Chapter Twenty-Three: Sacrament

The four of them eat dinner together in the university cafeteria. Buffet style, everything from Salisbury steak and burgers to curry rice and pasta. Red and white-speckled plastic trays and plates, clear red drinking glasses, white insulated-plastic coffee mugs. Red and white-tiled floors, round red tables with attached circular seating, six to a table.

What an awful lot of red, Jonah ponders, pushing meatloaf and potatoes around listlessly. The white plates, speckled in red, were certainly a choice—they almost look blood-spattered, and it makes Jonah feel a little sick. All of this bathed in tepid fluorescent lighting, the droning buzz of the lights harmonize the mindless chatter of the students around them, the clanging of silverware. Jonah observes the service workers—mostly folks of varying colors but white, in little hairnets and aprons, dressed also in red and white. Jonah wonders how they stand it—all the noise and people. But he supposes it's not as bad for them as it him. At least they can't see the swirling cloud of color vaguely obscuring the room, all different shades of haze further cacophonizing the room, a thrumming cesspool of energy.

Jonah does his best to ignore all the colors, begging his subconscious to just see normally for once. All the colors pulse, ebb and flow like waves within the throb of the medium's hellacious headache.

"Hey, are you okay?" Matthew's tone is worried, his voice muffled through the overstimulated tension in Jonah's head.

"Hmm? Mhm, yeah. I'm fine?"

"Are you sure? You look tense, almost like you're in pain. And you've barely touched your food—"

Jonah sighs, meeting Matthew's concerned gaze, noting that Eric and Wendy have paused in their conversation, also looking at him with expressions of worry.

"I'm sorry, I just…I'm not feeling very well."

Matt takes in the boy's hunched posture, the tension in his shoulders. His troubled, clouded gaze flits briefly around the room, seemingly never resting on his own surroundings for more than a few seconds, staring down at his food.

"Are you feeling…overwhelmed?" Matthew asks, his deep, even voice delivering his insight with alarming accuracy. "It's all the people, isn't it? The noise?"

Jonah nods, a tiny smile quirking his mouth.

"Yes, and yes. It surely is busy in here. I'm just…not used to it, is all. It's been a long time…several decades, of course." Jonah forces a laugh, aiming for lighthearted, achieving pained instead.

Wendy nods sympathetically, while Eric looks around in confusion, as if not realizing a few dozen people in a liminal space qualifies as overwhelming. It didn't really help Jonah's situation that for the past hour, Eric had been grilling him on all things death and clairvoyance, as well as the most random and asinine questions regarding the nineteen twenties one could imagine. Jonah could see the reasons Matthew likes Eric—his exuberance, his extensive knowledge of witchcraft and the paranormal, his positive outlook on death and most religious practices. But Jonah could also imagine Eric could be annoying after a while…especially considering just how exuberant the young man could be.

Matthew downs the rest of his coffee in one go before standing, taking Jonah's hand in his and pulling the medium to his feet. Jonah follows willingly, with a grateful little smile.

"Me and Jo'll be outside, y'all take your time finishing up, alright?"

Matt doesn't wait for an answer, pulling Jonah along, walking rather quickly out of the hall into the parking lot, the sun fading fast behind dormroom towers and campus buildings. The professor gives his partner space, lighting a cigarette for him and handing it over before putting a foot of distance between them, quietly smoking his own cigarette. Jonah is grateful, his eyes closing tiredly around an inhale, his mind slowly clearing with each exhale. With each drag, his headache abates, though it doesn't entirely flee. He'll have to ask Matthew for medication when they get back to Matt's lodgings.

Matt lets Jonah get his cigarette down and half of another before speaking, his voice pitched consideringly low and quiet.

"What's it like, kid? All these people, in this new and bright future?"

Jonah sighs and smiles, rubbing his forehead with a hand.

"It's… it is bright. All the lights, they're…loud, and intense. The people are too. They always are, souls, no matter the time period. I am used to that, it's just been a while. So many souls, everywhere…it's harder to ignore them in these kinds of closed, manufactured environments. All these warm bodies, surrounded by plastic."

"Yeah, I understand exactly…it almost makes them unreal, right? Like they're fake."

"But they aren't, Matthew, they're people like you and me. I can tell, I can see them, you know. What they're like. And most people are good and fine."

"How can you tell they're good? By their aura?"

Jonah nods and smiles, taking another drag from his cigarette.

"Do some of the colors have bad meanings?"

"Some of them, yes. Take my Father, for example. His was gray, sometimes brown."

"And what does that mean?"

"Well, gray indicates a sense of power and control, but sometimes it also means they might be missing something. Looking for something. Brown isn't always negative, but when it is…it usually means a sense of disturbance, a tone of negativity."

Matt whistles low, an ironic smirk taking form on his face.

"Well shit, I'd say that's spot on…what about my colors, Jonah? Are they still the same colors from your drawing? What do they mean?"

"They are the same. At your age, they tend to remain unchanging, unless you enter a very new or different phase of life. Your aura is a bit rare, Matt. You aura is primarily comprised of three colors—dark green, indigo, and silver. Green, when positive, usually indicates someone undergoing growth and prosperity, and indicates a strong emotion of love. When negative, it can convey a sense of pride and jealousy. Indigo or purple always surrounds people who are spiritually aligned and sensitive to energy. Silver is usually attributed to artsy, creative folk. They suit you quite well, Matthew, I must say—"

"That's funny kid…you're responsible for all of them."

That brings Jonah to pause, and brings a blush to his bashful face.

"Ah, no, Matt—"

"What colors was it before? I mean, when we first met?"

"Well, uh….sick? Red, brown, black—"

"Whoa whoa wait, what? You can see auras?" Eric's excited, loud voice interrupts, as he and Wendy come walking up to the couple.

"Yes, I can—"

"Holy fuck, that is so cool dude! What colors are mine, and what do they mean? Please tell me!" Eric gushes, and Jonah laughs awkwardly, simply looking anywhere but the young man.

"Well, it's yellow, a bright yellow, which can mean happiness, exuberance, self-assurance, confidence…people in academia often have yellow auras, since they love to learn, and are pursuing their passions."

"Jesus, wow, haha! That's my least favorite color, what are the odds—"

"What color is mine, Jonah?" Wendy's asks, a soft smile on her face.

"Well, yours is pink, and ringed with gold, meaning you're a loving, caring person with a lot of wisdom, and a good intuition—"

"Wow, kid. You're three for three so far. You're more reliable than a weather radar." Matt supplies, startling a laugh from the medium.

"What color is your own aura, Jo?" Wendy asks.

"Well, um…it's been changing a lot lately, but it's always mostly orange, and purple—"

Matt suddenly remembers the colorful, smudgy sketch Jonah created after realizing Matthew knew about his astral projection. An orange and violet figure, crouched, overwhelmed and screaming, among a sea of twisted, wraith like entities. God, is that what being a medium feels like? Matt suddenly feels a lot less jealous of Jonah's abilities, and a lot more grateful to not be a medium.

"Second sight, then, clairvoyance? And what does the orange mean?"

Jonah's eyes meet Matt's, and the expression of them is one of surprise, and almost fear, as if taken aback by Matt's quick—and correct—assumption.

"Orange…orange is always an indicator of power," the medium mumbles, his expression shifting to one of shame and self-consciousness, "and of very strong metaphysical energy."

"Hmm…four for four, now. I'll have to make sure I always bet on the horse you choose, kid."

Jonah and Wendy stay with Matt and Eric for the night. Their apartment, situated above an antique store on main street, is a quaint, surprisingly tidy little space, all things considered. Apparently, the two of them had been rooming together for several years, before Matthew had departed for Connecticut, and even then, Eric had kept his room untouched, assuming the professor would return to academia eventually.

Eric is faithful like that, and stubborn, especially considering he won his rather heated argument with Wendy over sleeping arrangements. He's currently snoring, his head and legs bent at odd angles over couch arms, a spare blanket thrown haphazardly over him. Wendy seems to have finally caught the brunt of her all nighter, having been the first to turn in, soundlessly and deeply asleep in Eric's mismatched, rumpled bedding.

Jonah finds himself feeling awkward and shy the second Matthew's bedroom door is closed behind them. Matt goes about his business as usual, shucking out of his teaching clothes in favor of sweatpants. Jonah can't help but watch, color slowly rising to his face as he steals fleeting glances at Matthew's bare chest. Matt himself doesn't notice, however, too preoccupied with braiding his hair. It's a loose and messy braid, considering it's too short to pull over his shoulder and braid. He utters a soft sound of frustration, unhappy with it, pulling the hair tie free to start again.

"Matthew, may I?" Jonah steps forward from his awkward hovering by the door, motioning to Matt.

"Jesus, I'm that bad, huh?" Matthew laughs.

But he motions Jonah forward, and sits in a chair by his desk, offering the elastic band to the shy teen, along with a hairbrush. He watches Jonah, reflected in a mirror on the wall, his heart pounding at the expression of warmth and love on the kid's face, as he starts brushing the professor's hair. He's terribly gentle, not even snagging once, picking knots out with careful fingers. He smiles softly, reverently, as he braids, running his hands through Matt's hair. Matt does his best not to shiver, or squirm. Jonah's blessedly quick, and deft, the braid tight and neat, speaking to years of practice. He's finished in no time, and Matthew runs a hand along the braid, turning to the kid with an open expression of appreciation.

"You're good at that…where'd you learn to braid so well?"

"Mother," Jonah replies simply, stepping back, seemingly once again shuttered and shy, "she had very long hair, I used to braid it for her almost every night."

"I should try to reach her sometime, thank her for raising such a beautiful, kind person like you."

Jonah blushes pink, his gaze averting, nodding awkwardly. His posture is stiff, scuffing a Converse-clad shoe on the floor. Matt wonders where this sudden shyness and distance has come from, especially considering the reincarnation's confidence in his office, his forwardness as he'd kissed the life out of Matt.

Matt moves to the bed, getting settled, patting the bed with an eyebrow quirked, doing his best to seem casual and welcoming.

"C'mon honey, you can't go to sleep in your clothes. If you wanna stay up, you can. I won't disturb you."

Jonah's blush deepens and he shakes his head, his gaze flicking to Matt before retreating again. He leans against the door, untying his shoes one at a time, fumbling with the laces. He lines them up neatly by the door. He looks at Matt a final time before quickly pulling his shirt over his head, eyes to the floor.

It's odd, Matt thinks to himself, as he covertly watches the kid unbuckle his belt and shimmy from his new cargo pants, to see him in so few layers. Only one, between Jonah's skin and this newfangled world.

Finally clad in just his drawers, Jonah comes to bed, slinking and slow like a timid feline. Matt covers them both up with his duvet and turns out the bedside lamp, the room cast in the soft, flickering blue haze of the neon sign of the bar across the street. Matt can just barely make out Jonah's form—the long pale line of his back, the rounded curve of his freckled shoulders, his head resting on a pillow.

They lay like that for a long while, silent and unmoving. Jonah seems tense, lying perfectly still, his breathing low but not quite even. Matt does his best to imagine his colors, the aura that must be swirling around him. He'd give anything to see it, to see exactly the shades and tones of it, to monitor how it shifts with the kid's emotions.

"Matthew?" Jonah eventually implores, his voice a tremulous whisper.

"Yes, my love?"

"Why did you leave? Why…why would you, so quickly? And you also blocked the phone number. I didn't even get the chance to apologize for all of the awful things I said to you—"

"I was scared, kid. Absolutely terrified. I spent my whole life building up this idea of you, what I wanted from you, and when I realized I'd forced my…fantasy, onto you, I panicked. And I ran. I always run. And I felt so guilty, so horribly, insanely guilty. I didn't want you to have to speak with me, ever hear from me again, and I didn't want to hear from you—I was terrified of what you'd say, I didn't think I wanted to hear it…I'm so horribly sorry, Jonah, for not being patient with you, for not allowing you any opportunity to speak."

"I understand why you did what you did, but…to be honest, it doesn't make it hurt any less. I was so lost, hopeless and purposeless, without you. But I do think I deserved it, after all of those God-awful things I called you—"

"What, like faggot? And fairy?" Matt laughs a watery laugh, a grin taking form on his tear streaked face.

"Oh Jesus, yes. God, Matthew, I really am stupid. I'm such a damned hypocrite."

"What, a hypocrite? How so?" Matthew murmurs, their faces only inches apart, staring fondly into the eyes of his twin flame.

"Ugh, you idiot…I had feelings for you the whole time, I was just unwilling to entertain those thoughts, or accept them. I was so quick to condemn you, when I myself am a fairy."

Matt chortles, watching the teen's eyes roll, keen to the soft blush dusting his face.

"When did you realize those feelings, Jo? While I was gone? Why did you decide to come find me, to come to reciprocate my love for you?"

Jonah's blush deepens, purple in the blue light, looking embarrassed as he pointedly looks anywhere but at Matt.

"Um, well…I…had a lot of time to think."

"Oh, uh-huh? And those thoughts were?"

Ethereal, timeless eyes close, the teen's face scrunching in sheer mortification.

"They were, ah…lonely thoughts…and they…they were honestly quite damning. Undeniable."

Matt whistles low and smiles, trying to get the kid to open his eyes, trying to convey his acceptance of the confession, and that such thoughts are normal.

"Aw hey now, were they? Did you have some colorful thoughts of me, hmm? Lord knows I've had a few of you—"

Jonah makes a sound like a groan, his face scrunching harder, pink and radiating warmly with his shame.

Matt frowns and takes Jonah's chin in his hand, coaxing the medium's eyes open, catching his gaze with his own. Matt can clearly read the medium's shame and embarrassment, his fear. Love, too, of course, and there—around the edges, a sliver of another emotion, low and brooding.

"So many of you, actually." Matthew continues, "At the most inopportune moments, too, most of the time—"

"Oh, really?" Jonah laughs, his shy smile on the edge of slipping into a smirk. "Like when?"

Matthew sighs, running a hand through Jonah's hair, thumbing along the unfamiliar texture of the shaved sides. "I'm trying to think of any like, really notable settings—"

"Well, when do you usually have such, um—thoughts?"

Jonah, already half-propped up on Matt's chest, leans in even closer, studying the flush blooming across Matt's face with curiosity. Matt clears his throat, deciding that the ceiling is suddenly far more interesting to stare at under the pressure of Jonah's very interested expression.

"Honestly?" Matt mumbles, the tone in his voice making it quite clear that he's fully aware the confession he's about to make is blackmail worthy. "It always happened during church? Every time Mom drug me to church, and the pastor'd start going on about like...sinning and stuff, my mind would wander right off—"

Jonah's laugh is loud, and sudden, jarring in slow, blue blink of the neon sign outside Matt's window.

"Oh my God, Matthew!"

"What? I'd get bored, alright, and all the talk of like Heaven and Hell would get me thinking about you, in general, and then before I knew it, suddenly, I'd be wondering about stupid shit, like—like if you'd ever kissed someone, or if you'd died a virgin, or not; and if not, with who, and how—"

"God, you really were obsessed."

Matthew sighs and rubs his face, clearly embarrassed.

"Still am, obviously."

"I'm honored, my love. Truly."

Matt assumes the topic has been thankfully dropped as minutes of silence pass by, the medium's head resting on Matt's chest.

"So, would you be sitting there in the pew, just—hard, the whole time?"

"Yeah, basically."

"That sounds uncomfortable."

"Well, yeah." Matthew acknowledges. "And pretty difficult to hide…sometimes I'd sneak off to the bathroom during communion to get it out of my system, so I didn't traumatize some poor old lady—"

Jonah's sitting back up, swiveling to look at Matthew, his ice-blue gaze comically wide, mouth parted in shock.

"Oh, come on. I could have done worse."

Jonah can't help but smile. Matt grins back, chuckling to himself.

"Could've snuck into the sacristy instead." He offers.

Jonah just hums in response. His smile is fading slowly, a worried sort of expression furrowing his brows.

Matthew, oblivious, his eyes far away as he continues to entertain his own train of thought.

"Oh!" He exclaims as if he'd just solved a problem. "Shit, I should've snuck into the confessional."

Matthew's laugh masks the hitch in Jonah's breathing. The medium shifts awkwardly, assuming several different postures for only a few seconds each before giving up and rolling over on his side, his back to Matt.

"Hey, you okay?" Matt asks, his voice laced with concern at the sudden shift in Jonah's mood.

"Fine, just tired."

"Shit, did I…did I offend you?"

"No, Matt." Jonah sighs, exasperated. "Everything's fine, I promise, I just…don't really want to talk about church anymore."

Matthew sits up in bed, quietly studying his partner, and his body language, with concern—the way the teen curls further in on himself as he watches. In the sudden, tense silence, the self-confessed sinner can hear each tremulous breath the reincarnation takes, in through the nose and out the mouth, as if trying to calm himself down. One of those breaths hitches, and Jonah presses his hands to his face.

Fuck, is he crying?

Rising to his knees on the bed, he leans over Jonah, half-draped across the medium, to check—

—and it's hard to tell, with his scrunched up little face, beet red as it is.

"Honey?"

Jonah's eyes open, and widen, startled to realize Matthew's this close to him, looking at him.

And when their eyes meet, Matt can see himself reflected in Jonah's blown pupils, just barely edged in a shade of blue far darker than normal.

"Oh, fuck." Matthew breathes. "Something about that got to you."

Jonah's heady gaze fills with shame, before it flits away, determined to avoid the look on Matt's face.

"Fuck you." The medium mumbles.

"It was the confessional bit, wasn't it?"

Jonah doesn't respond, but his blush deepens. It's spreading up to his ears, now.

"Oh, it definitely was—"

"Dry up!" The teen snaps.

"Jonah—do you think it'd be hotter during the service, with all the parishioners outside of the booth, or during a confession? You know, with the priest on the other side of the screen thingy?"

Jonah moves as if to leave the bed entirely, slinging a leg to the floor to stand, mumbling something about sleeping on the living room floor. The sound he makes—an indignant, surprised sort of squawk, as Matt wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him bodily back into bed, is absolutely adorable, if anyone were to ask Matt how he'd describe it.

He manhandles his soulmate to lay on his back and straddles his thighs, trapping the squirming teen underneath him.

"I can help, you know." Matthew offers, giving the mortified medium a smile.

"Help? With what?"

Jonah freezes, his whole body stilling as Matthew palms the obvious bulge between his thighs, tracing the curve of it with the tip of a finger.

"Oh, shit—fuck—"

Jesus Christ, Matt swears internally, taking a deep breath of his own as he drinks in the shocked lust in his lover's gaze, the way that damned bottom lip of his is quivering—

"I would love to take care of you, Jonah." Matt offers, the tone of his voice dead serious. "It'd be an honor."

This startles a laugh out of the conflicted teen, a sudden, nervous exclamation.

"I can't ask you to do that, Matthew, that's—"

"You didn't ask, love, I asked. Can I?"

It's honestly kind of delicious, watching the conflict war in Jonah's eyes, watching the kid consider the possibility of an orgasm by Matthew's hands, lust and embarrassed shame battling for dominance.

"Please?" Matthew adds, more than a little desperate for the opportunity.

Jonah finally nods, a small, timid jerk of his chin up and down.

"Fuck. Jesus Christ—thank you—" the response spills out of Matt in a rush.

Jonah's heart skips a beat at the breathless smile blooming instantly on the man's face. The cancer-survivor heaves a shuddering, relieved sigh. His shoulders sag, as the tension leaves him, his weight settling deeper into the medium's thighs.

"Just, uh…if at any point you want me to stop, just tell me, okay? And if you want me to do something different, let me know—or—fuck, just—whatever you want—"

Matthew leans forward, hovering over Jonah, their faces level. His hair, soft and loose, slips from his shoulders to hang in a curtain around them. Paired with his broad chest, and shoulders, the man is everywhere, all Jonah can see. The medium's breath hitches at their closeness, nerves fluttering up, hot and forceful in his stomach. He swallows, dry and sticky, his head tilting to the side as Matt noses along Jonah's face, his temple, his ear.

A muffled 'thank you' is pressed into the crook of Jonah's neck, so soft and low, Jonah's unsure if he even heard it.

Matthew tilts Jonah to face him with a gentle hand to the boy's jaw, and presses soft, lingering kisses to both cheeks before capturing his pinched, nervous mouth in a chaste kiss. He repeats this cycle of three, over and over again, until Jonah finally begins to relax. The medium smiles gently as Matt kisses his nose, and then his eyelids, sighing as Matthew kisses along his jaw, Jonah's hands resting lax and warm on Matt's chest. Matt tilts his head and travels lower, trailing kisses down Jonah's neck, pausing in the sweet, tender crook of it, pressing a lingering kiss there, and Jonah's breath hitches.

Dear Gods above.

He captures his mouth then, gaining access easily, sliping along wetly, coaxing Jonah's tongue into a rhythm. It's a slow dance, nothing at all like the heady kiss they shared in Matt's office, but Jonah is already breathing raggedly, his hands curling into fists. Matt can feel him swelling against him, growing hotter.

Matt keeps him locked into the kiss as his hands travel, caressing his shoulders, his collarbones. He runs his palms down Jonah's sides, and the kid squirms, the noise he makes disappearing into Matt's mouth, whisked away by the slick press of his tongue. His hands are so warm, and rough, the texture of his scarring scraping along Jonah's skin. Jonah feels like he's on fire again, engulfed in flames by Matthew just touching him.

Oh, goodness, oh no—his mind reels, unable to form a coherent thought as Matt's broad grip encircles his hips, kneading into the bones there, still kissing him slow and deep. Jonah's hips roll once, mindlessly, seeking friction against Matthew, a high-pitched gasp escaping him.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh no—

Matt presses back firmly, as if meeting Jonah's insistence, his hands migrating to undo the buttons of Jonah's drawers, one by kiss breaks, as Matt wriggles the garment down and off. Jonah uses this opportunity to hide his face in his chest, absolutely mortified. He listens to Matthew's heartbeat, fast and strong, pounding for him, his soulmate's breathing just as ragged as his own. Jonah gasps, one of his hands darting out to wrap around one of Matt's wrists, as the man spreads Jonah's thighs, slotting one of his own between them.

"You okay? This okay?" Matt asks, his voice low and rough with want. Jonah nods, whispering out a yes.

Matthew captures Jonah into another kiss, just to taste that little yes for himself. What starts as a slow, languid exploration at first, quite quickly devolves into a more needy exchange. The teen squirms underneath him, and Matt sinks his teeth into a bottom lip, trying to get the kid to stay still—

Jonah's hips buck, and Matt groans, almost a growl, deep and low, as he feels precum smear wetly along his thigh. Jonah makes a needy little sound, his hands flying up to clench Matthew's forearms instead, seemingly trying to push him away and pull him closer all at once.

Matt sits up, bracing his hands on Jonah's chest, using the opportunity to thumb the vessel's nipples, already pebbling to attention. He rubs them in firm circles, and Jonah throbs hot against his thigh, dribbling clear fluid. Jonah's hips roll once, the medium hissing at the friction. Matthew wraps his hand around them, pointy little hipbones nestling into his palms, doing his best to urge and guide him along. A steady pace is finally established, Jonah's hips finally rolling of their own accord, over and over, the friction eased and the sensation heightened by Jonah's own precum. The conduit lolls forward bonelessly, his grip on Matt's forearms tight, as he frots along Matthew's thigh. His expression is dazed, his half-lidded eyes looking down, hazily watching as his cock and his nipples are stimulated. Surprised sounds of pleasure escape his slack, parted mouth. Mathew watches him watch, plucking the pink buds with his nails, just to see—and hear—his lover's reaction.

Absolutely fucking delicious.

Matt dips his head to capture one of the warm, puffy nipples with his teeth, biting down, tugging, and the boy keens, squirming, crying out into the still night.

"Shhh—baby—we have to be quiet, alright?"

Jonah whimpers, one of his trembling hands flying up to cover his own mouth. He's gone still, the boy's languid, mindless frotting against Matt's thigh has ceased, as if scared to go too far, to make too much noise.

Well, that simply won't do.

Jonah pants a muffled huhnnn! against his own palm as Matthew finally takes his cock directly in hand, a deep sound originating from somewhere in the medium's soul. Jonah's eyes, dull with lust moments before, flash bright with an emotion his partner thinks could be panic.

"Is this still okay? We can stop if you want—"

Jonah shakes his head, the hand covering his mouth returning to grip Matt's arm, wet with spit.

"No," he whispers,"please don't."

Matt frowns, concerned by the way the medium refuses to look him in the eye. Leaning forward, he presses his forehead to Jonah's, an action that earns him immediate, direct eye contact. Searching the limitless, crystalline blue for a single shred of something wrong, Matthew comes up empty.

"Why won't you look at me, baby? What's wrong?"

"It's…it's just embarrasing, Matthew, fuck—"

"Oh?" The necromancer laughs in relief. "Is that all?"

Jonah groans, low and deep, as Mathew strokes him once from tip to root, slow and firm, using Jonah's own slick to ease the way.

"It's just me." Matt says, leaning down completely, his chest pressed flat to Jonah's, his face hidden in Jonah's shoulder. The man's hand, wrapped firm in a firm fist around Jonah's cock, trapped between their bodies, establishes a steady rhythm.

The medium is gasping, gripping Matthew hard enough to bruise, biting his lip to try and stem the flow of broken sounds he seems unable to contain. He's dripping steadily now, his hips bunting against Matt's fist. Jonah tosses his head to the side, burying his face into the side of Matthew's, and fuck—fuck, Matthew smells like he always does—smells like home—

"Matthew!" The reincarnation wails, his hips stuttering.

Matthew pulls back just enough to watch, entranced by the image of Jonah haltingly fucking into his fist, the swollen head of his cock blood-red and leaking a puddle onto the medium's own stomach.

"God, you're so close, honey—just a little bit more—"

Jonah shivers hard, shaking his head from side to side. His pace quickens mindlessly, tears pricking at the corners of his unseeing eyes, his eyelids fluttering, too far gone now to even notice Matt watching him intently, so close their noses almost brush.

"There we go, that's it." Matthew breathes.

He tilts Jonah's face up by his chin so he can lick the drool that runs in a trickle from his fixation's slack mouth and down his neck. Jonah's trembling, the litany of quiet, mindless little noises escaping him almost drowned out by the slick click, click, click of Jonah's member Matthew's grip

The only warning Matt is given is Jonah's thighs tensing, and his hand on the boy's chin rushes to cover his mouth, slipping his thumb inside to further muffle the medium. Jonah's eyes roll back in his head and he bites down hard, locking up in Matthew's grip as he succumbs to the onslaught, spilling warmth between. Wave after wave engulfs the teen, each one apparent in the steady throb of his softening erection, the rhythmic tensing of his milky thighs pressed around either side of Matt's. The devotee hums, deep in his throat, as Jonah finally unlocks and goes limp, his jaw releasing.

Jonah's eyes flutter shut in seconds, languidly sucking Matthew's thumb for the briefest of seconds, mumbling something unintelligible, before his mouth goes slack. He's gone already, unconscious from the force of his release, his body a warm, dead weight. Matt pulls his thumb free, studying the wound—the witch broke skin, red-crescent teeth marks, a smear of blood near the corner of his soft little mouth. Stricken, the occultist leans down to clean it away with his tongue.

Matthew's very own communion, tasting of blood and drool and forgiveness. Like love, and want, and need.

Matthew recites a sacrament prayer in his head as he takes his erection in hand, shoving his boxers out of the way. He buries his face against Jonah's skull, breathing in his scent with a groan, establishing a rough pace. It doesn't take long at all, his devotional, accompanied by the sounds Jonah had made, how he'd looked, as well, emblazoned forever in Matt's hippocampus. He spills against Jonah's bare skin, the taste of blood in his mouth. The sleeping teen doesn't stir.