Contains: It's a Leon/Guy flashfic. What do you think it contains? (Which is to say: Adult men engaging in homosexual behavior.)

Word Count: 500. Don't listen to ffn. It's 500.

Disclaimer: I do not own Left Behind or any related characters or settings. I make no money off these writings.

Author's Notes: Oh Hell, I had no idea how much I needed to write something for this fandom again. I know it's only a flashfic, but holy shit that was cathartic. Anyway, enjoy!


Every stroke of the brush had to be flawless. It didn't matter if the people wouldn't notice or even if His Excellency himself wouldn't notice. Guy would notice, and then it would sit in the back of his mind and nag at him until he fixed it. If he didn't fix it, it would slowly drive him mad.

At the end of the day, it wasn't about the people's need to have glorious artwork depicting their deity. It wasn't even about His Excellency's need to be so depicted. It was all about Guy, and his need to depict His Excellency that way. Art work cannot exist for its own sake. Art always exists for the sake of the artist. It is, after all, the artist who decides what it should be, what it means, and what it is. Guy's artwork was always flawless. Guy would have it no other way.

Guy liked it when things were flawless, even if only aesthetically. Sparkling monuments were still sparkling monuments if the blood of a million men was sealed within them. If Guy's clothes fit well, they covered his past. If Guy's make-up was done correctly, it hid his doubts. If Guy's hair looked nice, no one would remember his sins. If Guy's work was pretty, Guy's soul was pretty. He was Dorian Gray and Basil Hallward rolled into one, and no one was the wiser.

Almost no one, anyway. His Excellency knew. The Most High Reverend understood.

Since His Excellency's resurrection, Guy had grown closer to Leonardo Fortunato than he'd have ever thought possible. What had started as a discussion about sculpting had turned into a discussion about clothing which had warped into a discussion of fashion and, somewhere around the time when Fortunato complimented Guy's eyelashes, they both realized that they were thinking the exact same thing, and that it really had very little to do with modern trends.

Fortunato was hiding all of the horror and pain in the world, but he was hiding it beneath fine silk robes and soft dark hair, so it was entirely alright. Guy forgave him, and he forgave Guy for the lifetime of sins and regrets that Guy hid in the back pocket of his designer jeans. Their relationship was nothing if not theatrical, but it was simultaneously the most utterly real relationship Guy had because, if Guy were to be completely honest with himself, all of his relationships were ridiculously theatrical, and at least Fortunato was aware of it.

When their lips brushed, secrets were exchanged. Secrets of murder, lies, sex, and sin the likes of which Guy had never imagined. When their clothing was gone and their hair was ruffled, they had everything to hide and nothing to hide it with. When they slipped back into designer clothes and went their separate ways, they each left with a new set of secrets.

And Guy would hide those new secrets beneath a painting. If the painting was flawless, Guy would walk away flawless.