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Confession	By : SuckUBusJ Category: +S to Z > Trinity Blood Views: 3405 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Trinity Blood, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Confession
- 1
(This
is Arheniel from the TB forum, so don't flame me that I stole a story
-_-)

My
first TB fanfiction, pweesh be gentle. Sorry for the un-canon-ness at
times but I started to write this when I watched episode 6 a few
months ago, when I didn't even know of the existence of the novels or
manga. I have collected some info after I started it, so I sprinkled
some facts here and there. I am still new to the story. And English
is NOT my first language XD

Disclaimer:
Trinity Blood is not mine sadly. I am not making money with this or
anything like that. But I do wish I could have Isaak and Balthasaar
as male slaves. Ok not slaves just hanging out in my living room,
smoking and drinking. XD

For
Darky <3

Finally…
Silence.

A
head of loose golden hair rested against the dark wood behind him
with a thump, his face not even flinching at the action. Green eyes
usually half-lidded, shut in relief, his pupils clearly rolling back
before they closed completely. A sigh. How he missed traveling. That
was the only thing in his mind those days; the silence, those daily
walks in company of his own musings, new faces that never came too
close… faces he always looked at from deep inside his cloak…
searching for her. But nothing. It had been so long. He wondered how
she looked now… if she had changed.

She
was the only family that survived that fatal night.

He
opened his eyes again only half way and stared at an imperfection on
the wood in front of him inside the narrow confessional.

Memories
kept haunting him.

Vampire.

The
word had to be uttered for his blood to begin running hot in his
veins, his muscles swelling like a wild animal prepared to fight...

Fight
to kill.

That
is what they deserve. All of them.

His
forearms twitched on their own at the mere thought of the creatures;
a programmed reflex which had saved his life millions of times
before. But this was not the time nor the place. Again his eyes
closed as a deep intake of air filled his lungs in almost a
meditative gesture; it left his body slowly after a few seconds,
eyes, once more, half opened.

A
little thump from the other side of the small cabin made his eyes
close again, this time a slight frown adorning his young almost
angelical face.

These
are not hours for confession; my rest has been disturbed.

“Bless
me father for I have sinned…” a feminine voice, almost a
whisper, her hands still fidgeting with her belongings on the other
side of the booth. He sighed silently and slid the screen open,
revealing a beautiful pattern of baroque engravings, allowing the
Priest to listen to his child beg for forgiveness, in partial
anonymity.

“Go
on…” he simply said in his almost monotone voice.

“I—uh—I
broke the third commandment today… twice… and—uh—the
forth… I think—I was a bit distracted in mass this
week…”

His
lips parted to give this woman her penitence when she spoke again.

“…And…
also I’ve—uh—I’ve had impure thoughts…”

Silence.

Usually,
this would be where the confession will stop; nothing was ever
uttered or described and it was enough. But to avoid almost
interrupting the woman once more, he stopped and almost drifted away
in his thoughts, again staring at that spot in the—

“...
With a member of the clergy…”

His
eyes rolled to the carved wood beside him, no expression on his face,
as it was usual in him.

“I
have committed every sin I can think of by this—”

“Intention
is what the Lord judges; what does your conscience tell you?”
was his calm answer.

Silence.
A sigh from the woman.

“I
like to watch him Father…”

“It
is natural to feel admiration for a representation of God on earth—”
an automatic response—

“No
Father… not in mass…” she continued, almost a
whisper. “… I sneak in the gardens... a few times a
week…” she began, that idleness and boredom he was
experiencing in that place his comrades called 'home', filling him
with curiosity. What tale would this woman have to tell? Maybe it was
one of those women looking for Leon again… maybe thinking he
was Leon. After all, it was Dandelion’s favorite chore to do;
confession. He found it so amusing. “… I like to
watch him do this… dance or… imaginary fight he does
every morning, while there is still no one around…”

Dance?
Fight?

“…
I wait always anxiously
for those first minutes to pass… when drops of sweat slowly
roll down to his brow and his blond hair—”

Blond?

“—sticks
to his face… the back of his hands pushing it back clumsily…”
she chuckled. “… like any man would do; no self
consciousness or vanity…”

She
couldn’t be talking about—

“…
Temperature rises and he
goes through the same ritual every time…” a smile could
be made out by her words. “… first the heavy…
overcoat, I think… then the belt… then the robe
finally, leaving him always only in his pants…” again a
soft chuckle, the action contrasting with the age her voice
represented. “… sometimes I wonder if he does it on
purpose… it is so… tantalizing…”

His
brow was still furrowed, trying to understand who was she talking
about… or maybe, in heavy denial.

It
is not about Leon, this I know; damn idleness; what has begun to do
to me.

“…
I wonder… “
her voice turned sad and small. “… what he did or went
through for his body to be so mistreated…”

His
eyes widened and traveled to the baroque carvings, but his head
rested completely against the wood behind him, almost… hiding.
His hands went to his cloak and slowly put it over his head. Maybe
she could see him from outside?

“I
don’t leave once he’s done... I cannot be too obvious and
watch him so intensely ...” Silence. “... he falls on his
back, sprawled on the grass, exhausted... and then is when I
watch...”

Denial
can go so far, he realized.

“A
sin Father... I find beauty in his pain. How can I be this selfish?
How can I find beauty on those scars that might mean only bitter
memories... but I can’t help it...”

His
lips opened to say something about this, but her voice made him stop.

“I
am a coward, I think to myself... I only stay there, looking at
his chest heave and relax as he tries to catch his breath; his body
glistening with sweat; the veins in his arms expanding enough to be
visible over his skin... his muscles swollen and tight...” she
trailed off, her tone implying some kind of dazed state of mind. “...
I try to talk myself into walking over there and at least say 'good
morning'... but no matter how long he stays there, I never say a
word...”

It
is time to stop this... it is getting too personal...

His
voice finally filled the booth.“ I doubt the Lord sees this as
a anything sinful--.”

“Oh
no Father, but walking to him is not what I would like to do...”
Silence. Again a soft frown appeared on his face. “... crawling
would be more accurate...”

Crawling?

“...
wait until his eyes close and his body slows down and falls into
slumber...” her tone had taken a soft almost breathy one. “...
crawl up his body, without his knowledge and ... break the second
commandment, Father...” the anticipation was making the blood
leave his limbs and concentrate at the height of his navel... and a
bit lower. “... bow down to this sight... a true representation
of Heaven on earth...”

“Of
God...” he corrected, checking on her implications.

“Heaven,
Father... or Hell... who knows...”

He
gulped, feeling the tension in his lower abdomen increase with every
one of her words.

“...
My eyes, overwhelmed at the sight, finally focus.... on two spots;
two... scars I tend to go back to when ever he stands or lies before
me this light on clothes...” Silence. “... one rests on
the curve of his shoulder in the shape of a hook almost... reminding
me of how I almost lost him...” she chuckled sarcastically.
“... and how exactly can I loose someone I have never had...”
through the carvings, he can distinguish a soft shake of her head,
and a glimpse of jet-black, short, straight hair. “... only God
knows...”

As
he was about to speak, he realized his lungs lacked air. Her words
beat him to it again.

“...
I feel this ... urge to soothe his pain; even though it is not
technically with him anymore by the look of the scars. My hands are
busy enough holding me over his body, so all I have left are... my
lips...” she said that last thing as a matter-of-factly. “...
I place a first soft kiss right... in the middle of that scar,
rubbing lightly... maybe trying to bring it alive again?... or just
wanting him, by this contact, to share a little of his pain with
me...”

The
back of his head again leaned against the wood, his cloak still on
his head, but his face uncovered, green eyes shining with a dreamy
glint. His eyelids felt heavier, his lips lighter; it was a matter of
time until his eyes closed completely and his lips parted from each
other slightly. Her words were all he could hear... and even feel;
not even his moralistic thoughts came close to him. This time,
nothing came to mind to stop her. Not even the notion of ‘stopping
her’ was in his conscious self any longer.

“...
I kiss the mark again,,, and again... but my hands begin to give in.
I panic; I don’t want to scare him away... I am afraid of his
reaction...”

His
eyes again opened and rolled toward the baroque carvings; A hint of
cinnamon-tanned skin he can see... How long has it been?, a
thought crossed his mind, and an unconscious lick of his lips. A
reaction? She doesn’t want to know...

“...
His lips are so close...” she whispered almost longingly. “...
my fingers move a few inches to lock with a strand of his hair...”
she chuckled again that juvenile chuckle. “... in real life he
would’ve pushed me away already... and I would be in jail... or
maybe even worse...”

He
almost shook his head negatively. And scolded himself for this a
second later.

“...
my eyes travel over him still admiring his face and body. One of my
knees lands in between his thighs, the other outside of them; almost
straddling one . My head tilts, my forearms rest at the sides of his
head receiving my upper body... Lord, my heart is about to burst as I
get closer... I can smell the distinctive scent of his breath...
making me... my body... respond immediately...”

His
body responded too, the slacks he wore under his priest robes
controlling the bulge from simple view. It has been a while
definitely... not even a kiss and I already feel dizzy...

“...
My lips graze his lower lip softly... I feel so overwhelmed...
wanting to do so many things; rub my face against his, caress his
body with my hands...” Silence. “...I’ve never
heard his voice before... he’s always so silent... yes, maybe a
whisper just for me, even if it is just... the time...” she
chuckled shyly. His lips unconsciously curling into something similar
to a smile too. “... but I have to control myself... again, I
am afraid of his reaction...”

His
eyes couldn’t move away from the little peek of her face he
could catch in between the wooden carvings and soft shadows. Moving
to get a better look was absolutely out of the question.

“...
I lick his lower lip softly, very slowly...” a breathy voice
from her. His lips parted, his eyes exploring her fruitlessly in
between the carvings... “... they are so soft... so warm...
again I feel the scent of his breath and my--...”

What...
say it...

She
cleared her throat quietly and continued. “... as I feel the
touch of the tip of his tongue, my arms give in completely... and I
fall softly on him...” His eyes closed for a second... as his
hand landed on the bulge already visible despite of the restraints of
his clothing, imitating the pressure of her body.

...A little more
pressure...

A
sigh from him, his hips shifting upward once... meeting his hand.

“...
I wonder about his kiss... his touch... I’m not sure how to
take his silent ways...” his temple rested on the frame
surrounding the elegant carvings. “... is he just shy... or
intense and... just needs a little... push and then... madness...”
a short silent pause; a shaky inhale. “... I don’t really
mind... really... as long as I have his lips just for me...” a
soft scoff. “... yes, greed, Father, another sin... I
don’t want anyone to touch him--less hurt him... I have enough
with his robes and the grass under him... how pathetic I sound...”

So
close, damn wood... such soft skin... or so it looks... so
beautiful...

“...
My tongue dances with his, so slowly it’s painful... my body is
pressed against his, almost molding to him... yes, indecently...”
his hand rubs once; then twice over his hardness and clothes. “...
it’s lust what I feel, no room for anything else... all
I know of him is what I see... not by choice but because of the
circumstances... not like he will comply of course...”

Yes...
I would...

“...
Just our tongues touch... and swirl and play... lips rubbing together
once in a while...” he couldn’t help but caress his upper
lip with the tip of his tongue from one corner to the other.
Unconsciously, it stretched past his lips, caressing only air...
feeling her absence...

...
too long, indeed...

“...
In my mind his hands come to me... softly groping my waist...”

They
would...

“...
in my mind, his leg makes space for me, locking with mine, even...
pushing himself up toward me as the kiss deepens...”

Yes,
I would do that...

“...
In my mind... once our lips lock, is because his head leaves the
grass to claim them... ending the teasing... both drawing--.” a
shaky breath from her. “... a deep breath as well...”

Damn
this carved wood...

“...
In my mind, his arms encircle me in a strong embrace, rolling both of
us as for me to rest on my back...” another shaky breath from
her. “... pushing his body against mine, almost...
grinding....”

Yes...
yes...

“...
His lips rub my skin up my cheek, to my ear... a nibble, a glorious
nibble then another...” her breath was short and slightly
agitated. “... then the side of my neck...” his eyes
caught the way she closed her eyes and leaned her head backwards.
Beautiful, he thought. Without a doubt he liked what he saw...
and wanted to see more. His forehead hit the frame of the carved
division between them and shifted his eyes to her exposed neck. Him;
she was enjoying the mere thought of him, not even knowing he was
more than willing to accept her offer.

A
priest but still a man, his eyes tried to go lower, but couldn’t
find what he was aiming for. Damn this wood, damn these small
holes...

A
gasp from her.

His
eyes sought her face ... her eyes. Dark eyes widened meeting his
green ones in between the carvings; there was recognition in them.

Silence.

A
cold current went down his body as she jumped up and moved away from
the divider that separated them. Her eyes wide, her body obviously
trembling. His suspicion was confirmed; she had no idea it was him
listening to her all this time.

His
mouth opened, not knowing what to say. He heard something like a
whispered 'oh god' coming from her, but the only thing his
mind was trying to process was a way to stop her from leaving.

"No."
was the only thing coming out of his lips in a whisper, as her hand
grabbed the knob of the small door that kept her inside of the booth.

She
stopped. Her face hidden in her own raven hair, her side on his line
of vision.

More
silence. He didn't want her to leave... but never to disrespect her.
Words were not coming to him. Evil beings he had fought left and
right, winning every time... but to a delicate, or maybe not so
delicate being like a woman, he didn't know what to say.

"Go
on..." he said in his usual monotone. She turned to him, her
eyes looking once more into his, despite of her obvious
embarrassment. "... please..." a softer tone to him, but
still in a way, lacking emotion.

He
saw her kneel once more… slowly, hesitant.

Silence.

Her
eyes were fixed on the hand rest as she knelt. He tried to search for
them innocently, but she kept her head low, hiding from his gaze.

"Please..."
he whispered again, her eyes snapping back up. If it wasn't for
this damned wood... he thought.

"...
My--my legs softly start to shift position, moving outward... giving
him space--." she stopped to look at him in between the
apertures. "--giving... you... space... in between my
legs..."

His
eyes fluttered at the sound of the change in pronoun. His hand rubbed
against himself once more... and one more time...

"...
Would I be right to say you comply?..." she asked.

Silence.

"...Yes..."
was his whispered answer.

"...
And that your body also shifts to kneel, your open palms sliding from
my calves up to my knees... higher to my thighs... uncovering my
skin, parting the fabric of the also religious robe I am wearing as a
disguise, while we continue to kiss?"

"Yes..."
his forehead again landed on the wood, his had sliding inside his own
robe and opening his pants in one smooth movement.

"...
But I remember... I have been ignoring that other scar... that other
mark..." his eyes open as his hand stops right over his
underwear. "... but you continue to kneel in front of me as I
sit up... so again I crawl to you, my hands landing on your
thighs..." he could feel them on him, warm and soft, making
goosebumps spread on his uncovered skin. ",,, and finally, my
lips landing on it... "

“Where...
tell me...” his masculine whisper.

"...
The one beside your navel... a bit to it's right--my right...
stretching to the inside of your pants..."

“Yes...
I can feel you...”

"...
A wet kiss..." a caress over the thin cotton of his underwear.
"... the taste of your slightly salty skin on my tongue
finally... again makes me--."

Silence.

"Say
it..." he whispered shakily, eyes closed.

"...
Makes... my breasts swell and ... my... nipples hard... my... "

His
hand rubs himself again.

"...
Would you touch them, Father?"

"...
Y--yess..."

"...
Would you draw circles over the fabric that covers them, teasing the
skin around it...."

A
sigh was his answer.

"...
As you do this, my tongue reaches the beginning of your pants... and
the scar gets lost in them, away from my sight..." he can feel
her, he can. "... does it continue further down?"

"Yes..."

"...
Can I continue further down?..."

"Yes...
yes..."

"...
And I do... your pants already undone, I am guessing..."

Silence.
Just the occasional breath.

"...
My tongue continues to outline this perfect imperfection of yours...
my teeth softly checking on the receptiveness of the dead skin..."

A
soft hiss comes out of him at what her words continued to imply.

"The
mark... it... stops finally... and I continue to savor your skin at
the height of your hipbone... clawing at your stubborn pants that
want to bring my lips upward again..."

No...
not yet...stay there a bit more...

"...
Gluttony? Can we say it is this that invades my senses? ... or should
I confess better my sin as sodomy?... or both?..." her hints
send shivers down his spine and his hand completely into his pants.
"... my tongue gives a long lick inside of the elastic of your
underwear... asking for permission..." he opened his eyes
meeting her dark ones, piercing, questioning, after an abnormal
silence. It took him a while to realize she was demanding an answer.

"Yes..."
seemed to be the only word in his lips those past minutes. Sodomy,
this is sodomy...

"...
And my tongue finds you, my hand lowers the fabrics that restrain you
and separate your skin from me... one lick... another wet kiss..."
a long stroke by his hand, then another. "... my wet lips slide
around you, enveloping you with my mouth's wetness and warmth..."

A
quick pant. Then another.

His
fingers go to the carved wood separating holy and sinner, as
support... or maybe trying to reach for her. Masculine digits make it
through the holes, to the second flange, his forehead still against
the wood, eyes closed, his hand stroking himself slowly.

What
am I doing...

That
hand, the one on the carvings, tenses as his fingers feel wetness.
His head shoots up realizing part of his fingers are on the other
side of the divider... and a moist... tongue and lips are caressing
it.

Words
are not needed from her to describe what she would like to do to him
next. Her tongue moved in swirls around his fingers, one at a time,
lips encircling them after a few licks, the feeling of her mouth
sucking on his digits making him dizzy to the point of almost loosing
his balance a few times. His hand continued to move on himself as
well, connecting the feeling of his other hand with his member. It
was overwhelming for the priest. His breaths were beginning to get
loud, beyond his control.

"Father...
are you touching yourself?"

A
loud exhale from him.

"...
Yes..."

Her
fingers crept in between the carvings, slender fingers making it all
the way inside. He moved his eyes to her pleading digits, moving in
the air, calling for his attention. He moved slowly to them, shyly.
But once her slightly cold, shaky fingers made contact with his skin,
he began doing just as she was; He kissed them, the act eliciting a
gasp from her. Their eyes locked, both foreheads hitting the carved
wood at the same time.

“--Are
you—?...” he asked, almost a guilty whisper.

“Yes...
all this time I have...”

He
shifted to a kneeling position on the confessional bench, as her body
stood straight all of a sudden, in front of the apertures. His moving
hand continued to give him pleasure, faster and stronger now, low
grunts reaching her ears, inviting her hand to raise her shirt and
give him a hint of her skin; a hiss escaped his lips and a little
dizziness invaded his head as his fingers grazed the white garment
that covered her upper body. His digits went mad, trying to touch her
skin over her article of clothing, right under her bust. As his lips
parted to utter his pledge to her, she lowered her body just a enough
for his fingers to caress her breast lightly. Her eyes lost contact
with his for a few seconds as they rolled back with a sigh, his hand
milking his erect member greedily in the other side of the booth.

He
felt the cloth rub against his fingertips and then... skin. He could
make out the slightly darker skin of her tight areola and her hard
nipple, both shirt and undergarment pulled over them... so
erotically disturbing, he thought. She shifted her body again,
letting him brush a touch on her nipple, making her whimper. His
fingers tightened around the carved wood and, mentally cursing again
the situation, pulled and pushed the screen, reassuring himself that
there was no way of bringing it off. An almost feral grunt came from
him as the movement failed to bring him closer to his lover. Her body
fell on her knees once more, her forehead against the screen in front
of his, panting and whispering.

“Father...
in my mind... I bring you over me...”

“...
And I follow...” a breathy male whisper.

“You
land in the space in between my legs I have reserved for you...”
his hand stopped its fondling waiting for what was to come. “...
your hand claws at my underwear and brings it off my hips, the fabric
rubbing against my skin suggestively... announcing what is to come.”
his other hand leaves the carvings, a single finger sliding down the
front of his robe, smoothly opening it, the heat starting to affect
him. He allows her fingers to touch him, especially that scar, the
one on his shoulder. “... my heels bring you closer to my
body... can you feel me kissing that scar again?”

“Yes,
I do...” was his hoarse answer.

“I
can feel you lowering your bottom clothing and...” a sigh and a
shaky breath. “... you... rubbing up and down my entrance...”
his hand stands for her body, his pelvis teasing it, pretending it is
her. “... will you tease me?...”

“...
I am...”

“Damn
you...” she said with a smile and then almost gasped. “
God I'm sorry—.”

“...
Why should you...” his eyes closed, his throbbing tip teasing
his hand... or viceversa? “... I am not...” a hint of a
devilish half smile on his lips. “... your hand... please…”
he asked and her fingers moved to penetrate the holes closer to his
face. “... your other hand...”

His
emerald eyes met hers, finding a slightly shocked pair of dark ones.
She wasn't sure what he was asking so she cautiously and hesitantly
took her fingers out of her underwear; slender, slightly wrinkled
fingers made it shyly through the carvings, her eyes battling in
between looking at what he was about to do or hide in embarrassment.
He had been so quiet and passive till a few moments ago.

His
tongue lashed out and came in contact with her moist fingers. She
jumped in surprise, her eyes widening again at the sight of his lips
and tongue savoring her arousal. His eyes closed; judging by the way
his shoulder muscle was moving, she could tell he had continued his
ministrations on himself. Thin masculine lips rubbed against her
feminine digits, her moans making an appearance, replacing sighs and
erratic breaths. His half lidded eyes went to her, green shining
furiously in the mildly dark confessional. Her parted lips reached
that hand and tried to meet his tongue through the small holes; the
tip of her deep rosy colored tongue shortly coming in contact with
the tip of his. Their hands intertwined through the screen as their
tongues and only their tongues danced together, moans and grunts
getting lost into each other's lips and the wood. She freed one of
her hands, sliding it into her undergarments once more.

“Father...
I'm waiting...” she whispered against his tongue huskily. His
hand snapped away from her and the wood's grasp, went into his pants
hastily, making the illusion of her body and thrust into it strongly,
the division shaking.

An
almost feral look from her. An animalistic grunt from him.

No,
there is a limit to what I can take.

“Please...”
his whisper was interrupted by erratic breaths. “... walk to
this side... of the confessional...” Stillness in the other
side. “Please--”

“I
can't...” was her hushed answer. “... there are—people
waiting—.”

“Waiting?”

“Confession.”

An inaudible curse from
his lips, trapped behind clenched teeth, his forehead banging against
the carvings. Damn whoever left the sign outside... when have we
confessed at night?

But just feeling her
smell, her breath coming in between the carved wood was not allowing
his hand to stop its stroking. His eyes opened slightly, remembering
how sometimes, his limbs would almost have... a mind of their own.

“Father...”
her voice almost begged from the other side of the booth, his lips
parting to correct her and inform her of his name... but in a
recondite and obscure corner of his mind... the title only brought a
further tightening at the height of his pelvis... and closer to his
release.

His lips went to the
openings, the woman understanding his body language to perfection.
Hushed moans and whimpers continued with their ministrations on their
own bodies, tongues once more going beyond wooden holes, swirling,
licking, lapping lips, tongues, chins, teeth--

... fangs?

Green eyes snapped open
in horror.

His hands snapped from
their doings and impulsed him away from the screen, his eyes wide in
... panic.. body shuddering in a mixture of frustration and
incredulousness. His exhales were wheezy, his panting making him
slightly dizzy.

It
can't be, it can't be... it is in my head it can't be--

His feet took him once
more to the screen in one long step, his palms landing on it, green
eyes studying the also standing figure beyond the screen. His fingers
clawed in between wooden openings, teeth gritting, waiting for a
reaction from the slightly scared woman in the other side of the
confessional, her back against the wall that used to stand behind
her. Silence. And the more that silence stretched, the more his
suspicions were confirmed. Panic battling to turn into anger...
incredulousness into hate.

She
can't be one of them... this can't be happening... maybe, maybe she
is not like--

A devilish grin stretched
across her face, completing his last thought. Pure and illogic
irateness invaded his being, spreading like a spiderweb in
every direction of his body, making his muscles swell, once the first
hint of fang came to his line of vision. His throat tightened, his
hand snapped inhumanly fast to retrieve his weapon, but as his eyes
returned to the screen, the figure was no more. No room for control,
hyperventilation not being good for his focus, one step, then another
one towards the door, but before storming out of the booth his eyes
alerted him of the state of his clothes. He spun around halfway, his
back slamming against the wooden wall, one fisted hand punching at
it, making a slight crack appear. There was no point in fixing his
clothing and then chasing the woman; she must be far away by now.

Nausea
invaded his senses, guilt now bringing back the auto flagellating
routine he had been through since they had taken his family
away from him. Again the blame, this time accompanied by an intense
disallowance toward his body... tainted with the indirect touch
of—just the idea, made his arm twitch, his throat tighter,
tears of anger trapped in him. Another punch against the wood, his
brow furrowing at the new pain grazing his body; a tightening
discomfort that spread from his navel to his scrotum, reminding him
of his sinful actions with that... vampire.

“Hugue!
Oi, Hugue!!” a rough knock on the door of the booth, made him
turn to it. His palms rested on his slightly bent knees, his breath
slowly coming to normal speed, his eyes still glassy and reddened
with anger. His frown deepened as the discomfort became more and more
painful, making his body curl even more.

And the door opened with
a swing, Leon's rough voice filling the small cabin.

“Hugue—Hey!
Everyth—ugh!!”

Hugue's pale arm
responded on its own, hand grabbing the dark haired priest by his
neck forcefully, making him trail off. One second, green widened eyes
in surprise could be seen as, again, the limb defies its owner; next
second, the pain once again reminds him of his state and lingering
needs for release; and at last, eyes turn narrower and in a fast
move, that same arm carries Leon and rams him against the wall, his
back bouncing against the wood.

Hugue's arm is not the
only one acting on its own... and self-interest.

“Dandelion...”
a monotone whisper coming out of fair, thin masculine lips.

“Hugue!!
What the he—get off--!!” Leon's strained voice, big
tanned hands clawing at the pale one around his neck.

“Kneel,
Dandelion...”

“Wha--”

“Kneel.”
a command. Leon's eyes lower to the state of his comrade's clothing,
his own eyes now widening at the implications. Hissed curses come
from him, but his legs begin to give in as cyborg fingers close his
throat dangerously.

“God—damn...
you... Hugue...”

*(Outside... somewhere
near...)*

“What
in the world is--” A sigh trails off an exasperated man,
sitting inside a black limousine, looking outside the window with a
slight frown. His nose twitches slightly, making his small glasses
move from side to side, his gloved hand tempted to go through his
short blue hair, as he waits and waits for an eternity, it seems to
him. Legs uncross and cross once more, his arms tightly clasped over
his chest in irritation. The last time I succumb to his idiocies,
he thinks to himself quietly.

The door opposite to him
opens.

A beautiful young woman,
short raven hair, cinnamon tanned skin, jumps inside the vehicle,
bouncy and giggly. The blue haired man turns to her, one eyebrow
raised.

“May
I help you, Miss?” his voice carries deep sarcasm and
annoyance.

“It's
me bruder <3” a deep effeminate masculine voice comes out of
the woman's lips, contrasting with her feminine looks.

“Kaspar
what in the world have you—what are you—oh dear, I am
afraid to even ask...” his hand slowly makes to his face,
burying it in embarrassment.

“Oh,
Melchior, don't you want to know? Really? You will adore it! <3 “

Melchior stares at the
now original form of his brother.

“Something
tells me I do not want to know—carry on, please!” he
leans over and taps the division between driver and passenger, for
the man sitting behind the wheel, to drive them off to their next
destination.

“It
has to do with AX <3 ...” Kaspar tempts with a more
pronounced sing-song to his voice.

Eyes behind glasses give
the man with a feather boa, a side glance. Silence.

“Go
on then...” he said almost hesitant.

A toothy grin from
Kaspar, similar to the one he gave the blond priest a few moments
ago, in his 'feminine' form. His hand throws his boa around his neck
tighter, preparing to give a detailed 'report' to his brother.

Dont kill me. XD

Please read and review!
Even if you want to kill me XD
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Confession