Forgive Me Father

The church was quiet for once. The usual hustle and bustle of the crowds or the rampant studies by the holy buns were unusually absent. A nice silence filled the building and Ink couldn’t be more grateful. There was only so much proselytising that one priest could do and sometimes it was hard to find himself in the right mood to even bother doing it.

Ink’s gaze could only travel up the length of the chapel’s holy idol. A devil carved in obsidian and garnished in only the purest gold. Sitting on his knees, bowed over, and with his rosary in his hands Ink prayed. His thoughts churned with impurities, with rhetoric unfit for a man of his stature. Ink turned the delicate beads in his gem encrusted hands. Lips barely moving in a silent prayer to the beings he called gods. The road to hell was paved with good intention, was it not? His intent was nothing but pure, but then why did he find so much fault in it?

Contemplation was good, in moderation. So maybe it was divine intervention that Ink’s thoughts would be interrupted.

“Ah,” Ink’s prayers stopped as he heard an all too familiar voice “Ink, I didn’t think you’d be in here.” A deep purr rumbled at the end of the sentence. Ink’s head turned to look, red eyes tired as he confirmed who exactly had joined him.

“Oleander.” Ink greeted the fellow priest. The pink haired man tossed him a charming smile. Heeled boots clicked and echoed throughout the sanctuary. Ink couldn’t help but wince slightly at the sharp sound as Oleander soon stood next to him. “Did you come to pray too?” Ink turned to look back up at the statue. Mind burdened with thoughts and churning with self hate. Oleander hummed softly, not directly answering the question of his priest.

The silence from before had started to slowly creep back into the room. Ink’s mind slowly went back towards his thoughts as he played with his rosary. Just as he was about to fully immerse himself in his prayer again, Oleander decided to speak up. “You don’t need to kneel on the floor.” Ink’s brows furrowed together as he looked up at the head priest’s face. Burgundy eyes looked at him, filled with a certain emotion that Ink couldn’t place.

Kindness? Fondness? Ink couldn’t exactly put his finger on it.

“You can pray while sitting on one of the benches.” There was a small hint of amusement behind Oleander’s words. “Sometimes comfort isn’t just for those with a penchant for sloth, you know.” Ink’s mouth was set in a tight line as he looked at the bench and then at Oleander.

“I know.” Ink turned to his head towards the devilish idol in front of him. Turning away from Oleander. “Can’t a man just enjoy being on his knees sometimes?” Oleander’s smile grew as he let out a small laugh at Ink’s question. The white haired priest sighed through his nose as he tucked his rosary back into his prayer bag silently. He could tell that he wouldn’t be able to contemplate while Oleander was around and just accepted that as pure fact.

“That’s true, I myself do enjoy being on my knees from time to time.” The head priest wiped a small tear from his eye. With a growing smile, Oleander studied Ink. Drinking in the other priest’s own outfit. While the church allowed all forms of clothing for their holy people, Ink was someone who took the church’s tenets seriously and wore something that reflected his dedication. Leather harness on his bare chest, a long loincloth covered his more intimate parts. His body was meant to be seen, meant to drive feelings of lust and even envy among the congregation and his holy family. “Maybe I can show you, one day.” Oleander hummed as he tried to keep the raising lust within himself. “Right now, you seem to be a bit troubled.” The hand that fell on Ink’s shoulder was light, but it felt crushing to the white haired man. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Ink took in a deep breath as he thought about the question. Chewing on the inside of his cheek as he debated with himself. He fiddled with his rosary, eyes looking towards the ground as he nodded softly. “I suppose it could help.” The priest slowly started to get up. He was tall, nearly a head and a half taller than Oleander, and his horns only added to his imposing statue. “Should we go to your room, or mine?” Oleander hummed as he smiled softly at Ink.

“Let’s go to mine. The walls are a bit thicker and offer a bit more privacy than the standard dorm room.” Oleander smiled as he started to walk towards the sanctuary exit. Ink followed behind, letting the pink haired man lead him to a room he was very familiar with.

Oleander held the door open, letting Ink walk in before closing the door behind them. The head priest’s room was larger, more spacious than Ink’s own room. The walls were adorned with holy paintings of demons and a few of Oleander himself. Besides that, were shelves lined with some holy artefacts and some rather dubious ones. Toys in a variety of sizes, colours, and textures. A few were even strewn across Oleander’s large bed. Something to help Oleander take the edge off when he couldn’t find someone to do the job for him. Oleander carefully put away the toys littering his bed, making it clear for both of them to sit on as he gently patted the space next to him. Ink only followed his superior’s actions as he looked towards him. “Now, what’s wrong?” Oleander’s voice was soft as he looked at Ink.

Ink took a deep breath. The scent of incense and rosewater helped to soothe him, if just slightly. “I’ve been having,” it took Ink a moment to think about how he should phrase his issues “improper thoughts. Thoughts I shouldn’t be having.” Ink’s admission did little to help the crushing guilt that rested on his chest. Oleander seemed intrigued by it.

“Such as?” Ink grimaced at the question. His hands were gripping tightly to one another.

“Thoughts that go against the church and its teachings. Thoughts that scare me to be having.” Ink confessed to his doubts as he looked at his hands. “That maybe, all of our teachings and beliefs are wrong. That maybe, we’ve all fallen for some horrible joke and that it’s too late to see that we’re all just a punchline.” Ink didn’t realise he had closed his eyes until he started to see flashes of colour from how hard he had them shut. A soft hand gently rubbed at his back. Ink bit hard at his lip as he felt a level of comfort from the action that he didn’t want to admit to. “I’ve been praying but these thoughts always plague me. I’m not sure what to do to get them to go away.”

Silence filled the room as Ink quietly sobbed into his hands. Oleander continued to just gently and silently offer his comfort to his priest. Not a word was spoken for what felt like ages until Oleander decided to break it once more. “It’s alright Ink.” His voice was as gentle as it could be. “We are all given our own struggles. Our lords and ladies don’t just offer us heavenly temptations. Sometimes, in order to test our convictions to them, they tempt us with vile ideas and thoughts.” Oleander’s fingers trailed across Ink’s upper forearm. Feeling the mixture of soft flesh and hard gemstone. “It’s all just a test and I’m sure that you will pass it, Ink. You are nothing if not a man of devotion.”

Ink took in a breath as he looked over at Oleander. Eyes puffy and slightly swollen from crying. He swallowed the lump in his throat. The bile festering within him wanted to scream and argue. It wanted to fight Oleander on how this torment was supposed to be a test of his faith. Ink had dedicated his life to the church, why did he need to be tested? However, he would never say these thoughts. Not with Oleander especially. “Thank you, Oleander.” His voice was soft as he looked away and towards a painting of a demon on the wall. The priest reeled in his emotions as he bottled it all back up.

Oleander was completely unaware of Ink’s insincerity. He smiled as he looked at his priest. This was a reminder that even those at the forefront of the church had their own trials to overcome. “Of course, Ink. I’m more than happy to offer any of my services to you.” Oleander smirked a little as he let his hand linger on Ink’s arm. “And, I do mean any service.”