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[personal profile] eff_reality
Billy/Dom, AU. Ages have been adjusted. For [livejournal.com profile] dashery.
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Underage sexual situations. Catholicism kink.
Previously: Confession I|First Holy Communion|Confession II|Conversation|Confirmation|Confession III|Ash Wednesday

Confession IV

Billy has been going through the rituals of this last week in a daze. When he first came to the church he was very much a young man, but he still cannot recall ever being so bereft of energy for it, for even the simplest of interactions with his congregation, listening or giving instruction. He's often found it in his heart to be preoccupied with certain members of the church, when there's been unexpected death in a family, or divorce, but those thoughts had only enhanced his work, not distracted from it; true preoccupation was never fully realized until now.

The dark silence of the tiny confession room envelops him completely, his eyes falling shut and his head tipping back against hard, thick wood. After experiencing the most frustrating half-sleep every night for the past four days, there's no hope of keeping himself alert with silent prayer or list-making. In the blackness behind his eyelids, Billy's drowsy, suggestible brain envisions a bedroom thoroughly unlike the one he's kept upstairs for the past ten years, one with a proper bed, nothing as austere as the one in which he's spent the week tossing and turning, a bed with character and comfort and blankets he can burrow greedily under on weekend mornings. He's had the pleasure of a hotel bed on one or two retreats over the years, but it's not the same.

"Hello, Father."

He opens his eyes and flails a bit, clearing his throat. He hadn't even heard the door to the adjacent room shut. "Hello. How long has it been since your last confession?"

“Ages,” the voice responds, half self-deprecation and half as if to say You should know.

Billy smiles in amusement at the man’s sense of humor, a welcome change from the dutiful, mildly guilty tones that have filled his morning so far. “That’s alright,” he says warmly. “You’re here now. What would you like to confess?”

There is a silence so heavy that Billy is almost convinced his confessor has up and left through the opposite door, just as quietly as he’d come. Billy instinctively leans forward, his eyes searching, though there isn’t very much he can see through the metal diamonds of the grating that separates them. He nearly jumps back at the sound of a loud exhale. “Confess is a strong word,” the voice answers, tentative, much less cheeky than just a moment ago. “Maybe discuss would be better. I’d love to discuss something with you. Father,” it adds, almost as an afterthought.

The horrible, terrifying realization that it’s Dominic on the other side of the screen hits Billy like a punch to the stomach, his heart thudding in his ears at the flash of those huge, liquid metal eyes in the dark. He wonders a little angrily why Dominic bothered to keep the screen between them, if this was meant as some bizarre sort of sneak attack. He is certainly glad for it, though.

“Discuss what?” Billy asks, shifting to sit in profile and putting a bit more distance between himself and the screen, between them.

“My sins,” Dominic answers, more simply than before, almost as if he’s reading the words off of a page. His voice is mostly the same, only considerably rougher, like someone tossed a handful of gravel down his throat.

Before this ordeal continues, Billy suddenly, fiercely wants to call Dominic out, the way he’d done accidentally years ago when Dominic was still just a child. But this Dominic wouldn’t run; Billy is sure of it. In fact, he's almost certain that Dominic isn't seeking anonymity just now. “What are they?” he asks stupidly, and it ends up sounding impatient to his own ears.

Just then, Dominic leans forward—Billy can hear it in how close that voice gets. “I haven’t been with anyone, at school, in case you were wondering.” Billy instantly understands how inappropriate this whole conversation already is, his stomach turning at it. “Well, nothing apart from kissing,” Dominic says somewhat timidly.

The word kissing sounds like a kiss out of Dominic’s mouth; it brings color to Billy’s cheeks. “Kissing isn’t a sin,” he says with more exasperation than reassurance.

There is another heavy silence, apart from the thunderous beat of Billy’s heart in his ears. When Dominic whispers I’ve saved myself, Billy is so thoroughly taken aback that he finally looks up, eyes wide and wild, finding a mirror image of Dominic through the grating. What Billy assumes are Dominic’s lashes sweep down, shielding his eyes for a brief moment. “I wanted you to take me,” he whispers fiercely. “I still do.”

Stop it, Billy needs to say. Stop, stop, stop. But his mouth seems to be sealed shut, craving Dominic’s next words like a sweet burst of air. He’s heard confessions that should have been unforgettable, would have been to most other men, but this is the only one that he has ever wanted to hear.

“It could only be good,” Dominic continues, finally, as if to convince. “You’re so pure and perfect. And I’m trying to be. I try so hard.”

"Dominic, this can't—. Circumstances aside, do you know how old I am?"

"I didn’t care then, and I really don’t now,” Dominic shoots back, that same wicked amusement in his voice that Billy saw lighting his eyes at mass the other day.

Billy can't help it: he presses the heel of his hand to himself, giving a choked sob of relief that echoes in the tiny booth and makes Dominic gasp on the other side. It brings tears to his eyes it feels so utterly good. He vaguely hears Dominic shift on the kneeler.

"When I was young, I was good, wasn't I? Pure, like you,” he whispers, quieter, conspiratorial. “You can teach me again.”

“I’m not—”, Billy starts, ripping his hand from himself, the sense suddenly coming back into his body. He wants to tell Dominic he’s not pure, far from it, that he’s in no position to teach anyone about piety, not now. Billy can actually hear Dominic lick his lips. He clenches his eyes and rights his slacks, standing.

“Do you know how often I’ve thought of you?” Dominic says. “You've been the key to everything for me.”

Billy shuts the door quietly behind him and doesn’t open his eyes until he’s in his bedroom again, safe and sound.


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March 2013


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