Disclaimer: Don't own them, they own me.

Dramatis personae: Sephiroth, Angeal, Genesis and a few cameos
Rating: PG-13 for now, NC-17 altogether (T now, M later on)
Summary: So when they continued asking Him, He lifted up Himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her. And again He stooped down, and wrote on the ground. (John 8:7-8 KJV)

WARNING: AU, religious and Biblical themes, blasphemy, mentions of child abuse, homosexuality, priests, prostitution, violence. And priests. Smut. And priests.

A/N: Collaboration work of Andrannath aka icelady and sphinxofthenile aka moi. Beta read by the awesome gothicdragon752 and strongly inspired by the movie Priest by Antonia Bird (1994). I can only recommend it. Feedback is love, concrit (as always) is encouraged. Enjoy!

Now also available in Russian thanks to the amazing daikini who went ahead to tackle this monster translation project. Thank you so much!

Russian translation (just remove the dashes): h-t-t-p-s -: -/-/-f-i-c-b-o-o-k-.-n-e-t-/-r-e-a-d-f-i-c-/-7-4-7-8-2-8-4

THOSE WITHOUT SIN

Chapter 1: The Other Gods

"Bless me, father, for I have sinned."

Sephiroth opens the shutter of the wooden lace, stifling a yawn. He doesn't even bother looking at the person in the other part of the confessional; all in a day's work, and today really isn't that different to begin with. "Confess your sins, child." His tone is even, flat and just a little bit bored.

"Who are you?" he hears a voice say, accusingly and it's the first moment that Sephiroth actually bothers getting off his auto pilot, craning his head to look at the person sitting on the other side. He sees darkness of the confessional, a young face framed with dark red hair, smiling at him in a somewhat cynical way, pale skin reflecting the pattern of the wooden lace. There's something elegant about those features, but things aren't that simple. Then again, he had been accused of seeing the worst in people, though he can't exactly say he'd seen the devil before. "Where is Angeal?"

Sephiroth clears his throat, eyes on the pair of those practically burning his soul with question, and then something more. They're like two endless pits; a shimmering light pulls you in further with every second you gaze at them. "Father Hewley has been feeling ill this morning, so I..."

"Is Angeal okay?" the person asks, accusingly, and then leans closer to the lace, not even bothering to hide the amusement as those eyes inspect all the corners of Sephiroth's little room. Sephiroth sees the fingers, long, lean, so ladylike, the rest of the hand hidden with fingerless gloves that have probably seen better times a decade or so ago.

He even smells it, the thick electrifying scent that he couldn't place at the start, but it all makes sense now.

"Just a mild cold," he answers flatly, pulling himself together and away from the lace. The person chuckles ever so slightly, looking down now, digging through the little dark green military looking bag he's been keeping on his knees. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and Sephiroth reacts with clearing his throat again to get his attention. "No smoking allowed," he warns and the person greets him with one eyebrow raised, smiling amusingly at him while pulling out the lighter.

"I apologize." There is just so much wrong in his tone that Sephiroth would have laughed were he the type. "Well, then..." And the next moment, the person just gets up and leaves the confessional, and Sephiroth really thinks he shouldn't be affected in a way to get out himself and try and get more information on how and why this person knows Angeal. But, by the time he's out, all he ends up seeing is a young man in a light brown over-sized coat walking to the building's exit, the trail of smoke playing with the light cutting the darkness of the old church.

Vanilla.

He's tempted to follow, but he decides against it.

Be not curious in unnecessary matters...

Angeal's room is tiny and over-cramped. Ever since day one the two had clashed in almost every important topic. Where Angeal sees no harm whatsoever in a bit of a luxury, Sephiroth despises all the humanly corporal desires and regards them exactly what they are - sins. And, in spite the fact that Angeal has no problem in downing a bottle of expensive wine every few months, his personal quarters look... lacking. For the lack of a better term.

The chairs and the small table that seems to have never been in a set are old, as well as the bookshelf filled with books that would serve much better in some public library or a flea market instead of the priest's quarters. The bed is tiny, and makes all sorts of noises when Angeal turns in it at night. But, in the end, the room surely does depict the inner state of peace Angeal's soul obviously possesses. He can speak of many things for the weaker men, and it still takes Sephiroth by surprise every now and then when he's reminded that Angeal's words, indeed, are not excuses.

Something so rare in the world nowadays.

"What brings you here, my friend?" Angeal asks from his little bed, still looking a little pale and voice a little raspy, but he'll live.

Sephiroth smiles, almost widely (or as widely as he'd ever allow himself). "I brought you tea," he says.

"Sweetened?" Angeal asks, almost hopeful, pulling himself in a seated position with a cough.

Sephiroth instantly jumps out of his chair and pulls it closer to the bed.

"Do you think I'm senile already?" he asks with enough humour that makes them both smile.

"By the shade of your hair..."

"You can't blame me for being born like this," Sephiroth teases with enough good natured humour as he flips the few shorter strands of hair away from his forehead."

"But I can for your pride," Angeal offers, but neither of them seems bothered by it as he takes the steaming cup from Sephiroth and warms his fingers on it.

"I had an interesting visitor at the confessions today," Sephiroth starts then and Angeal looks up at him, ignoring the tea for a second. "Some redhead. Asked for you specifically..." He lets the sentence linger in the air, because it's obvious Angeal, besides being surprised, knows quite well who Sephiroth is speaking about.

Though, he ends up just shrugging his shoulders and Sephiroth is smart enough not to try and push it, though he'd like. It's not every day he witnesses Angeal lying to his face.

Then he laughs at the grimace Angeal makes after trying the tea. "You call that sweet?"

The bell of the bakery door chimes softly as he closes it, package in hand. It's the day after vigil, and he is rewarding himself and Angeal with something so small, pushing down some lingering sense of guilt just because he likes his rolls fresh. The weather is chilly, a little rain drizzling from the dark clouds here and then. Sephiroth pulls his coat tighter against his body, shutting out the wind.

There are not many people on the bus, it is not hard to spot him, at least he thinks he recognises the man with the red hair from the confessional. A huge, soft-looking scarf is wrapped around his throat, covering the lower half of his face, but his colours are so unusual, Sephiroth is fairly certain it's him. An old, well-used book is open, long, elegant fingers skimming along the lines as he reads them. And Sephiroth would just look away, were it not for the huge golden cross on the cover.

Rarely does one see a man this young read the Bible on a bus of all places. There is just something about the way he does it, with so much concentration, like he wants to commit the whole thing to memory that piques the priest's interest. That and the fact that he never got to know what baggage the man carries. It's unusual, to say the least. As he looks around, he knows those people, knows what no one but God has the right to know, and it is sometimes sickening but mostly just sad. Wives with abusive husbands, spoilt children, cheating husbands, people who lost their loved ones, the sluts and the whores, the drunkards, the suicidal, the delusional, the weak, he knows them all.

He smiles a bit inwardly as he remembers Angeal's favourite line. With the measure you judge another, by that same measure will you be judged.

By which measure would they judge him, he wonders.

He takes a seat next to the stranger, eyes on the script.

"Quomodo cecidisti de caelo, Lucifer, qui mane oriebaris?*" he reads aloud, and the redhead looks up, shuts the book with a small thud.

"You know, I've been called many things before, father," and there is a smile, barely there, but somehow so wrong, so much older than the face. "But never this."

"My apologies. I have never seen a layman read it in Latin before," Sephiroth replies, uses the opportunity to change the topic. "Were you the one who came to see me a few days ago?"

"And if I was, what of the vow of silence, father?" the other teases, an eyebrow mockingly arched.

Sephiroth can't help but notice the richness of that voice.

"If there is anything..."

"Nothing you should worry about. Tell Angeal that Genesis sends his regards."

"I will," Sephiroth nods, lips still open with unsaid questions. That name...

"He should take better care of himself. And you too, looking for lost causes to save." Despite the tone, there is a smile on the redhead's lips. Then the doors open and he is gone, leaving a faint trail of spicy fragrance behind.

Sephiroth's eyes follow him, swinging gait and the end of his scarf whipping in the wind until the bus takes a turn and there is nothing left to see but a few trees and people doing their daily shopping.

Lost cause... there are no lost causes in his line of occupation.

He really shouldn't be poking his nose in someone else's business. It's not polite, for start and, besides, Angeal and he wouldn't be able to operate as well in the same parish – under the same roof – had they tried to fight their way into each other's life.

While Sephiroth is used to sharing everything, as he had effectively never actually owned a thing, Angeal prefers to have his own little private corner where he can hide and deal with whatever projects he's dealing with.

"You lied to me," Sephiroth says over a glass of mulled wine, wrapped tightly in an over-sized blanket before their little stove.

Angeal doesn't really say anything. He tries to read; there's something he's trying to do with the overgrown yard of their local school and nobody seems to know much about gardening. It's obvious his eyes aren't scanning the lines of the page anymore.

"Who is Genesis?" Sephiroth tries, not accusingly but that's how it comes out. Angeal still keeps the pretence, even flips the page, his head falling even lower.

Sephiroth sighs, puts the cup onto their little coffee table that serves as an additional bookshelf more often than not.

"Someone from your past?" he tries a bit more warmly and sees the sarcastic little smile appear on those eyes, but it doesn't get farther than that. "If you're in trouble-"

"Can't you keep your nose out of my damned business?" Angeal snaps and Sephiroth can't think of seeing his friend as irritable as right now. He does end up chuckling then, shaking his head to pull himself together. "I apologize," he says warmly, slapping the book shut, looking at Sephiroth with a smile. "I guess I'm not as young anymore," he adds with enough good humour to make Sephiroth think twice before raising that eyebrow. "My wine tolerance has never been this low."

It's a ghost of a smile that escapes to the corners of Sephiroth's lips. "Oh, I bet you've got a few good years ahead of you," he adds cynically, making his companion laugh.

They resume their silence then, Sephiroth excusing himself at one point to bring them another cup of wine. Normally, Sephiroth wouldn't mind, enjoying their silent evenings. They are usually an excellent opportunity to catch up on a little meditation and introspection.

But not this time. It irks him. A lot. He knows he shouldn't be obsessing over such frivolous matters, but that's exactly it. This person seems to play a large role in Angeal's life (or at least, he has, at some point), if the amount of effort Angeal is investing into pretending it isn't happening is any sort of an indication.

"Does he want money?" he just can't keep his mouth shut at this point. Angeal freezes. "Because, if he is, I can hel-"

"For God's sakes, Sephiroth, not everyone's a sinner!" Angeal practically screams at him, smashing the book onto the floor as he gets up.

"I beg to differ," Sephiroth continues stupidly, mistaking this as an invitation to a debate, though a second after he's spoken the words, his mistake is far too apparent.

"Try tasting the real world before judging," Angeal snaps bitterly before leaving the room without a good night.

The next morning, first thing Sephiroth says upon seeing Angeal is "I'm sorry."

Angeal just smiles right before yawning. "I suppose I should apologize as well."

Sephiroth shrugs. "Not needed," he says and it makes Angeal laugh.

"Our Lord suffered and died on the cross, can't you at least accept an apology without pomp?" It's Sephiroth's time to stare at Angeal. As unorthodox as his friend normally is, words like these seem a bit too much. They seem to be a whole new level of sacrilegious, but Sephiroth isn't the one to say it.

To say there's something bothering Angeal would be understating the matters gravely.

Instead of pushing it again, Sephiroth just smiles, passing Angeal by to his way to the bathroom.

"He is a very old friend who means a lot to me," Angeal answers with a sigh.

"I sometimes forget you had a life before this one," Sephiroth offers almost apologetically.

"We are all humans," Angeal says with a shrug, then smiles. "Well, at least most of us." There's enough teasing in those eyes, another smile really isn't needed to pull a blush to Sephiroth's face. Instead of reacting, he just pushes the door closed with his free hand, already holding the tooth brush with the other.

Sephiroth sighs as he hears someone enter the confessional. All in a day's work, he keeps on reminding himself. All in a day's work.

"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned." He recognizes the voice instantly, looking up to a pair of amused eyes on a face reflecting the pattern of the wooden lace. "Well?" Genesis asks after a few seconds of silence, cocking his head slightly, one corner of his lips quirked just enough.

Sephiroth doesn't even bother keeping his lips from pursing, this amuses him in a strange sort of way. Perhaps it's gloating but he refuses to think about that. "Confess your sins," he whispers and Genesis laughs, rather loudly.

"Not child anymore, I see," he says, leans and relaxes his back to the confessional wall, crossing one leg over the other and, Sephiroth realizes the man is wearing red pants. The leg sleeve doesn't seem big to begin with, but still looks too big, which makes Sephiroth wonder how thin this person actually is. "What changed, Father?"

Sephiroth skips a bead on his rosary without even realizing it. "Nothing," he says flatly. "Do you wish to confess or just talk?"

Genesis purses his lips ever so slightly, a bit too amused by it. "And where's the difference?"

"So I know what you want from me - compassion or guidance," Sephiroth answers, relaxes a bit as well after seeing Genesis tense, whatever humorous reply he'd prepared gets lost on his tongue.

"I don't need either."

Sephiroth produces a small shrug. "Then why are you here?"

"Boredom?"

"I don't like to be mocked."

Genesis laughs. "Just because I'm looking for amusement doesn't mean I seek comedy." He leans closer now, something shifting in that face, amusement turning serious then a bit too mocking, but Sephiroth cannot stop and think how this is just a natural state of things for this man. He seems to mean no harm, even though that's exactly what he wants everyone else to think. "And besides, what happened with welcoming everyone? Or was it really Vatican too much**?"

Sephiroth can't but blink, stare deeply into those eyes, and they seem so vile, so angry, so hurt and then again, so much more. "I thought the point of internal jokes was to keep them internal."

Genesis chuckles. "You probably think Angeal breaks his promises, don't you?" he asks with accusation. "I assure you, he does not. At least not intentionally. But I know my dear friend a bit too well."

This piques Sephiroth's interest and he tries to hide it. He fails at it, if the amused look on Genesis' face is to be judged. Then again, he keeps on telling himself, why would he be bothered by curiosity about his friend of so many years? "Yes, I'm rather old school, if that's what you're implying."

"Poor little choir boy who's never seen the real world," Genesis mocks and gets up from his seat. Sephiroth quickly follows, though he has no idea why exactly.

It amuses Genesis to no end, and he shows it as they both exit the small confinement of the confessional.

"What do you want from him?" Sephiroth asks, doesn't bother hiding the acid.

Genesis instantly turns serious to the point of anger. "How dare you?" he spits, it's obvious he's thinking about leaving, but still, he remains right there on the spot.

Sephiroth sighs, closing his eyes. He gives up on holding that one bead without any chance of moving, so he pulls the entire rosary into his palm. "I apologize," he says a bit too quietly. "Please..."

Back to that mocking gaze, lips pursed just enough, Genesis chuckles. "Yes, he told me you're a bit... fiery tempered."

"Angeal?"

"Who else?" Genesis asks a bit too loudly. "Do you think I have a habit of befriending priests or what?" It's enough to make Sephiroth smile. The image itself looks a bit like a mixture of something disturbing and wrong.

"No," Sephiroth says simply. "You don't strike me as the type."

"Is Angeal here?" Genesis asks then, voice surprisingly soft all of a sudden. After a second of thought, Sephiroth nods. "Can I see him?"

"I don't see why not," Sephiroth simply answers. "Follow me."

"Thank you." It's hard to imagine someone like Genesis could sound so sincere.

Notes:

* How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! how art thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations! (Isaiah 14:12 KJV)

** Derogatory term for the Vatican II, sometimes used by the more orthodox priests.