Fic: Make Something Of Me, part 2/2
Title: Make Something Of Me
Author: gmth
Pairing: Drake Parker/Josh Nichols
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 17,500
Disclaimer: Everything here belongs to other people and I'm playing with it without their permission.
Summary: Josh is a priest with just one weakness. Unfortunately, it's a big one.
Warning: AU/AR. Drake and Josh are not stepbrothers in this fic. Contains adult concepts and language. Includes religious themes and concepts some may find offensive or blasphemous. I researched Catholic rituals as best I could, but there's a possibility I missed a few things; I also did a few things deliberately to suit the plot. No disrespect toward Catholicism or Christianity in general is intended.
Author's note: HUGE thanks to lilysaid for the plot bunny and for her kind indulgence in doing reality check/beta duty while I was writing this. Crossposted.
Part 1
St. Jude's isn't air conditioned, so the congregation tends to dwindle during the summer months. This is especially true on days like this, when a muggy Saturday evening follows a hot Saturday afternoon, and most of the pews are empty when Josh enters the nave and begins his slow march toward the altar. The rest are sparsely populated with either elderly, white-haired couples vainly waving their bulletins in their faces to stave off the heat, or young families with children whose behavior can't be trusted in the bigger crowds of a Sunday morning.
Which is why Josh spots Drake the moment he steps through the door. He stands out like a sore thumb.
The sight of him sends a dizzying surge of adrenaline through Josh's belly. It's been three weeks since that night at the club, three long weeks spent ricocheting from hope to anguish and back again, punctuated by memories of Drake's bare torso that created an urgent, overwhelming need so sharp it was sometimes difficult to breathe. Yet, Josh realizes that was nothing -- nothing -- to the way seeing Drake again makes him feel now. He wants to rip the shirt off Drake's back and do all the things he's been imagining right here in front of the whole congregation. He wants to turn and run screaming into his office and lock the door tightly shut behind him. The violence of his own conflicting reactions terrifies him. He's sorry now he didn't offer to give Drake Communion in private. He has no idea how he's going to get through this service with his sanity intact.
Focus. That's what they taught him in seminary. Focus. There's no room for anything in your thoughts during mass but Jesus the Christ. Everything else is extraneous. Blasphemous. Look to no other and for nothing else.
That seemed so easy when he was sitting in the classroom, Josh thinks as he steps behind the altar on a newborn colt's legs. So right. But it was all just theory, he realizes now, easy to spout but not always so easy to apply. This is real, and Josh has never before appreciated how quickly even that kind of deeply ingrained lesson can go up in smoke in the face of such blind, consuming want.
Still, he tries. He really does. He keeps his eye on his prayer book for most of the service. When he's forced to look up, he focuses on the empty choir balcony over the congregation's heads. He almost manages to convince himself Drake is just another member of his flock, albeit one who doesn't attend services very often. But the façade can only go so far. Josh has never been so acutely aware of a single person in the congregation before. His attention is diverted each time Drake scratches his nose or clears his throat. He hears nothing but Drake's voice during the hymns. When Drake yawns during the homily, Josh feels like he's been slapped. By the time he's ready to begin preparing the gifts, he's running on pure strength of will alone.
"The Body of Christ."
One by one, the communicants shuffle forward and take their places on their knees around the altar railing. Josh makes his way slowly down the line, offering the host to each in turn, and when the last of them has received they rise as one and move off to make room for the next group.
"The Body of Christ."
This time, the ritual brings none of its usual comfort. Drake is the last one in line; when his turn comes there's only a small number of other communicants left with him. He kneels directly in front of the altar and bows his head to wait. Josh prays Drake will elect to receive the host in his hands, as the woman kneeling next to him does, but this is yet another prayer that goes unheard.
"Th -- the Body of Christ."
Drake raises his head slowly, tilting it back so his bangs slide tantalizingly off his forehead, and opens his mouth. Josh's skin grows slippery with a sudden burst of cold sweat that makes his vestments feel like they're made of burlap. Blood roars in his ears as he leans forward, far lower than he ever has with a communicant before, as though to claim that open mouth, the parted lips and glistening tongue. At the last moment he catches himself and pulls back, heart thudding against his ribs, and jerks the hand holding the host toward Drake's mouth, instead. But something's wrong with his arm. It feels like it's made of metal covered in rust so thick it's nearly immobilized. He's moving in slow motion, and it seems to take a very long time before he can feel the warmth of Drake's breath on the back of his hand. Drake looks up as Josh deposits the host on the middle of his tongue; their eyes meet, and Josh knows he is lost. He lets his fingers linger in the moist heat of Drake's mouth, fighting the urge to cup Drake's chin, to brush his fingers up along Drake's cheekbone and through his hair to the back of his head, to pull that amazing mouth forward to the agonizing erection now barely hidden by the volume of his robes, and it's the hardest struggle he's yet had to face. Drake blinks and closes his mouth, swallowing audibly, and the spell is broken, but Josh knows in the instant just before it breaks that he and Drake were thinking the same thing.
"Amen," Drake whispers.
Josh stands in the narthex after mass, shaking hands with the congregants as they file past, but it feels like he's only playing the part of the devout priest now. Drake's expression is blank as he exits, tugging at his tie to loosen it. "Thanks for coming," Josh says lamely, cringing inside at the poor choice of words. "We would normally have had a little welcome ceremony for a new member, but I didn't realize you'd be here tonight."
"No problem," Drake replies. "I didn't really realize it myself. It was a spur of the moment kind of thing."
"We should probably have a talk," Josh says, lowering his voice. "About the job, I mean."
"Yeah, sure." Drake licks his lips and it shoots straight to Josh's groin. "We could have dinner at my place, talk afterward. That work for you?"
He should refuse, he knows he should refuse. They should meet here, in Josh's office, or at the very least in a crowded diner with bad food so they can complain about the weak coffee and soggy French fries and actually have a discussion about the job. The last thing he should ever think about doing is being alone with Drake, especially after what just happened to him, what he thinks just happened between the two of them. This is the worst idea in the history of bad ideas. There's really only one answer to Drake's question.
"Okay," Josh says, nodding. "That sounds great."
***
The afternoon goes badly. First Josh gets a ninety-minute phone call from the president of the church council about something trivial that doesn't even need to be dealt with until next month. Then he learns Mrs. Galloway has taken a turn for the worse and he has to rush out to the hospital to perform last rites. By the time he's finished it's already past six, and he can see the traffic backing up through the hospital room window. It's too late to get back to the rectory to change, unless he wants to risk being late. Which he doesn't. He'll just have to go to Drake's wearing his collar.
Drake's apartment is on the fourth floor of a building with a busted elevator. The temperature seems to climb ten degrees with every flight of stairs, and Josh is already sweating by the time he reaches the landing. The doorbell to Drake's apartment rings with a hollow clunk. There's a rush of pounding footsteps on the other side, and then the door is jerked open so suddenly Josh jumps back in surprise.
"Hi!"
"Oh, hey Alex," Josh says warmly, smiling. "You startled me."
The little boy's face and chest are red with sunburn, and a beach towel is draped over one bare shoulder, trailing to the ground. "Sorry 'bout that. Uncle Drake said I could open the door."
"Who's there, Alex?" a woman's voice calls. Josh feels himself grow stiff with shock as the dark-haired woman Drake hugged at the club walks into the room dressed in a purple bikini, rubbing at her damp hair with a towel that matches Alex's. "Hi," she says when she sees Josh. Her eyes flash to his neck and a small crinkle appears between her brows. "Can I help you?" Her voice is wary as she tosses the towel on to a nearby chair.
Shit. He'd nearly forgotten this woman even existed. He certainly never expected to see her here tonight. "Um, I'm here to see Drake," he says. It's a statement, but it comes out sounding like a question.
She moves closer to Alex and puts her hands on his shoulders. "Is something wrong?" she asks, drawing the boy closer to herself. "Did something happen?"
"Oh, no," Josh says quickly. "I --" Does she live here? Was I completely wrong about what I thought was going on? "It's nothing like that. I'm a friend of his."
"Hi, Father." Drake appears at the woman's elbow and pulls her and Alex out of the way so Josh can get by. "C'mon in."
Josh takes a hesitant step toward the door. Maybe this is a good thing. What did I really think was going to happen here to--
"I see you've met my sister."
"Your sister." Josh suddenly feels like a hundred-pound weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He takes his first deep breath in what seems like days. Oh, thank God. Thank you, God. He saunters inside and closes the door.
"I'm Megan," she says, giving Josh a friendly nod.
"This is Father Nichols," Drake says.
"Call me Josh." It seems to have become his mantra.
Megan's eyes narrow sharply. "You're Josh?" She turns to Drake. "This is Josh?" Drake shrugs his shoulders and Megan's lips curl into a nasty smile that makes an unpleasant shiver crawl down Josh's spine. "Nice to meet you, Father," she says, offering her hand, and for an instant Josh feels like he should check her palm for a joy buzzer before taking it. "Drake's told me a lot about you."
"So, Megan and Alex came over to use the pool," Drake cuts in quickly. "But they're leaving now, right, Megan?"
"Oh, I don't know," she replies with an airy lilt to her voice. She appears to be enjoying Drake's uneasiness. "I'd kind of like to get to know your friend here a little better."
"Yeah, I don't think so," Drake says. "We've got something to talk about, so why don't you just get your stuff and take off now."
"Fine," Megan says petulantly. "Come on, Alex. Go get your bag."
"Mom said we can go to McDonald's for dinner," Alex announces a few minutes later, skipping across the room to throw his arms around Drake's legs. "The one with the big playground."
Drake picks the boy up and gives him a hug. "That's great, buddy! You have a good time, okay? Go down the slide a few times for me."
Megan, now wearing flip-flops and a long T-shirt knotted at the hip, leans in to buss Drake on the cheek. "I'll call you tomorrow," she says, giving him a meaningful look as Drake sets Alex on his feet.
"Yeah, yeah. Not too early, okay?"
"So, what's that mean, not before sundown?"
"Would you just get out of here?"
"We're gone." She gives Josh another of those sinister smiles. "Have fun."
"Here we go," Drake says, chivvying her and Alex along with a firm push toward the door. "Nice to see you, sis. Say hi to Mom for me. See you later, Alex!" He breathes a sigh of relief once the door is closed behind them.
The apartment seems strangely quiet once they are gone. "Sorry about that," Drake says. "They were supposed to leave ages ago, but Alex was having a really good time in the water and we both kind of spoil him."
"She seems...nice," Josh replies.
Drake snorts. "She's got her moments. Not many, but a few."
"You two close?"
"We are now. We weren't at all when we were kids, but after her husband took off I started helping out with Alex more, and me and Megan started getting along better."
"I -- I thought she was your girlfriend."
"Megan?" Drake's expression is half amused, half confused.
"Yeah. I saw you with her that night at the club, and I thought she was your girlfriend."
Drake laughs. "Oh, no. Wow, wait 'til I tell her that. No, man. I don't even have a girlfriend right now."
"Oh." A frisson of excitement makes Josh's stomach flutter. "Well, hey, don't sweat it," he says, grinning. "Neither do I."
***
"And that was when things started to get really weird."
Three hours, four tacos, and five beers after Megan leaves, Josh is feeling very mellow. He was right, Drake is fun to be with. They've been talking non-stop, with no awkward pauses in the conversation, no struggling to figure out what to say next. Josh sits spellbound for over an hour as Drake spins wild tales about his days as a back-up guitarist on a Zero Gravity tour (some of which Josh strongly suspects are embellished, but what the hell; a good story is a good story). Drake, in return, snickers in all the right places during Josh's far tamer stories about his father and his parishioners. No one's ever seemed interested before, and Josh can't remember the last time he's laughed so much. It's the best time he's had in years.
"Weirder than the thing with the girl in the cat suit and the guacamole dip?" Josh says, and Drake nods and laughs. "No way."
But it's starting to get late now, and they're both slowing down. With a yawn, Drake turns the stereo off and flops back sideways in the recliner with a guitar across his lap, legs dangling over the arm of the chair. As he picks out a tune, Josh props his stocking feet up on the coffee table and lets his eyes fall shut to listen, clutching a sweating beer bottle to his chest. With his eyes closed, his head feels lighter, his body less solid. He recognizes the tune as one Drake plays at Slim's, and in his mind's eye he can see Drake standing on the stage with the light shining down from above, tapping his foot so the guitar bounces gently against his crotch...
He cracks one eye open. Drake is looking back him, his eyes hooded slits, his lips parted ever so slightly, and Josh's skin grows prickly-hot with anticipation.
"Hey," he says, his voice as rough as a rake sorting gravel. "I thought you were gonna teach me how to play one of those."
Drake's hands still in mid-chord. "You really want to learn?"
Josh's mouth is bone dry, and he's not sure he can manage a verbal response. Instead, he beckons Drake closer with a twitch of his head, patting the cushion next to him with his free hand as he sets his beer down on the table. Drake swings his legs over the side of the chair and stands up, guitar hanging low at his side, and pads over to where Josh is sitting. He stands over Josh for a moment, looking down at him, and he seems all over tense, as though waiting for a signal. From the corner of his eye Josh can see the outline of Drake's cock through his jeans. He digs his nails into the cushion.
"Sit down," he murmurs. Drake hands him the guitar as he moves to obey, but Josh props it against the couch on his other side. As Drake bends his knees in preparation to sit, Josh straightens up as far as he can, lifting both hands to cradle Drake's jaw line in his palms. He draws Drake's head down toward his and Drake comes willingly, quickly, as though he's falling, and before he's fully settled on the couch his mouth is open and wet and moving against Josh's in a kiss so urgent it feels far more like a demand than a request.
Drake releases a shuddering stream of air through his nose, turning his upper body so he's pressed against Josh's chest. His tongue sweeps through Josh's mouth, leaving him dazed, and Josh chases it with his own as it retreats, impatient to taste it again. His hair is soft between Josh's fingers, his skin warm and stubbled and smelling of pool water and beer. He slips his arms around Drake's waist and pulls him closer as Drake's hand starts to move on his chest, stroking lazy circles that drift lower with each pass. He tenses when the hand presses beyond his belly to his upper thigh, moaning softly into Drake's mouth as Drake's fingers sketch patterns on his leg just a hair's breadth from his erection.
Please, Josh prays silently. Please. A moment later, his prayer is answered when he shifts his hips and Drake's palm smoothes across the head of his cock, back and forth, back and forth, again and again, then slowly presses down its length. Josh shudders and drops one hand between Drake's legs, fingers slipping on the faded denim as he tries to mirror Drake's movements. Drake's hand is warm and his touch is firm, and Josh can feel the pulse of the caress all over his body at the same time. Damn. It feels so right. Why in God's name did it take so long for them to get to this point?
"Jesus," Drake whispers hotly against Josh's lips, squeezing his fingers together. "You're fucking amazing."
Josh's eyes fly open as he hears a sound inside his head like the screech of a needle dragging across a record. What is he doing? What on Earth is he doing? He gives Drake a violent shove and holds one shaking hand up between them. His fingers are still tingling. "Stop."
Drake looks as startled as though Josh had just drawn a gun. "What?"
"Just stop. Okay? Stop."
"What's the matter?"
"I can't do this."
"Josh --"
"No." Josh roots around on the floor by the coffee table, trying to find his shoes. His stomach feels like an Olympic gymnast doing a complicated routine on the uneven bars.
"I thought everything was cool," Drake says. His face has no color in it at all.
"I can't do this," Josh says again, his voice sounding choked. "I'm sorry." At last, his shoes. He yanks them on and bolts to his feet. Drake calls his name a few more times as he staggers through the door and down the stairs, but he doesn't bother to answer. There's nothing more to be said, and he's afraid if he opens his mouth he might cry, or vomit, or both.
Either way, he's determined it's not going to happen until he's outside. Alone.
***
The intercom buzzes and the fountain pen skips, leaving a blob of ink on Tori and Thornton's wedding certificate. "Drake Parker's calling again, Father," the secretary says. "Line one. Do you want to talk to him?"
Josh sighs as he presses the reply button. This is the fourth time Drake has called in as many days. "No."
"What do you want me to tell him this time?"
Tell him I died. Tell him I left the country.
Tell him I'm scared I won't be able to stop myself if I ever see him again.
"Just tell him I'm not available," he snaps, crumpling the ruined certificate and tossing it in the garbage can.
***
The confessional is stiflingly hot. Josh wipes away the sweat on the back of his neck, willing time to go faster. A small fan on the floor oscillates back and forth with a high-pitched squeal that sets Josh's teeth on edge, but it provides almost no relief. It only manages to blow the hot air around. There have been few penitents so far this morning. Everyone else must either be on vacation or hoping God will forgive them for skipping confession in the middle of a heat wave. One more hour, and Josh can escape to the rectory for a cool shower that will solve more than one of his problems.
Muffled footsteps sound outside the confessional as someone approaches. Shadows appear on the wall next to Josh, then disappear again as the penitent pulls the curtain back in to place. Josh sits up straighter and waits.
"Uh... hello?"
Josh's heart skips a beat. Oh, dear God, no.
"Josh?"
Josh doesn't respond. He can't believe this is happening.
"Josh, I know you're in there."
He swallows past an unpleasant-tasting lump in the back of his throat. "What are you doing here?" he wheezes.
"You wouldn't return my calls," Drake says. "I didn't know how else to get in touch with you."
"Did it ever occur to you I wasn't returning your calls because I don't want to talk to you?"
"Yeah. That's why I came here, where you don't have a choice." There's an edge to Drake's voice, as though he's trying to control his emotions and having a difficult time of it. "We have to talk."
"Well, we can't do it here. Anyone could show up and overhear us." The mere thought of it makes Josh's palms damp.
"Relax. I've been sitting in the parking lot for forty-five minutes. There isn't a soul within miles of this place."
Josh realizes he's flattened himself against the back wall of the confessional, trying to get as far away from Drake as possible. He forces himself to relax and inch forward on the bench. He's glad there's a wall between them. It makes things a whole lot easier.
"Josh? You still there?"
"What do you want?"
There's a long silence. "We -- we never talked about the job."
Josh gives a hollow laugh. "That's not going to happen."
"I figured." Drake sounds defeated now, and a pang of regret pokes Josh in the stomach. He knows Drake needs the money, and he feels like he's promised a piece of candy to a child and then yanked it away when the child tried to reach for it.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, so softly he's not even sure Drake can hear him. "I don't think I could --" He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to center himself, but his mind flashes to the memory of Drake touching him, stroking him, the way Drake's mouth tasted...
Horrified, Josh jerks himself out of the daydream. In the confessional, for God's sake? No, no, this is no good. No good at all. And if Drake took the job, this is what it would be like every single day.
"It's not going to happen," he says again, more loudly this time. "Is that all you wanted to talk about?"
"Well, no. I also wanted to talk to you about what happened the other night at my -- "
"No."
"Josh -- "
"No."
"C'mon, man. This could be important."
"We are not going to go there. Not now. Not ever. And definitely not in here."
"Then I want to confess."
"No, you don't."
"Yeah, I really do. You gonna turn me away?"
Josh worries his bottom lip. If Drake truly wants to confess, he's obligated to listen and offer him absolution. Scrubbing his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand, he says, "All right. But if we're going to do this, we're going to do it right. Do you remember what to do?"
"Yes," Drake says sullenly. "Okay. Um. Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It's been, like... God, I don't know. Fifteen years since my last confession."
Josh frowns. "Fifteen years? So you lied to me?"
Drake clears his throat. "Well, technically, it's not lying if I never actually said I went to confession, right?"
"That's not the point. You were supposed to confess before you received Communion. Why didn't you do it?"
Another long pause. The sound of the fan sets Josh's teeth on edge, and he wants to punt the thing across the sanctuary.
"I couldn't," Drake says at last.
"You couldn't." Josh struggles to keep the frustration out of his voice and fails.
"I just couldn't, okay?"
"Why not?"
"Because." The kneeler on the other side of the wall creaks as Drake shifts his weight and blows out a long puff of air. "Because there are certain things you just can't say to a priest, all right?"
"That's not true!" Josh says vehemently, leaning so close to the screen the tip of his nose nearly brushes against it. "You can say anything to a priest in confession."
"Yeah? Really? Anything?" Drake gets so close to his side of the screen Josh can feel Drake's breath on his face. His voice drops to a whisper. "What if I was to tell you I can't stop thinking about you? What if I said I lie in bed at night, and I can't sleep because all I can think about is how much I want to suck your cock?"
Josh rears back with a gasp of shock. "We -- we can't have this conversation in here."
"You just said I could tell you anything," Drake retorts. "This is the only place we can have it, because I have to tell the truth and you have to listen." He places his palms flat on his side of the screen as though he's trying to reach through and touch Josh. "I want to be with you, man. I need to be with you. And I know you're a priest and I know it's fucking impossible, but we were so close the other night. If I had just kept my mouth shut, I could have been fucking you all night long."
Josh feels the way he imagines the Apostles must have felt when confronted by the risen Christ. His head is swimming with the heat, and a sudden rush of nausea nearly overwhelms him. He can see the shadows that are Drake's hands pressing on the screen. He bows his head and two dark spots appear near his knees as something drips from his face. He's not sure if they're sweat drops or teardrops.
His cock is so hard it aches.
"Josh?"
Josh shakes his head, even though he knows Drake can't see him. "No."
"Josh. Please."
"Just go. Now. Okay?"
The shadows disappear as Drake drops his hands. "You sure that's what you want?"
No. No, it isn't. It's not what I want at all! Josh clamps his teeth together to keep himself from shouting the words aloud. Somehow or another, he manages to keep his silence. A few moments later, the kneeler creaks again as Drake gets to his feet.
"You know where to find me if you change your mind, man."
***
The rest of the hour seems to last for a week. Josh sits in the dark of the confessional with his head against the wall, his clothes tacky against his sweaty skin, and carefully wills his mind blank. He sits as rigidly as a statue, trying not to move and create more agonizing friction against his erection, and once it subsides it's easier to pretend the scene with Drake never happened if he focuses all his energy on something else. It's quiet enough in the church that he can hear the grandfather clock in his office chiming at the top of the hour, and with a sigh of relief he comes back to life and bends to silence the fan at his feet.
"Am I too late?"
Josh stiffens with his hand halfway to the controls. A cold shiver creeps over his skin, an odd contradiction to the heat that makes him break out in goosebumps.
"Father?" the Mystery Boy says. "You there?"
"Yes," Josh replies. "But I was just about to leave. I have something else I have to take care of."
"Please. I need your help. I messed up bad this time, and I'm scared. Really scared."
"What happened?" Josh asks, heart sinking and stomach rising at the same time. He thinks he knows what the Boy is going to say, and he's not sure he can handle hearing it, not now, not so soon after what happened with Drake.
"Um, well, okay. Bless me, Father, for I have --"
"Just get on with it!"
He can hear the Boy's gasp of surprise. "Okay, okay, I --" He swallows so loudly Josh can hear it through the screen. "Father, I had sex with that guy from my school. Real sex this time, not just the fooling around stuff we did before. I mean, he actually put his --"
"I don't need to know the details," Josh says through gritted teeth. He's shaking with something he tries to tell himself is anger, but it feels more like the pressure building up behind a dam about to burst.
"I'm sorry. The thing is... I -- I liked it. A lot."
Josh screws his eyes shut. He'd liked it, too. God help him, he'd loved the way Drake's hands had felt on him. A flare of envy tears through him that the Boy was able to go farther, get more of what Josh had been craving than he could ever dare allow himself. It isn't fair, dammit. It just isn't fair.
"It was amazing," the Boy says, and Josh finds himself nodding in agreement, eyes still shut tight. "At least, I thought it was at the time. But now, I can't live with the guilt any more. I tried to pray it away like you told me last time, but I -- I guess I'm just... too weak."
Josh's face feels like it's glowing neon red. Drake had kissed him, and touched him, and wanted to suck his cock, and God, he wants that, too. More than he can ever remember wanting anything in his life. If it's weakness to want to give in to that impulse, then he's weak, but sweet Jesus, it feels like the hardest decision he's ever had to make.
"I'm afraid I'm going to go to Hell," the Boy whispers. "You've got to help me. God will never forgive me if you don't."
Josh claws at front of his shirt and yanks his collar loose. It feels like it's strangling him. "I can't help you," he says, hurling it to the floor. I can't even help myself. "No one can help you, all right? No one." His voice is uncharacteristically stern, and he knows the Boy will interpret it as a rebuke, but he's no longer able to care. The pressure is only moments from boiling over now, and he needs to release it more than he needs to help the Boy ease the guilt a more forgiving God would never have required him to feel in the first place.
"But Father," the Boy says, his voice rising shrilly, "I --"
"No one," Josh says again, rising to his feet. He grinds the collar beneath the heel of his shoe and lurches through the confessional door before the Boy can say another word.
***
Looking back on it later, Josh will never be able to remember driving to Drake's apartment. He remembers getting in the car and he remembers getting out of the car, but has no recall of what happened in between. He doesn't remember walking up the stairs. He doesn't remember ringing the doorbell. But he will never forget the look on Drake's face when he opens the door and sees Josh standing there.
"Can I come in?" Josh says, breathless from the climb.
Drake opens the door wider by way of an answer, and Josh pushes past him into the apartment.
"Drake, I --"
"Look, man," Drake says, shutting the door behind him. "It's not that I'm not glad to see you, okay? But if you just came over here to get me all worked up and then leave again before anything else can happen, I'm really not -- "
Josh isn't listening. He sees Drake's lips moving, he hears the sounds coming out of his mouth, but they have no more meaning to him than the squeal of the fan in the confessional. He strides forward, bumping Drake backwards until his back is against the door, and bows his head to crush his lips to Drake's in a frantic kiss. Drake freezes for only a second, then arches his body away from the door so Josh can feel every inch of him from chest to knees, running his hands down Josh's sides to his hips, digging his fingers into Josh's hipbones in a way that under other circumstances might tickle but now makes him grunt into Drake's open mouth. His fingers twist in Drake's hair.
"You sure about this?" Drake murmurs, pulling away so abruptly the back of his head smacks the door. His lips are already swelling. Josh leans in to him, grinding his pelvis against Drake's so he can feel the heat of his erection.
"That answer your question?" he whispers.
Drake responds with a sigh that sounds like a growl, and dives back in for another greedy kiss. He pushes Josh backward, tugging the hem of his shirt free of his pants, and they take a few tentative steps away from the door in the direction of what Josh assumes is the bedroom. Their progress is slow and uneven because neither wants to break the kiss, and when their teeth clack together painfully for the third time Drake twists his head away.
"Fuck this," he says, toying with Josh's belt buckle. "I can't wait."
As he tugs the belt free of its loops, a sudden wave of doubt washes over Josh. "I -- I don't..."
Drake's expression hardens as he flings the belt to the floor. "What? I told you, Josh, don't do this to me, man."
"No, no, I didn't mean it like that," Josh says softly, raising one hand to brush the pad of his thumb along Drake's cheekbone. "I just -- I've never done this." He can feel his face getting warm. "I'm not really sure what to do."
Drake smiles. It's a different smile than his usual one. It doesn't light up his whole face. It makes him look like a cat that has happened upon a bowl of cream and can't wait to start lapping it up. The sight of it sends a thrill of arousal rolling through Josh's stomach. "Relax," Drake says, manipulating the button on Josh's pants. "I'll take good care of you." He slides the zipper down and hooks his thumbs inside the waistband of Josh's boxers. "I promise."
He eases the clothing past Josh's hips, dropping to his knees when it falls to the floor so he can remove Josh's shoes and socks. Josh fights the urge to cover his exposed cock with his hands, then forgets modesty altogether when Drake gives the head a swift lick as he's tossing Josh's clothes over his shoulder. Josh's erection is standing out through the open halves of his shirttail, and Drake pushes the shirt up over Josh's stomach so it's out of the way. "Hold this," he whispers, flapping the shirt against Josh's belly, and Josh obeys with a trembling hand. His knees are shaking, and he's not sure if they can hold his weight much longer.
Drake shuffles forward on his knees and wraps his fingers around Josh's cock, stroking along the length of it with a gentle touch that makes Josh twitch. "Relax," Drake says again, encircling the base of Josh's cock with his thumb and forefinger. "You're gonna like this. We both are."
Josh holds his breath as Drake opens his mouth. He taps the underside of Josh's cock against his outstretched tongue, then rolls his tongue around the head and leans in just enough that the glans disappears inside his mouth. Every muscle in Josh's body feels like a tightly-coiled spring. He drops his free hand down to rest on the back of Drake's head, groaning as Drake pulls back so he's balancing the head of Josh's cock on the middle of his tongue. Drake repeats the tap-roll-suck, this time taking in more of Josh's cock, and then again, and again, his lips sliding farther and farther down Josh's cock each time until they are nearly touching his fingers at its base and Josh's legs are quivering so violently they are almost numb. Drake tilts his head back so he can meet Josh's eyes, his bangs slipping slowly off his forehead, and a rush of déjà vu leaves Josh feeling like he's teetering on the edge of a cliff.
"Oh, man," Josh whispers hoarsely. "Drake, I -- I'm --"
Drake sits back on his heels and tears open the front of his jeans, pulling out his own cock, and they each start stroking themselves furiously. Josh drops to his knees next to Drake as the intensity swells, then peaks and crashes through him from head to foot and out to the tips of his fingers and toes. He comes with a choked groan, eyes locked on Drake's hand as it continues to fly along the length of his cock. When the last pulse of his own orgasm has passed, he pushes Drake down on his back and kisses him savagely, entwining his fingers between Drake's so they're both working his cock now. Drake's breathing becomes heavier, more erratic, and he pumps his hips forward against Josh's belly. His muscles stiffen and he arches his back, moaning against Josh's lips as he comes.
For a long while afterward, the room echoes with the sound of their breathing. Josh wipes at a trickle of sweat on his temple and flops down on the floor on his back, his chest and stomach rising and falling rapidly as he struggles to get himself back under control. His whole body feels like it's buzzing.
"You okay?" Drake says, rolling on to his side and propping his head up on his hand.
Josh shakes his head. "What's the next step up from okay?" he asks.
"Um... good?"
He shakes his head again. "And the next step up from that?"
"Really good?"
Josh laughs. "I would probably describe more like absolutely freaking amazing," he says.
Smiling, Drake leans in and kisses him, a gentle press of lips that slowly mellows into a deep soul kiss with the promise of becoming something more. "And just think," Drake says softly, nuzzling Josh's nose with his own. "The night's still young. I can make you feel even better." He kisses the tip of Josh's nose and pulls back so he can look Josh in the eye. "Wanna stay?"
The implication behind Drake's words is both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. Josh feels like he's stopped at a crossroads, and both forks are shrouded with fog. But then Drake kisses him again, slipping one hand under Josh's wrinkled shirttail to gently stroke his belly, and the way ahead suddenly becomes clear.
"Yeah," he says, shivering as Drake's fingers skirt across a particularly sensitive spot. "I think I do."
***
He is suddenly awake at 6:30 AM sharp, just like he is every morning. He blinks as the sunlight pours across his face, raising one hand to shade his eyes. The colors in the room are all wrong, and for a moment it's disorienting. They're too bright, for one thing, and what is with all the sunshine? He rolls on to his side, away from the light, letting his eyes flutter shut again. Thank God it's Father Gilbert's turn to take the morning mass. His whole body is aching, another hour of sleep would feel like heaven.
The mattress moves behind him, and the sheet is tugged off his shoulder. Josh's eyes pop open again.
Oh. Yeah. Right.
Drake settles into position without waking up, and Josh knows sleep will not be returning this morning.
He scrubs his face with the heel of his hand and rolls halfway over again, just enough so he can see the back of Drake's head out of the corner of his eye. Nothing has changed, he tells himself. He'd screwed up the night before. Bigtime. Capital "S," capital "U." He'd taken a vow a long time ago, and last night he'd broken that vow, thrown it aside like it had no more worth than an empty gum wrapper. But it's going to be okay. He can confess the sin, do his penance, and be forgiven. That's the way it works, after all. That's what it's all about.
There are certain things you just can't say to a priest, all right?
He can go back to his ministry and act like none of this ever happened. The work may not bring the kind of joy he was told to expect from it in seminary, he may feel more like a robot someone has programmed to be a priest than an actual man of God, but that's not such a big deal. It's never brought him that kind of satisfaction, he realizes with a pang. He's never felt the kind of deep connection to his parishioners or even to God he has sensed in other priests, but until this moment he's never admitted it to himself.
Everything's going to be fine. Nothing has changed.
Drake moves again, shifting a bit closer to Josh's warmth. It's the first time in his adult life he's awakened with another person in the bed, Josh realizes, and the thought that this is also the last time it will happen makes him feel painfully hollow inside. God, he's given up a lot. All these years he's been denying himself, and it's been easy because until this morning he never truly understood what was missing in the first place. Now, he does.
This is a noble thing, he tells himself. Christ made the ultimate sacrifice. Now Josh can make his, and it will be that much more meaningful for the understanding of what he's given up.
Nothing has changed.
"Hey," Drake says, and Josh turns his head to see Drake's lazy smile.
"Hey, yourself."
"You're still here. I was halfway expecting you to be gone when I woke up."
"Yeah, well, I -- I just woke up myself."
"Mmm." Drake drops his arm across Josh's abdomen and rests his head on Josh's shoulder, and it feels so perfect Josh's eyes prickle suddenly with impending loss. He wraps his arm around Drake's shoulders and draws him in closer. "I could get used to this," Drake murmurs, kissing his way along Josh's jaw line to the corner of his mouth. His hand moves between Josh's legs to cup his balls as he slips his tongue between Josh's teeth, and Josh's insides turn to liquid fire. "Could you?" Drake whispers, pulling back just enough to ask the question, and Josh knows exactly what his answer will mean.
He nods, and Drake smiles and kisses him again, and Josh realizes he was wrong.
Everything has changed.
***
Epilogue: Three Years Later
The concert is a sell-out. It's not a huge arena, but it's bigger than the venues Drake was playing this time last year, and things are only going to get better from here. Drake runs into the wings after the final encore and nearly tackles Josh with a hug. "You were awesome!" Josh yells over the noise of the crowd, handing Drake a towel. "Listen to them out there!"
"I know," Drake shouts back, mopping his sweaty face and draping the damp towel over his shoulder. His cheeks are flushed with excitement and happiness. "It's an amazing crowd." He takes the bottle of water Josh offers and downs it in a few gulps. It's not the expensive kind he prefers, but Josh figures it won't be long before Drake is a big enough star that Josh can negotiate his contracts to include not only his favorite brand of water, but enough candy in the dressing room to satisfy even Drake's insatiable sweet tooth.
"What's up next?" Drake asks as they meander their way toward the green room.
"You've got a meet and greet," Josh says, pressing his hand to the small of Drake's back to steer him through the backstage crowd. It's not strictly necessary, of course, as Drake knows full well how to get where they're going, but Josh always feels the need to re-connect with Drake after a show.
"Awesome," Drake says gleefully. He's not jaded enough yet that he considers the fans a nuisance, Josh knows. He still gets a huge kick out of meeting them and being asked for his autograph. He looks up at Josh and gives him the smile that turns his knees to water. "And after that?" he says quietly. Josh squeezes his back in reply, a promise of things to come.
A few minutes later, a security guard leads a group of a dozen or so people wearing backstage passes around their necks through the green room door. They all look unbearably excited. There probably isn't a dry set of panties in the whole crowd, Josh thinks sardonically, then raises his eyebrow in surprise. One of the people in the group this time is a man. That's unusual.
Josh turns away to study the spread on the buffet table. Ooh, olives. He pops a few in his mouth and picks up a plate to fix himself a sandwich. He hears Drake laughing and catches a flash of light out of the corner of his eye, and two of the girls from the meet and greet wiggle past with their heads together, giggling over the signed photos of Drake they now clutch in their hands.
Josh eats his sandwich and drinks a cup of coffee, chatting idly with various roadies and hangers on, always aware of Drake's presence in the background. The meet and greet crowd dwindles slowly; Drake shows each of them an equal amount of attention and Josh can see from the looks on their faces as they leave they will be Drake Parker fans for life. He's trying to decide if he's hungry enough for one of the huge chocolate chip cookies at the end of the table when he hears something that brings him up short.
"I am such a huge fan," a voice says, and Josh pulls his hand back from the cookie tray. He turns around to see Drake talking to the man Josh had noticed earlier. His voice is familiar, and it sets Josh's heart to pounding. "You were so amazing tonight."
"Hey, thanks. Thanks so much," Drake says to the Mystery Boy with a smile. "I'm really glad you enjoyed the show."
Josh edges closer, his mouth hanging open a bit in surprise. He's thought about the Boy from time to time since he left the priesthood, always with a twinge of regret for the shitty way he'd treated him that last night in the confessional, but he'd never expected to see -- or rather, hear -- him again. What a freakish coincidence that he should finally get a chance to see the Boy face to face here, of all places.
"Would you sign this for me?" the Boy says, handing Drake a glossy eight-by-ten. Josh cranes his neck to look at the photo. It's the one of Drake giving himself a seductive look in a bathroom mirror, bare-chested and with his jeans unbuttoned and unzipped and his belt hanging from the loops. His face is shining wet, and his arms are in the air as he sweeps his wet hands up through his hair. It's one of Josh's favorites. Drake was so turned on by the time they got home from the shoot, he let Josh fuck him, for a change.
"Yeah, sure, I'd love to," Drake says. He glances at the picture and then looks up with a grin, seeking Josh out in the crowd. He apparently has the same happy memories associated with this particular portrait that Josh does. "What's your name?" he asks, turning his attention back to the Mystery Boy.
"Craig. Craig Ramirez."
Drake signs the picture with a flourish, and hands it back to profuse thanks. They talk for a few minutes longer, but Josh isn't paying attention to their words. He still can't believe this is actually the Boy. The magnitude of the coincidence almost makes him re-think his loss of faith. When Craig splits off from the group to head for the door, Josh leaps into action and moves in front of him to cut him off. "Can I talk to you for a second?" he asks in a voice so hoarse he can barely recognize it as his own.
Craig, who had been blowing on the picture to dry the ink, jumps back in surprise. He gives Josh a quizzical frown. "Uh, yeah. Sure, I guess."
Josh starts to pull him to the side, but then notices the noise level in the room and thinks better of it. "Follow me," he says, beckoning Craig into the hallway outside the green room. It's not much better out here, but it will have to do.
"Listen, I have something I've been wanting to say to you for a while now," Josh says. Craig's frown grows even more pronounced, and Josh realizes with a jolt that Craig has no idea who he is. He reaches out and puts one tentative hand on Craig's shoulder.
"Do I know you?" Craig asks, his eyes darting nervously from Josh's face to his hand and back again.
Josh nods. "Yeah," he says, "you do. And I just really wanted to say I -- I'm sorry. I didn't understand what it was like for you back then. But I do now, and I'm sorry I couldn't help." He gives Craig's shoulder a gentle squeeze and meets his eyes dead-on. This is harder than he'd ever imagined it could be.
Craig shifts on his feet, and Josh knows the moment is getting away from him. It may be the only chance he ever gets to do this. He wants to do it right. He takes a deep breath and releases it with a sigh.
"What I really wanted to ask you," he says, "is this. Can you forgive me?"
Author: gmth
Pairing: Drake Parker/Josh Nichols
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 17,500
Disclaimer: Everything here belongs to other people and I'm playing with it without their permission.
Summary: Josh is a priest with just one weakness. Unfortunately, it's a big one.
Warning: AU/AR. Drake and Josh are not stepbrothers in this fic. Contains adult concepts and language. Includes religious themes and concepts some may find offensive or blasphemous. I researched Catholic rituals as best I could, but there's a possibility I missed a few things; I also did a few things deliberately to suit the plot. No disrespect toward Catholicism or Christianity in general is intended.
Author's note: HUGE thanks to lilysaid for the plot bunny and for her kind indulgence in doing reality check/beta duty while I was writing this. Crossposted.
Part 1
St. Jude's isn't air conditioned, so the congregation tends to dwindle during the summer months. This is especially true on days like this, when a muggy Saturday evening follows a hot Saturday afternoon, and most of the pews are empty when Josh enters the nave and begins his slow march toward the altar. The rest are sparsely populated with either elderly, white-haired couples vainly waving their bulletins in their faces to stave off the heat, or young families with children whose behavior can't be trusted in the bigger crowds of a Sunday morning.
Which is why Josh spots Drake the moment he steps through the door. He stands out like a sore thumb.
The sight of him sends a dizzying surge of adrenaline through Josh's belly. It's been three weeks since that night at the club, three long weeks spent ricocheting from hope to anguish and back again, punctuated by memories of Drake's bare torso that created an urgent, overwhelming need so sharp it was sometimes difficult to breathe. Yet, Josh realizes that was nothing -- nothing -- to the way seeing Drake again makes him feel now. He wants to rip the shirt off Drake's back and do all the things he's been imagining right here in front of the whole congregation. He wants to turn and run screaming into his office and lock the door tightly shut behind him. The violence of his own conflicting reactions terrifies him. He's sorry now he didn't offer to give Drake Communion in private. He has no idea how he's going to get through this service with his sanity intact.
Focus. That's what they taught him in seminary. Focus. There's no room for anything in your thoughts during mass but Jesus the Christ. Everything else is extraneous. Blasphemous. Look to no other and for nothing else.
That seemed so easy when he was sitting in the classroom, Josh thinks as he steps behind the altar on a newborn colt's legs. So right. But it was all just theory, he realizes now, easy to spout but not always so easy to apply. This is real, and Josh has never before appreciated how quickly even that kind of deeply ingrained lesson can go up in smoke in the face of such blind, consuming want.
Still, he tries. He really does. He keeps his eye on his prayer book for most of the service. When he's forced to look up, he focuses on the empty choir balcony over the congregation's heads. He almost manages to convince himself Drake is just another member of his flock, albeit one who doesn't attend services very often. But the façade can only go so far. Josh has never been so acutely aware of a single person in the congregation before. His attention is diverted each time Drake scratches his nose or clears his throat. He hears nothing but Drake's voice during the hymns. When Drake yawns during the homily, Josh feels like he's been slapped. By the time he's ready to begin preparing the gifts, he's running on pure strength of will alone.
"The Body of Christ."
One by one, the communicants shuffle forward and take their places on their knees around the altar railing. Josh makes his way slowly down the line, offering the host to each in turn, and when the last of them has received they rise as one and move off to make room for the next group.
"The Body of Christ."
This time, the ritual brings none of its usual comfort. Drake is the last one in line; when his turn comes there's only a small number of other communicants left with him. He kneels directly in front of the altar and bows his head to wait. Josh prays Drake will elect to receive the host in his hands, as the woman kneeling next to him does, but this is yet another prayer that goes unheard.
"Th -- the Body of Christ."
Drake raises his head slowly, tilting it back so his bangs slide tantalizingly off his forehead, and opens his mouth. Josh's skin grows slippery with a sudden burst of cold sweat that makes his vestments feel like they're made of burlap. Blood roars in his ears as he leans forward, far lower than he ever has with a communicant before, as though to claim that open mouth, the parted lips and glistening tongue. At the last moment he catches himself and pulls back, heart thudding against his ribs, and jerks the hand holding the host toward Drake's mouth, instead. But something's wrong with his arm. It feels like it's made of metal covered in rust so thick it's nearly immobilized. He's moving in slow motion, and it seems to take a very long time before he can feel the warmth of Drake's breath on the back of his hand. Drake looks up as Josh deposits the host on the middle of his tongue; their eyes meet, and Josh knows he is lost. He lets his fingers linger in the moist heat of Drake's mouth, fighting the urge to cup Drake's chin, to brush his fingers up along Drake's cheekbone and through his hair to the back of his head, to pull that amazing mouth forward to the agonizing erection now barely hidden by the volume of his robes, and it's the hardest struggle he's yet had to face. Drake blinks and closes his mouth, swallowing audibly, and the spell is broken, but Josh knows in the instant just before it breaks that he and Drake were thinking the same thing.
"Amen," Drake whispers.
Josh stands in the narthex after mass, shaking hands with the congregants as they file past, but it feels like he's only playing the part of the devout priest now. Drake's expression is blank as he exits, tugging at his tie to loosen it. "Thanks for coming," Josh says lamely, cringing inside at the poor choice of words. "We would normally have had a little welcome ceremony for a new member, but I didn't realize you'd be here tonight."
"No problem," Drake replies. "I didn't really realize it myself. It was a spur of the moment kind of thing."
"We should probably have a talk," Josh says, lowering his voice. "About the job, I mean."
"Yeah, sure." Drake licks his lips and it shoots straight to Josh's groin. "We could have dinner at my place, talk afterward. That work for you?"
He should refuse, he knows he should refuse. They should meet here, in Josh's office, or at the very least in a crowded diner with bad food so they can complain about the weak coffee and soggy French fries and actually have a discussion about the job. The last thing he should ever think about doing is being alone with Drake, especially after what just happened to him, what he thinks just happened between the two of them. This is the worst idea in the history of bad ideas. There's really only one answer to Drake's question.
"Okay," Josh says, nodding. "That sounds great."
***
The afternoon goes badly. First Josh gets a ninety-minute phone call from the president of the church council about something trivial that doesn't even need to be dealt with until next month. Then he learns Mrs. Galloway has taken a turn for the worse and he has to rush out to the hospital to perform last rites. By the time he's finished it's already past six, and he can see the traffic backing up through the hospital room window. It's too late to get back to the rectory to change, unless he wants to risk being late. Which he doesn't. He'll just have to go to Drake's wearing his collar.
Drake's apartment is on the fourth floor of a building with a busted elevator. The temperature seems to climb ten degrees with every flight of stairs, and Josh is already sweating by the time he reaches the landing. The doorbell to Drake's apartment rings with a hollow clunk. There's a rush of pounding footsteps on the other side, and then the door is jerked open so suddenly Josh jumps back in surprise.
"Hi!"
"Oh, hey Alex," Josh says warmly, smiling. "You startled me."
The little boy's face and chest are red with sunburn, and a beach towel is draped over one bare shoulder, trailing to the ground. "Sorry 'bout that. Uncle Drake said I could open the door."
"Who's there, Alex?" a woman's voice calls. Josh feels himself grow stiff with shock as the dark-haired woman Drake hugged at the club walks into the room dressed in a purple bikini, rubbing at her damp hair with a towel that matches Alex's. "Hi," she says when she sees Josh. Her eyes flash to his neck and a small crinkle appears between her brows. "Can I help you?" Her voice is wary as she tosses the towel on to a nearby chair.
Shit. He'd nearly forgotten this woman even existed. He certainly never expected to see her here tonight. "Um, I'm here to see Drake," he says. It's a statement, but it comes out sounding like a question.
She moves closer to Alex and puts her hands on his shoulders. "Is something wrong?" she asks, drawing the boy closer to herself. "Did something happen?"
"Oh, no," Josh says quickly. "I --" Does she live here? Was I completely wrong about what I thought was going on? "It's nothing like that. I'm a friend of his."
"Hi, Father." Drake appears at the woman's elbow and pulls her and Alex out of the way so Josh can get by. "C'mon in."
Josh takes a hesitant step toward the door. Maybe this is a good thing. What did I really think was going to happen here to--
"I see you've met my sister."
"Your sister." Josh suddenly feels like a hundred-pound weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He takes his first deep breath in what seems like days. Oh, thank God. Thank you, God. He saunters inside and closes the door.
"I'm Megan," she says, giving Josh a friendly nod.
"This is Father Nichols," Drake says.
"Call me Josh." It seems to have become his mantra.
Megan's eyes narrow sharply. "You're Josh?" She turns to Drake. "This is Josh?" Drake shrugs his shoulders and Megan's lips curl into a nasty smile that makes an unpleasant shiver crawl down Josh's spine. "Nice to meet you, Father," she says, offering her hand, and for an instant Josh feels like he should check her palm for a joy buzzer before taking it. "Drake's told me a lot about you."
"So, Megan and Alex came over to use the pool," Drake cuts in quickly. "But they're leaving now, right, Megan?"
"Oh, I don't know," she replies with an airy lilt to her voice. She appears to be enjoying Drake's uneasiness. "I'd kind of like to get to know your friend here a little better."
"Yeah, I don't think so," Drake says. "We've got something to talk about, so why don't you just get your stuff and take off now."
"Fine," Megan says petulantly. "Come on, Alex. Go get your bag."
"Mom said we can go to McDonald's for dinner," Alex announces a few minutes later, skipping across the room to throw his arms around Drake's legs. "The one with the big playground."
Drake picks the boy up and gives him a hug. "That's great, buddy! You have a good time, okay? Go down the slide a few times for me."
Megan, now wearing flip-flops and a long T-shirt knotted at the hip, leans in to buss Drake on the cheek. "I'll call you tomorrow," she says, giving him a meaningful look as Drake sets Alex on his feet.
"Yeah, yeah. Not too early, okay?"
"So, what's that mean, not before sundown?"
"Would you just get out of here?"
"We're gone." She gives Josh another of those sinister smiles. "Have fun."
"Here we go," Drake says, chivvying her and Alex along with a firm push toward the door. "Nice to see you, sis. Say hi to Mom for me. See you later, Alex!" He breathes a sigh of relief once the door is closed behind them.
The apartment seems strangely quiet once they are gone. "Sorry about that," Drake says. "They were supposed to leave ages ago, but Alex was having a really good time in the water and we both kind of spoil him."
"She seems...nice," Josh replies.
Drake snorts. "She's got her moments. Not many, but a few."
"You two close?"
"We are now. We weren't at all when we were kids, but after her husband took off I started helping out with Alex more, and me and Megan started getting along better."
"I -- I thought she was your girlfriend."
"Megan?" Drake's expression is half amused, half confused.
"Yeah. I saw you with her that night at the club, and I thought she was your girlfriend."
Drake laughs. "Oh, no. Wow, wait 'til I tell her that. No, man. I don't even have a girlfriend right now."
"Oh." A frisson of excitement makes Josh's stomach flutter. "Well, hey, don't sweat it," he says, grinning. "Neither do I."
***
"And that was when things started to get really weird."
Three hours, four tacos, and five beers after Megan leaves, Josh is feeling very mellow. He was right, Drake is fun to be with. They've been talking non-stop, with no awkward pauses in the conversation, no struggling to figure out what to say next. Josh sits spellbound for over an hour as Drake spins wild tales about his days as a back-up guitarist on a Zero Gravity tour (some of which Josh strongly suspects are embellished, but what the hell; a good story is a good story). Drake, in return, snickers in all the right places during Josh's far tamer stories about his father and his parishioners. No one's ever seemed interested before, and Josh can't remember the last time he's laughed so much. It's the best time he's had in years.
"Weirder than the thing with the girl in the cat suit and the guacamole dip?" Josh says, and Drake nods and laughs. "No way."
But it's starting to get late now, and they're both slowing down. With a yawn, Drake turns the stereo off and flops back sideways in the recliner with a guitar across his lap, legs dangling over the arm of the chair. As he picks out a tune, Josh props his stocking feet up on the coffee table and lets his eyes fall shut to listen, clutching a sweating beer bottle to his chest. With his eyes closed, his head feels lighter, his body less solid. He recognizes the tune as one Drake plays at Slim's, and in his mind's eye he can see Drake standing on the stage with the light shining down from above, tapping his foot so the guitar bounces gently against his crotch...
He cracks one eye open. Drake is looking back him, his eyes hooded slits, his lips parted ever so slightly, and Josh's skin grows prickly-hot with anticipation.
"Hey," he says, his voice as rough as a rake sorting gravel. "I thought you were gonna teach me how to play one of those."
Drake's hands still in mid-chord. "You really want to learn?"
Josh's mouth is bone dry, and he's not sure he can manage a verbal response. Instead, he beckons Drake closer with a twitch of his head, patting the cushion next to him with his free hand as he sets his beer down on the table. Drake swings his legs over the side of the chair and stands up, guitar hanging low at his side, and pads over to where Josh is sitting. He stands over Josh for a moment, looking down at him, and he seems all over tense, as though waiting for a signal. From the corner of his eye Josh can see the outline of Drake's cock through his jeans. He digs his nails into the cushion.
"Sit down," he murmurs. Drake hands him the guitar as he moves to obey, but Josh props it against the couch on his other side. As Drake bends his knees in preparation to sit, Josh straightens up as far as he can, lifting both hands to cradle Drake's jaw line in his palms. He draws Drake's head down toward his and Drake comes willingly, quickly, as though he's falling, and before he's fully settled on the couch his mouth is open and wet and moving against Josh's in a kiss so urgent it feels far more like a demand than a request.
Drake releases a shuddering stream of air through his nose, turning his upper body so he's pressed against Josh's chest. His tongue sweeps through Josh's mouth, leaving him dazed, and Josh chases it with his own as it retreats, impatient to taste it again. His hair is soft between Josh's fingers, his skin warm and stubbled and smelling of pool water and beer. He slips his arms around Drake's waist and pulls him closer as Drake's hand starts to move on his chest, stroking lazy circles that drift lower with each pass. He tenses when the hand presses beyond his belly to his upper thigh, moaning softly into Drake's mouth as Drake's fingers sketch patterns on his leg just a hair's breadth from his erection.
Please, Josh prays silently. Please. A moment later, his prayer is answered when he shifts his hips and Drake's palm smoothes across the head of his cock, back and forth, back and forth, again and again, then slowly presses down its length. Josh shudders and drops one hand between Drake's legs, fingers slipping on the faded denim as he tries to mirror Drake's movements. Drake's hand is warm and his touch is firm, and Josh can feel the pulse of the caress all over his body at the same time. Damn. It feels so right. Why in God's name did it take so long for them to get to this point?
"Jesus," Drake whispers hotly against Josh's lips, squeezing his fingers together. "You're fucking amazing."
Josh's eyes fly open as he hears a sound inside his head like the screech of a needle dragging across a record. What is he doing? What on Earth is he doing? He gives Drake a violent shove and holds one shaking hand up between them. His fingers are still tingling. "Stop."
Drake looks as startled as though Josh had just drawn a gun. "What?"
"Just stop. Okay? Stop."
"What's the matter?"
"I can't do this."
"Josh --"
"No." Josh roots around on the floor by the coffee table, trying to find his shoes. His stomach feels like an Olympic gymnast doing a complicated routine on the uneven bars.
"I thought everything was cool," Drake says. His face has no color in it at all.
"I can't do this," Josh says again, his voice sounding choked. "I'm sorry." At last, his shoes. He yanks them on and bolts to his feet. Drake calls his name a few more times as he staggers through the door and down the stairs, but he doesn't bother to answer. There's nothing more to be said, and he's afraid if he opens his mouth he might cry, or vomit, or both.
Either way, he's determined it's not going to happen until he's outside. Alone.
***
The intercom buzzes and the fountain pen skips, leaving a blob of ink on Tori and Thornton's wedding certificate. "Drake Parker's calling again, Father," the secretary says. "Line one. Do you want to talk to him?"
Josh sighs as he presses the reply button. This is the fourth time Drake has called in as many days. "No."
"What do you want me to tell him this time?"
Tell him I died. Tell him I left the country.
Tell him I'm scared I won't be able to stop myself if I ever see him again.
"Just tell him I'm not available," he snaps, crumpling the ruined certificate and tossing it in the garbage can.
***
The confessional is stiflingly hot. Josh wipes away the sweat on the back of his neck, willing time to go faster. A small fan on the floor oscillates back and forth with a high-pitched squeal that sets Josh's teeth on edge, but it provides almost no relief. It only manages to blow the hot air around. There have been few penitents so far this morning. Everyone else must either be on vacation or hoping God will forgive them for skipping confession in the middle of a heat wave. One more hour, and Josh can escape to the rectory for a cool shower that will solve more than one of his problems.
Muffled footsteps sound outside the confessional as someone approaches. Shadows appear on the wall next to Josh, then disappear again as the penitent pulls the curtain back in to place. Josh sits up straighter and waits.
"Uh... hello?"
Josh's heart skips a beat. Oh, dear God, no.
"Josh?"
Josh doesn't respond. He can't believe this is happening.
"Josh, I know you're in there."
He swallows past an unpleasant-tasting lump in the back of his throat. "What are you doing here?" he wheezes.
"You wouldn't return my calls," Drake says. "I didn't know how else to get in touch with you."
"Did it ever occur to you I wasn't returning your calls because I don't want to talk to you?"
"Yeah. That's why I came here, where you don't have a choice." There's an edge to Drake's voice, as though he's trying to control his emotions and having a difficult time of it. "We have to talk."
"Well, we can't do it here. Anyone could show up and overhear us." The mere thought of it makes Josh's palms damp.
"Relax. I've been sitting in the parking lot for forty-five minutes. There isn't a soul within miles of this place."
Josh realizes he's flattened himself against the back wall of the confessional, trying to get as far away from Drake as possible. He forces himself to relax and inch forward on the bench. He's glad there's a wall between them. It makes things a whole lot easier.
"Josh? You still there?"
"What do you want?"
There's a long silence. "We -- we never talked about the job."
Josh gives a hollow laugh. "That's not going to happen."
"I figured." Drake sounds defeated now, and a pang of regret pokes Josh in the stomach. He knows Drake needs the money, and he feels like he's promised a piece of candy to a child and then yanked it away when the child tried to reach for it.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, so softly he's not even sure Drake can hear him. "I don't think I could --" He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to center himself, but his mind flashes to the memory of Drake touching him, stroking him, the way Drake's mouth tasted...
Horrified, Josh jerks himself out of the daydream. In the confessional, for God's sake? No, no, this is no good. No good at all. And if Drake took the job, this is what it would be like every single day.
"It's not going to happen," he says again, more loudly this time. "Is that all you wanted to talk about?"
"Well, no. I also wanted to talk to you about what happened the other night at my -- "
"No."
"Josh -- "
"No."
"C'mon, man. This could be important."
"We are not going to go there. Not now. Not ever. And definitely not in here."
"Then I want to confess."
"No, you don't."
"Yeah, I really do. You gonna turn me away?"
Josh worries his bottom lip. If Drake truly wants to confess, he's obligated to listen and offer him absolution. Scrubbing his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand, he says, "All right. But if we're going to do this, we're going to do it right. Do you remember what to do?"
"Yes," Drake says sullenly. "Okay. Um. Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It's been, like... God, I don't know. Fifteen years since my last confession."
Josh frowns. "Fifteen years? So you lied to me?"
Drake clears his throat. "Well, technically, it's not lying if I never actually said I went to confession, right?"
"That's not the point. You were supposed to confess before you received Communion. Why didn't you do it?"
Another long pause. The sound of the fan sets Josh's teeth on edge, and he wants to punt the thing across the sanctuary.
"I couldn't," Drake says at last.
"You couldn't." Josh struggles to keep the frustration out of his voice and fails.
"I just couldn't, okay?"
"Why not?"
"Because." The kneeler on the other side of the wall creaks as Drake shifts his weight and blows out a long puff of air. "Because there are certain things you just can't say to a priest, all right?"
"That's not true!" Josh says vehemently, leaning so close to the screen the tip of his nose nearly brushes against it. "You can say anything to a priest in confession."
"Yeah? Really? Anything?" Drake gets so close to his side of the screen Josh can feel Drake's breath on his face. His voice drops to a whisper. "What if I was to tell you I can't stop thinking about you? What if I said I lie in bed at night, and I can't sleep because all I can think about is how much I want to suck your cock?"
Josh rears back with a gasp of shock. "We -- we can't have this conversation in here."
"You just said I could tell you anything," Drake retorts. "This is the only place we can have it, because I have to tell the truth and you have to listen." He places his palms flat on his side of the screen as though he's trying to reach through and touch Josh. "I want to be with you, man. I need to be with you. And I know you're a priest and I know it's fucking impossible, but we were so close the other night. If I had just kept my mouth shut, I could have been fucking you all night long."
Josh feels the way he imagines the Apostles must have felt when confronted by the risen Christ. His head is swimming with the heat, and a sudden rush of nausea nearly overwhelms him. He can see the shadows that are Drake's hands pressing on the screen. He bows his head and two dark spots appear near his knees as something drips from his face. He's not sure if they're sweat drops or teardrops.
His cock is so hard it aches.
"Josh?"
Josh shakes his head, even though he knows Drake can't see him. "No."
"Josh. Please."
"Just go. Now. Okay?"
The shadows disappear as Drake drops his hands. "You sure that's what you want?"
No. No, it isn't. It's not what I want at all! Josh clamps his teeth together to keep himself from shouting the words aloud. Somehow or another, he manages to keep his silence. A few moments later, the kneeler creaks again as Drake gets to his feet.
"You know where to find me if you change your mind, man."
***
The rest of the hour seems to last for a week. Josh sits in the dark of the confessional with his head against the wall, his clothes tacky against his sweaty skin, and carefully wills his mind blank. He sits as rigidly as a statue, trying not to move and create more agonizing friction against his erection, and once it subsides it's easier to pretend the scene with Drake never happened if he focuses all his energy on something else. It's quiet enough in the church that he can hear the grandfather clock in his office chiming at the top of the hour, and with a sigh of relief he comes back to life and bends to silence the fan at his feet.
"Am I too late?"
Josh stiffens with his hand halfway to the controls. A cold shiver creeps over his skin, an odd contradiction to the heat that makes him break out in goosebumps.
"Father?" the Mystery Boy says. "You there?"
"Yes," Josh replies. "But I was just about to leave. I have something else I have to take care of."
"Please. I need your help. I messed up bad this time, and I'm scared. Really scared."
"What happened?" Josh asks, heart sinking and stomach rising at the same time. He thinks he knows what the Boy is going to say, and he's not sure he can handle hearing it, not now, not so soon after what happened with Drake.
"Um, well, okay. Bless me, Father, for I have --"
"Just get on with it!"
He can hear the Boy's gasp of surprise. "Okay, okay, I --" He swallows so loudly Josh can hear it through the screen. "Father, I had sex with that guy from my school. Real sex this time, not just the fooling around stuff we did before. I mean, he actually put his --"
"I don't need to know the details," Josh says through gritted teeth. He's shaking with something he tries to tell himself is anger, but it feels more like the pressure building up behind a dam about to burst.
"I'm sorry. The thing is... I -- I liked it. A lot."
Josh screws his eyes shut. He'd liked it, too. God help him, he'd loved the way Drake's hands had felt on him. A flare of envy tears through him that the Boy was able to go farther, get more of what Josh had been craving than he could ever dare allow himself. It isn't fair, dammit. It just isn't fair.
"It was amazing," the Boy says, and Josh finds himself nodding in agreement, eyes still shut tight. "At least, I thought it was at the time. But now, I can't live with the guilt any more. I tried to pray it away like you told me last time, but I -- I guess I'm just... too weak."
Josh's face feels like it's glowing neon red. Drake had kissed him, and touched him, and wanted to suck his cock, and God, he wants that, too. More than he can ever remember wanting anything in his life. If it's weakness to want to give in to that impulse, then he's weak, but sweet Jesus, it feels like the hardest decision he's ever had to make.
"I'm afraid I'm going to go to Hell," the Boy whispers. "You've got to help me. God will never forgive me if you don't."
Josh claws at front of his shirt and yanks his collar loose. It feels like it's strangling him. "I can't help you," he says, hurling it to the floor. I can't even help myself. "No one can help you, all right? No one." His voice is uncharacteristically stern, and he knows the Boy will interpret it as a rebuke, but he's no longer able to care. The pressure is only moments from boiling over now, and he needs to release it more than he needs to help the Boy ease the guilt a more forgiving God would never have required him to feel in the first place.
"But Father," the Boy says, his voice rising shrilly, "I --"
"No one," Josh says again, rising to his feet. He grinds the collar beneath the heel of his shoe and lurches through the confessional door before the Boy can say another word.
***
Looking back on it later, Josh will never be able to remember driving to Drake's apartment. He remembers getting in the car and he remembers getting out of the car, but has no recall of what happened in between. He doesn't remember walking up the stairs. He doesn't remember ringing the doorbell. But he will never forget the look on Drake's face when he opens the door and sees Josh standing there.
"Can I come in?" Josh says, breathless from the climb.
Drake opens the door wider by way of an answer, and Josh pushes past him into the apartment.
"Drake, I --"
"Look, man," Drake says, shutting the door behind him. "It's not that I'm not glad to see you, okay? But if you just came over here to get me all worked up and then leave again before anything else can happen, I'm really not -- "
Josh isn't listening. He sees Drake's lips moving, he hears the sounds coming out of his mouth, but they have no more meaning to him than the squeal of the fan in the confessional. He strides forward, bumping Drake backwards until his back is against the door, and bows his head to crush his lips to Drake's in a frantic kiss. Drake freezes for only a second, then arches his body away from the door so Josh can feel every inch of him from chest to knees, running his hands down Josh's sides to his hips, digging his fingers into Josh's hipbones in a way that under other circumstances might tickle but now makes him grunt into Drake's open mouth. His fingers twist in Drake's hair.
"You sure about this?" Drake murmurs, pulling away so abruptly the back of his head smacks the door. His lips are already swelling. Josh leans in to him, grinding his pelvis against Drake's so he can feel the heat of his erection.
"That answer your question?" he whispers.
Drake responds with a sigh that sounds like a growl, and dives back in for another greedy kiss. He pushes Josh backward, tugging the hem of his shirt free of his pants, and they take a few tentative steps away from the door in the direction of what Josh assumes is the bedroom. Their progress is slow and uneven because neither wants to break the kiss, and when their teeth clack together painfully for the third time Drake twists his head away.
"Fuck this," he says, toying with Josh's belt buckle. "I can't wait."
As he tugs the belt free of its loops, a sudden wave of doubt washes over Josh. "I -- I don't..."
Drake's expression hardens as he flings the belt to the floor. "What? I told you, Josh, don't do this to me, man."
"No, no, I didn't mean it like that," Josh says softly, raising one hand to brush the pad of his thumb along Drake's cheekbone. "I just -- I've never done this." He can feel his face getting warm. "I'm not really sure what to do."
Drake smiles. It's a different smile than his usual one. It doesn't light up his whole face. It makes him look like a cat that has happened upon a bowl of cream and can't wait to start lapping it up. The sight of it sends a thrill of arousal rolling through Josh's stomach. "Relax," Drake says, manipulating the button on Josh's pants. "I'll take good care of you." He slides the zipper down and hooks his thumbs inside the waistband of Josh's boxers. "I promise."
He eases the clothing past Josh's hips, dropping to his knees when it falls to the floor so he can remove Josh's shoes and socks. Josh fights the urge to cover his exposed cock with his hands, then forgets modesty altogether when Drake gives the head a swift lick as he's tossing Josh's clothes over his shoulder. Josh's erection is standing out through the open halves of his shirttail, and Drake pushes the shirt up over Josh's stomach so it's out of the way. "Hold this," he whispers, flapping the shirt against Josh's belly, and Josh obeys with a trembling hand. His knees are shaking, and he's not sure if they can hold his weight much longer.
Drake shuffles forward on his knees and wraps his fingers around Josh's cock, stroking along the length of it with a gentle touch that makes Josh twitch. "Relax," Drake says again, encircling the base of Josh's cock with his thumb and forefinger. "You're gonna like this. We both are."
Josh holds his breath as Drake opens his mouth. He taps the underside of Josh's cock against his outstretched tongue, then rolls his tongue around the head and leans in just enough that the glans disappears inside his mouth. Every muscle in Josh's body feels like a tightly-coiled spring. He drops his free hand down to rest on the back of Drake's head, groaning as Drake pulls back so he's balancing the head of Josh's cock on the middle of his tongue. Drake repeats the tap-roll-suck, this time taking in more of Josh's cock, and then again, and again, his lips sliding farther and farther down Josh's cock each time until they are nearly touching his fingers at its base and Josh's legs are quivering so violently they are almost numb. Drake tilts his head back so he can meet Josh's eyes, his bangs slipping slowly off his forehead, and a rush of déjà vu leaves Josh feeling like he's teetering on the edge of a cliff.
"Oh, man," Josh whispers hoarsely. "Drake, I -- I'm --"
Drake sits back on his heels and tears open the front of his jeans, pulling out his own cock, and they each start stroking themselves furiously. Josh drops to his knees next to Drake as the intensity swells, then peaks and crashes through him from head to foot and out to the tips of his fingers and toes. He comes with a choked groan, eyes locked on Drake's hand as it continues to fly along the length of his cock. When the last pulse of his own orgasm has passed, he pushes Drake down on his back and kisses him savagely, entwining his fingers between Drake's so they're both working his cock now. Drake's breathing becomes heavier, more erratic, and he pumps his hips forward against Josh's belly. His muscles stiffen and he arches his back, moaning against Josh's lips as he comes.
For a long while afterward, the room echoes with the sound of their breathing. Josh wipes at a trickle of sweat on his temple and flops down on the floor on his back, his chest and stomach rising and falling rapidly as he struggles to get himself back under control. His whole body feels like it's buzzing.
"You okay?" Drake says, rolling on to his side and propping his head up on his hand.
Josh shakes his head. "What's the next step up from okay?" he asks.
"Um... good?"
He shakes his head again. "And the next step up from that?"
"Really good?"
Josh laughs. "I would probably describe more like absolutely freaking amazing," he says.
Smiling, Drake leans in and kisses him, a gentle press of lips that slowly mellows into a deep soul kiss with the promise of becoming something more. "And just think," Drake says softly, nuzzling Josh's nose with his own. "The night's still young. I can make you feel even better." He kisses the tip of Josh's nose and pulls back so he can look Josh in the eye. "Wanna stay?"
The implication behind Drake's words is both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. Josh feels like he's stopped at a crossroads, and both forks are shrouded with fog. But then Drake kisses him again, slipping one hand under Josh's wrinkled shirttail to gently stroke his belly, and the way ahead suddenly becomes clear.
"Yeah," he says, shivering as Drake's fingers skirt across a particularly sensitive spot. "I think I do."
***
He is suddenly awake at 6:30 AM sharp, just like he is every morning. He blinks as the sunlight pours across his face, raising one hand to shade his eyes. The colors in the room are all wrong, and for a moment it's disorienting. They're too bright, for one thing, and what is with all the sunshine? He rolls on to his side, away from the light, letting his eyes flutter shut again. Thank God it's Father Gilbert's turn to take the morning mass. His whole body is aching, another hour of sleep would feel like heaven.
The mattress moves behind him, and the sheet is tugged off his shoulder. Josh's eyes pop open again.
Oh. Yeah. Right.
Drake settles into position without waking up, and Josh knows sleep will not be returning this morning.
He scrubs his face with the heel of his hand and rolls halfway over again, just enough so he can see the back of Drake's head out of the corner of his eye. Nothing has changed, he tells himself. He'd screwed up the night before. Bigtime. Capital "S," capital "U." He'd taken a vow a long time ago, and last night he'd broken that vow, thrown it aside like it had no more worth than an empty gum wrapper. But it's going to be okay. He can confess the sin, do his penance, and be forgiven. That's the way it works, after all. That's what it's all about.
There are certain things you just can't say to a priest, all right?
He can go back to his ministry and act like none of this ever happened. The work may not bring the kind of joy he was told to expect from it in seminary, he may feel more like a robot someone has programmed to be a priest than an actual man of God, but that's not such a big deal. It's never brought him that kind of satisfaction, he realizes with a pang. He's never felt the kind of deep connection to his parishioners or even to God he has sensed in other priests, but until this moment he's never admitted it to himself.
Everything's going to be fine. Nothing has changed.
Drake moves again, shifting a bit closer to Josh's warmth. It's the first time in his adult life he's awakened with another person in the bed, Josh realizes, and the thought that this is also the last time it will happen makes him feel painfully hollow inside. God, he's given up a lot. All these years he's been denying himself, and it's been easy because until this morning he never truly understood what was missing in the first place. Now, he does.
This is a noble thing, he tells himself. Christ made the ultimate sacrifice. Now Josh can make his, and it will be that much more meaningful for the understanding of what he's given up.
Nothing has changed.
"Hey," Drake says, and Josh turns his head to see Drake's lazy smile.
"Hey, yourself."
"You're still here. I was halfway expecting you to be gone when I woke up."
"Yeah, well, I -- I just woke up myself."
"Mmm." Drake drops his arm across Josh's abdomen and rests his head on Josh's shoulder, and it feels so perfect Josh's eyes prickle suddenly with impending loss. He wraps his arm around Drake's shoulders and draws him in closer. "I could get used to this," Drake murmurs, kissing his way along Josh's jaw line to the corner of his mouth. His hand moves between Josh's legs to cup his balls as he slips his tongue between Josh's teeth, and Josh's insides turn to liquid fire. "Could you?" Drake whispers, pulling back just enough to ask the question, and Josh knows exactly what his answer will mean.
He nods, and Drake smiles and kisses him again, and Josh realizes he was wrong.
Everything has changed.
***
Epilogue: Three Years Later
The concert is a sell-out. It's not a huge arena, but it's bigger than the venues Drake was playing this time last year, and things are only going to get better from here. Drake runs into the wings after the final encore and nearly tackles Josh with a hug. "You were awesome!" Josh yells over the noise of the crowd, handing Drake a towel. "Listen to them out there!"
"I know," Drake shouts back, mopping his sweaty face and draping the damp towel over his shoulder. His cheeks are flushed with excitement and happiness. "It's an amazing crowd." He takes the bottle of water Josh offers and downs it in a few gulps. It's not the expensive kind he prefers, but Josh figures it won't be long before Drake is a big enough star that Josh can negotiate his contracts to include not only his favorite brand of water, but enough candy in the dressing room to satisfy even Drake's insatiable sweet tooth.
"What's up next?" Drake asks as they meander their way toward the green room.
"You've got a meet and greet," Josh says, pressing his hand to the small of Drake's back to steer him through the backstage crowd. It's not strictly necessary, of course, as Drake knows full well how to get where they're going, but Josh always feels the need to re-connect with Drake after a show.
"Awesome," Drake says gleefully. He's not jaded enough yet that he considers the fans a nuisance, Josh knows. He still gets a huge kick out of meeting them and being asked for his autograph. He looks up at Josh and gives him the smile that turns his knees to water. "And after that?" he says quietly. Josh squeezes his back in reply, a promise of things to come.
A few minutes later, a security guard leads a group of a dozen or so people wearing backstage passes around their necks through the green room door. They all look unbearably excited. There probably isn't a dry set of panties in the whole crowd, Josh thinks sardonically, then raises his eyebrow in surprise. One of the people in the group this time is a man. That's unusual.
Josh turns away to study the spread on the buffet table. Ooh, olives. He pops a few in his mouth and picks up a plate to fix himself a sandwich. He hears Drake laughing and catches a flash of light out of the corner of his eye, and two of the girls from the meet and greet wiggle past with their heads together, giggling over the signed photos of Drake they now clutch in their hands.
Josh eats his sandwich and drinks a cup of coffee, chatting idly with various roadies and hangers on, always aware of Drake's presence in the background. The meet and greet crowd dwindles slowly; Drake shows each of them an equal amount of attention and Josh can see from the looks on their faces as they leave they will be Drake Parker fans for life. He's trying to decide if he's hungry enough for one of the huge chocolate chip cookies at the end of the table when he hears something that brings him up short.
"I am such a huge fan," a voice says, and Josh pulls his hand back from the cookie tray. He turns around to see Drake talking to the man Josh had noticed earlier. His voice is familiar, and it sets Josh's heart to pounding. "You were so amazing tonight."
"Hey, thanks. Thanks so much," Drake says to the Mystery Boy with a smile. "I'm really glad you enjoyed the show."
Josh edges closer, his mouth hanging open a bit in surprise. He's thought about the Boy from time to time since he left the priesthood, always with a twinge of regret for the shitty way he'd treated him that last night in the confessional, but he'd never expected to see -- or rather, hear -- him again. What a freakish coincidence that he should finally get a chance to see the Boy face to face here, of all places.
"Would you sign this for me?" the Boy says, handing Drake a glossy eight-by-ten. Josh cranes his neck to look at the photo. It's the one of Drake giving himself a seductive look in a bathroom mirror, bare-chested and with his jeans unbuttoned and unzipped and his belt hanging from the loops. His face is shining wet, and his arms are in the air as he sweeps his wet hands up through his hair. It's one of Josh's favorites. Drake was so turned on by the time they got home from the shoot, he let Josh fuck him, for a change.
"Yeah, sure, I'd love to," Drake says. He glances at the picture and then looks up with a grin, seeking Josh out in the crowd. He apparently has the same happy memories associated with this particular portrait that Josh does. "What's your name?" he asks, turning his attention back to the Mystery Boy.
"Craig. Craig Ramirez."
Drake signs the picture with a flourish, and hands it back to profuse thanks. They talk for a few minutes longer, but Josh isn't paying attention to their words. He still can't believe this is actually the Boy. The magnitude of the coincidence almost makes him re-think his loss of faith. When Craig splits off from the group to head for the door, Josh leaps into action and moves in front of him to cut him off. "Can I talk to you for a second?" he asks in a voice so hoarse he can barely recognize it as his own.
Craig, who had been blowing on the picture to dry the ink, jumps back in surprise. He gives Josh a quizzical frown. "Uh, yeah. Sure, I guess."
Josh starts to pull him to the side, but then notices the noise level in the room and thinks better of it. "Follow me," he says, beckoning Craig into the hallway outside the green room. It's not much better out here, but it will have to do.
"Listen, I have something I've been wanting to say to you for a while now," Josh says. Craig's frown grows even more pronounced, and Josh realizes with a jolt that Craig has no idea who he is. He reaches out and puts one tentative hand on Craig's shoulder.
"Do I know you?" Craig asks, his eyes darting nervously from Josh's face to his hand and back again.
Josh nods. "Yeah," he says, "you do. And I just really wanted to say I -- I'm sorry. I didn't understand what it was like for you back then. But I do now, and I'm sorry I couldn't help." He gives Craig's shoulder a gentle squeeze and meets his eyes dead-on. This is harder than he'd ever imagined it could be.
Craig shifts on his feet, and Josh knows the moment is getting away from him. It may be the only chance he ever gets to do this. He wants to do it right. He takes a deep breath and releases it with a sigh.
"What I really wanted to ask you," he says, "is this. Can you forgive me?"