People went to Hell for the kind of thoughts that possessed him, Pitch thought darkly to himself as he knelt before the alter, a crucifix clutched tightly in his hands. As the priest of this village, he had to be a shining example of virtue, a guiding beacon for his humble flock.
And yet, Pitch thought bitterly, his soul was as black and tainted as his own name.
There was a young man among the villagers, just on the cusp of adulthood. His name was Jackson Overland, and despite the jests he thought up to taunt his fellow villagers (they were all in good fun and never caused harm), he might as well have been an angel walking on Earth. But Pitch knew he couldn't afford to have the thoughts, that he caught himself lingering on. Especially not, when he found himself looking too long at the young shepherd and wondered how it would feel to brush his hand through auburn locks, or across flushed lips…
Pitch Black shuddered, hunching in on himself. He had woken up this very night, bathed in sweat from that image alone, of young Jackson whispering sinful words of longing to him, of how he had sneaked into the priests' humble abode just for him. So now Pitch had sought private sanctuary, from his dreams and his sinful thoughts, by the alter he had been taught to worship.
"Oh poor Father Black…" A soft and achingly familiar voice murmured behind him. "You must feel so alone."
Slender hands reached out and touched him, and Pitch jerked up his head to stare at the ghostly appendages, before he looked up at their owner.
It was almost a ghostly vision there stood before him, of the very young man he'd had so many dreams about by now. He was almost the very spitting image of Jackson Overland, had it not been for his ghostly pale skin, the snowy white hair, and the almost crystalline blue eyes, that seemed to gleam with wicked promises.
"You- you are not real." Pitch found himself muttering, and tried to pull away. But it was if his limbs were all frozen, while the pale, and very nude youth, simply gave a slight laugh and knelt down before the priest.
"I am as real as you want me to be." He purred, before he reached out with his hands to touch the others face.
They felt cold, and their touch seemed to rob Pitch of his will, as the youth leaned in to kiss him.
"What are you?" He found himself asking, even as the youth pressed close to push him back on the ground, straddling him as it did so.
The youth simply smiled.
"I am but a dream vision for you to enjoy…" He purred, running his hands down Pitch's chest, earning a soft shudder from the older male. "And there is nothing sinful about dreams."
Pitch would have argued, but he found himself completely losing his voice in a gasped whimper, when the other reached down and cupped his straining length under his clothes.
"Call me Jack." The other whispered, with a wicked gleam in his eyes, as he easily moved down to tug at Pitch's clothes, until he revealed bare skin. "And don't worry, dear Father Black… I'm going to take good care of you."