asked for it.

He slunk by him in the shadows, easily hidden by the darkness of the chapel and undetected by one so devoutly in prayer. This was the time to observe, when the man was talking to God. He wouldn't look up for any noise, not that the Baron was a noisy ghost. He was silent and stealthy and knew that if he floated in a certain corner of the castle chapel around midnight on Saturday he would be sure to find the object of his fascination. He was captivated by him. His clothes, his hair, his laugh, his manner, his knowledge, his intellect, his wit; but the thing that drew him the most was his faith.

He had faith in people, in the students of this school, in other ghosts, and a remarkably rare faith in God for someone already dead. It wasn't as though he was a Friar and therefore still held on to his oath of virtue, Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington had died and had not gone to heaven but still prayed on the Sabbath. He was no holy man, he was no saint, but still he prayed. And there in the silence and chill of the castle chapel, long forgotten by the professors and students of the school, the Baron watched.

Nicholas was Catholic. Long before the time of the Reformation when England still maintained ties with the Vatican Nicholas had been baptized. He had grown up listening to latin masses, loving the women in his life like he loved the Virgin Mother, and praying to Saint Anthony when he lost something. He still carried a rosary on his belt, the Baron assumed it had been given to him on the day of his execution. He never spoke of religion day to day, it was though he knew how scorned his faith would be and kept this aspect of himself quiet. So here he was, like every Saturday turned into Sunday, praying in silence.

The Baron had no religion. His faith had been faith in extravagance and finery, in blood and war, in lust and abandonment. He had led no good life and normally did not think twice about this, that is, until he discovered Sir Nicholas with his head bent in prayer. Part of it was fascination, part was the feeling of having his own sins cleansed. As he watched and listened to the occasional murmurs in Latin he felt his own soul removed from sin.

It was an addiction. He needed it now. He needed this Sabbath prayer as much as Nicholas did.

He watched the man carefully in the shadows, his own self far removed from the solemn, dilapidated chapel. As always Sir Nicholas had entered the chapel using the door, as if floating through a wall would somehow desecrate the sacred place. He approached the wide stained glass window and blessed himself, kneeling down before it and the wooden cross in the blue and red shadows cast by the figure of Christ crucified. He bent his shaky head slowly, supporting it by placing his entwined hands underneath his chin, and closed his eyes.

The man would sit there for an hour or so, occasionally saying something out loud, but mostly the time was spent in calm silence. At the end of the night Nick would bless himself again and leave and the Baron would follow suit, feeling as though he had washed away a week of sins himself. Now if only he could wash away those blood stains...

It was almost time for Nicholas' prayer to come to an end and the Baron frowned to himself. He would have to wait another week to observe him. Another week of grimacing at the man and pretending to be absolutely disinterested with him. Another week of waiting until they were both alone, one watching the other, the other talking to God.

"Why do you come here?"

The Baron almost jumped. Nicholas had spoken, but to him? His head was still bent in prayer, he couldn't have been addressing him. He couldn't have known he was watching.

"I am asking you, why do you come here?" Sir Nicholas' voice asked again and he stood from his former position on the floor. His head shook slightly but a hand stopped it from falling over. His light grey eyes stared directly into the shadows where the Baron stood trying to assure himself that he had not been found out. "Do you intend to mock me later, or do you come to pray?"

The Baron stepped out of the shadows, his face as cold and distant as always. "I do not know why I come."

The older ghost stepped back and turned to the crucifix on the wall. "How long have you been following me here?" He asked quietly, his hands clasped behind his doublet, demanding a confession like a priest. The Baron could not take his eyes off those hands. He had heard the other ghosts and most of the students laugh behind his back for his garments; girly they called them. He himself wore elaborate coats and waistcoats yet Nicholas bore the brunt of teasing for his wear. The fashion of the day. But one look at those hands and the Baron knew he had been anything but feminine during his life.

The Baron did not answer his question. Instead he stepped nearer to the other ghost, his eyes careful to observe the other details that had driven him to stalking more closely. Nicholas only returned his look with a sort of scorn on his face. "How dare you interrupt me during my time of prayer. Have you no decency?" He asked again, still quietly, still in reverence of that holy place.

Not really, no, the Baron thought to himself. His thoughts weren't exactly pure at the moment, not as he ran his eyes down the sharp angles of the other ghost's face. He edged closer so that he was only a foot away. Nicholas' face was still turned to the crucifix and the stained glass window had cast a blue and red light through his spectral body. With a gloved hand the Baron reached out and touched the rosary that was attached to the ghost's belt. "A gift from the executioner?" He sneered.

Nicholas' body stiffened and he pulled away from the touch. "None of your business." He whispered, his eyes significantly widened and bright. The Baron smirked to himself and enclosed the gap between them by a single step. Nick backed away nervously but the Baron followed, thoroughly captivated by the older ghost. His piety was drawing him to the man, after a good hour of prayer he wanted nothing more than to sin without restraint. He wanted to corrupt.

Nicholas continued to back up until he found himself against the wall of the chapel - the wall that he would not float through for fear of upsetting God. He bore his eyes right through the Baron who continued to step closer. "Tell me, what do you speak to God about?" He asked silkily.

"Again, that's a private matter." Nicholas replied with furrowed eyes.

Without warning the Baron brought his hand to Nicholas face, gripping what remained of the man's shattered neck and the side of his face, and brought his lips down upon the cornered ghost's for a bruising and demanding kiss. He struggled against the bigger ghost but the Baron wasn't about to let him escape, instead his brought his other hand to Nicholas' belt and held on to it tightly, continuing to crush the other's lips underneath his own. Finally Sir Nicholas was able to bring his hands up to the Baron's chest and with a hard shove pushed away the ghost.

"What are you doing!" He cried, his lips a shiny shade of silver, almost as though they were wet from the Baron's assault. "Where's your shame, man! Where's your morals? This is a house of God!" Nicholas yelled, still trying to rid himself of the Baron's clasp on his belt. It was to no avail however as the Baron had a strong grip on the belt and was much taller than Nicholas himself.

House of God. The Baron smirked and Nicholas' face turned to disbelief. "That's precisely it." He said, his free hand sliding up the front of Nicholas' doublet and then coming to rest on his shoulder. The Baron leaned over and pressed himself against the ghost, now frozen in complete shock, and carefully moved aside his long hair and licked the tip of his ear. "What better place to commit a sin than in a holy place?" He whispered into the still attentive ear. "Under the direct gaze of God..." He placed his lips directly on to Nick's ear, licking and sucking on it, his grip on Nick's shoulder tightening to the point of bruising if they had both still been alive.

Sir Nicholas began to struggle again but the grip on his belt and the voice of the Baron in his ear were too much. He slowly stopped fighting and let his arms drop to his sides, his eyes closing shut and his hands forming into fists. "Relax, you protest too much." Said the Baron, hand on the belt swiftly looping around to the small of Nicholas' back in order to push the slender body into his. He heard the man gasp as their hips ground against each other and smiled devilishly to himself. "You're a fascinating man, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington." He growled, "You know I've been watching you for quite some time."

"I...I know..." Nicholas stuttered; the Baron's mouth was moving from his ear to the very edge of his mutilated neck. "This isn't the first time you've watched me pray..." He managed to say, the Baron's fingers on his back digging into his translucent flesh.

"That's because you look so saintly when you're kneeling before God, I can't help myself." The Baron replied, taking Nicholas' face once again in his hands and claiming his lips harshly. This time the other ghost did not struggle, did not protest. Instead he met the kiss and even parted his lips, the Baron taking advantage of this sudden lack of morals to slip his tongue inside his mouth. He made sure to hold Nicholas' head, his hand digging into the soft curls, pulling and tugging and twisting, preventing any accidents or misfortunes while he corrupted this man. He swam in the power and control he had over the once so pious and took joy in abusing the proud Gryffindor.

Unable to let himself slip through the chapel walls, Nicholas was caught between God and the Bloody Baron, the man plundering his mouth and bruising his body while God sat by idly watching. His hands were clenching and unclenching into fists as the Baron rammed his large frame into his own; he was helpless to do anything else but hold on. Hold on and hope that next week he was able to do enough praying for the both of them and their sins.