Locked to falsicrimen
The night was velvet and black outside the windows, dark opaque squares of glass behind the pale gauzy curtains, and the room itself was barely lit, only a few candles on a nightstand still burning, melting wax onto the surface of the wood. There had been an oil lamp lit before but it had guttered itself out in the time it took to lead Abel back to this inn where he had found himself, up the stairs to this room, where he toed the door closed and shut out the rest of the world. The city was unfamiliar to him. It was narrow curved streets between tall houses built of brick and stone; it wound itself up the side of the mountain, towards the stone castle, its imposing towers and the spires of its cathedrals. In his sober priest's garb Abel looked at home here, in dark unfriendly streets and stately squares alike; Leon was the one who didn't belong, yet he was leading this man here, he had asked him to give him this.
The door closed and he turned to face Abel. He hadn't let go of the man any longer than he had to since Abel had agreed to spend the night here, with him. His fingers closed in the sleeves of his cassock, denting the fabric. He drew him close enough to kiss him, the familiar warm feeling of it an awareness that awakened his body, his senses to the way it felt to have this man against him, to be able to slide a hand around to the small of his back, pressing in, urging him closer. He didn't know why they found each other again in places like this, when he never thought to meet anyone, after loneliness had eaten at him so much that Abel's presence was something he never wanted to let go of. He didn't know why he wanted to bind this man or what had given him the courage to ask him for it, only that it had hollowed him out until he voiced it, until he brought him back here. There never seemed to be any explanation for the ways he wanted him.
"Abel." He said his name just to hear the way it sounded in the quiet of the bedroom. Gloves were the easiest thing to divest him of first. They were in reach, they let him trace his hands over Abel's hands before he put the gloves aside to open his cassock, his breathing deepening. In this room there was only the two of them and he would strip every piece of clothing off the man, one by one, if he would let him.
The door closed and he turned to face Abel. He hadn't let go of the man any longer than he had to since Abel had agreed to spend the night here, with him. His fingers closed in the sleeves of his cassock, denting the fabric. He drew him close enough to kiss him, the familiar warm feeling of it an awareness that awakened his body, his senses to the way it felt to have this man against him, to be able to slide a hand around to the small of his back, pressing in, urging him closer. He didn't know why they found each other again in places like this, when he never thought to meet anyone, after loneliness had eaten at him so much that Abel's presence was something he never wanted to let go of. He didn't know why he wanted to bind this man or what had given him the courage to ask him for it, only that it had hollowed him out until he voiced it, until he brought him back here. There never seemed to be any explanation for the ways he wanted him.
"Abel." He said his name just to hear the way it sounded in the quiet of the bedroom. Gloves were the easiest thing to divest him of first. They were in reach, they let him trace his hands over Abel's hands before he put the gloves aside to open his cassock, his breathing deepening. In this room there was only the two of them and he would strip every piece of clothing off the man, one by one, if he would let him.