his chest. Zach shuddered, growing smaller against Stavros, and I bit my lip at the pair of them wrapped up together like that. It was sweet, and heartbreaking too, and I held still so I wouldn’t remind them that I was here, watching. Zach was soaking up comfort from Stavros like a sponge, so easily I wasn’t sure he even realized it, and Stavros was as steady as a rock, something similar to what he’d felt with me warming the air, but deeper, a love that was more than new and blooming, but had already weathered some storms together.
“Who caught you?” Stavros asked.
“Father Montgomery,” Zach whispered, muffled against Stavros’ chest. “When I was at the rectory.”
“Lemme guess, real old school fuck? The kind that cracked knuckles on Sunday school kids and talked about hell more than heaven?” Stavros asked.
Zach shrugged his arms off, his face pale and eyes red, and he nodded, gaze glancing in my direction but then right back to Stavros.
“Come on, Zach, is that the kind of leader you want to be? Scaring kids out of their dignity and sense of self over some genuine feelings for each other?” Stavros asked.
“Of course not, but—”
“I know homophobia wasn’t about to be solved in the Catholic church before the Rising or anything, but that’s some bullshit, and a lot of the church was learning to say so. Fuck that guy. Fuck how he made you feel,” Stavros said softly, still holding Zach’s shoulders and his eyes. “Look, I know I’m probably not the man you’d ask about piety and purity, alright, but Kais would gladly tell you the same. You’re a good priest, and it’s not because you’re resisting any sexual urges for men, or for women for that matter. It’s because you care about people and you believe in them and you uplift them. You remind them of their duties of kindness to each other and to themselves. Remind yourself too, Zach.”
Maybe I should’ve interrupted them, because Stavros didn’t know the effect his speech was having on Zach, too caught up in his worry over how his friend, his family, was tearing himself up inside. But I knew. I knew the moment it was all too much for Zach, and that twisted, knotted, mass inside of him was ready to explode.
I opened my mouth, but it was too late.
Zach grabbed Stavros’ face in both hands, surging up and slanting his mouth against the other man’s, deep and aggressive and desperate, his fingers digging into Stavros’ hair and holding him in that endless, violent kiss.
Fuuuuuck was it hot.
18
Divine Sin
Zach
Oh shit.
Oh fuck.
I moaned as Stavros’ tongue slid against mine, hot and bitter and stroking, searching. I was pushing him away, wasn’t I? I needed to be fucking letting go, running out the door, or apologizing. Or throwing myself on a fucking pyre.
Oh shit.
Stavros’ arms banded around my ribs, pulling me closer, hips grinding together in sudden and fiery friction.
Oh fuck.
It was too fucking much and not nearly enough. When our mouths parted for air, reality hit me like a brick to the chest.
"Fuck...fuck!" My hands balled into fists on Stavros' shoulders. I jerked to pull away, but his arms held me in place.
"Zach, Zach." The rough bristles of his beard nudged my temple. His mouth, that mouth I could still taste, made soft shushing noises like he was comforting a child. "It's okay, Zach. You're okay. You're safe."
"No." I buried my head in his shoulder, simultaneously wanting to disappear and curl against his chest. My gaze rolled to the side, finding Deyva staring at us in our locked embrace. "You two are together and...fuck, I'm so sorry."
"Zach." Deyva stepped forward, her hand finding gentle placement on my shoulder. "You have nothing to be sorry for, nothing at all."
Stavros let out a chuckle, his hands loosening around me just an inch. "I don't think she minds, Zach."
"Just the opposite, actually." Deyva wet her lips with her tongue, her eyes red and hungry. I wondered what we tasted like to her. "That was brave, and...really, really sexy."
"Don't beat yourself up. I know that's where your mind is headed." Stavros' arms released slowly from around me until his hands rested near my elbows.
His expression was concerned, protective. Seriousness, but without the stern judgment of the priests who had raised me. I knew that look well—he wore it the same day the bus dropped me off in Bethel. Stavros was not concerned with my immortal soul, but concerned for my well being.
"There's nothing wrong