Archive of Our Own

Should the lamb slumber with the lion, neither will hunger by sunrise.

~

“You will not be taking your capsule today.”

Harry closed his waiting mouth, confusion filling his features. “What do you mean?” he asked, cocking his head.

“You will not be taking your capsule today,” the Manor worker, Liam, repeated, tapping on a tablet screen in his hands. “Per the Leader’s orders. Come along; he’s waiting for you.”

This didn’t make any sense. Harry always took an extra capsule before meeting with the Leader. He wasn’t allowed to see him otherwise. He could never risk the Leader being exposed to the impurities of a Commoner that Harry carried.

“But,” Harry protested as he hurried to follow Liam down the hall. “Why would he say that?”

“I do not question the Leader’s orders, and neither should you,” Liam said firmly.

Harry couldn’t help but have questions, especially when the Leader would request something that went against everything Harry had previously been taught.

“But,” Harry said again. “I wasn’t given one this morning either. I thought that it would be made up for now.” Panic began to rise in Harry’s chest as he realized that this wasn’t the case. He had never missed more than one capsule before, and that was only in extreme circumstances, like when he was too sick to take them. Even then, he would be given an injection in the capsule’s place. Now though, he was feeling fine, and he hadn’t been given any sort of replacement

There had to be some sort of mistake. “How will the Leader be protected if I don’t take it?”

Liam said nothing, the only sound being the solid slapping of his sandals as he continued down the long winding hallway to the Leader Suite.

Harry struggled to keep up, his bare feet still not fully adjusted to the cold marble floors of the Manor in comparison to the wooden floors of the Commons.

He tried to think of a scenario where it would be okay for him to miss two capsules in a row—maybe there was a task he could complete without actually getting close to the Leader; maybe he was meant to scrub the floors or rearrange the scripture tomes. This still didn’t make sense to him though; if he touched the shelves without a capsule in his system, his impurities could remain and infect the Leader if he were to touch them later. It was just too dangerous.

“Liam, please,” Harry implored as they turned the final corner. Liam had to know more than he was saying.

Liam stopped abruptly and spun on his heel, causing Harry to nearly crash into him. “Trust in your Leader, unreservedly and with your whole being, for he is your way to purity and righteousness.” His eyebrows raised expectantly, and Harry realized that Liam was waiting for him to finish the verse.

Harry held back a sigh. “His compass always points toward certitude, and his word is ultimate.”

Liam gave a satisfied nod before turning and escorting Harry to the entrance of the Leader Suite.

Standing beside the door was another Manor worker, one of Harry’s favorites. “Evening Niall,” Harry said to him, bowing his head respectfully to the guard.

Niall gave a polite smile and a dip of his chin before turning to Liam. “He’s not done yet,” Niall spoke evenly, though his brow twitched with a hint of frustration.

Liam sighed. “Again?” He tapped at his tablet. “He was only meant to prepare the washroom. What could be taking him so long?”

Niall shrugged. “Maybe the towel warmer is acting up again?” he suggested.

“Yeah, or he broke it,” Liam muttered under his breath, the words barely reaching Harry’s ears. Liam looked up at Harry with a forced smile. “Just a few more minutes, and then you can go in.”

Harry nodded, wondering who it could be that was taking too long in their task. Perhaps it was one of the younger followers who was still getting used to assisting in the Manor.

Liam sighed again several moments later, continuing to tap at his screen. “You can just go in, Harry,” he instructed. “The Leader won’t be happy if we get behind.”

Harry was thankful for this. The last thing he wanted was for the Leader to be annoyed with him for being late, especially when it wasn’t his fault.

Liam nodded to Niall, who opened the door for Harry. “Go on then,” Liam said. “I’ll be back to collect you when the Leader calls for me.”

Harry gave a light bow and a soft, “Thank you,” before he stepped around the open door to make his way through it.

He was immediately met with the force of a moving body colliding into his as it quickly left the room.

Harry let out an “oof,” before stumbling backwards. “Sorry!” he squeaked with embarrassment.

The other person stood up straight, and Harry realized then who it was.

“Zayn,” he said dumbly, taking in the sight of him.

Zayn was wearing Manorian clothing, not as fancy as Liam’s and Niall’s, but still marked with the unmistakable red satin shirt. When had Zayn moved into the Manor? Last time Harry had seen him, they had been dressed the same, in muted pink shirts that all Commoners wore. Now though, Harry was the only one.

“Wow, hi,” Harry spoke, trying to get over the shock of colliding with Zayn. ”I haven’t seen you in—”

“Watch where you’re going,” Zayn hissed at him, smoothing out his top.

Harry blinked, startled by the sharpness of Zayn’s tone. “I-I’m sorry,” Harry stuttered awkwardly. “I didn’t—”

“Zayn,” Liam interrupted, his voice even in contrast to Harry’s. He tapped at his tablet before speaking again. “You were supposed to be finished with your task seven minutes ago.”

Zayn crossed his arms over his chest. “So it took a little longer this time. What’s the big deal?”

“The regulations exist for a reason,” Niall stated, as Harry had been told many times growing up. “By not following them, you’re putting the safety of yourself and our Leader in great jeopardy.”

Zayn should know this, Harry thought. Everybody did.

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Oh please. Do tell me what dire jeopardy I’ve put his majesty in by not leaving at precisely seven fifty five.” He raised his eyebrows expectantly, glancing from Niall to Liam and back.

Harry pressed his lips together as his eyes darted to the floor, feeling awkward at being present for such an unusual exchange. He didn’t know where Zayn’s attitude had come from—the man had never acted this way when he’d lived in the Commons. He’d always respected their Leader and followed the rules to a T. Now though…

“You’re needed in the foyer,” Liam said, turning his attention back to his tablet and seemingly ignoring Zayn’s challenge.

“What, I don’t have to stick around for a punishment?” Zayn said, his voice thick with mock shock. “You’re not going to make me highlight scripture verses? Write a hundred lines on the blackboard, ‘I will complete my tasks on time’?”

Liam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just go please,” he said tightly.

“Gladly,” Zayn gritted out, glaring at Harry as he walked by.

Harry stood, frozen in place, unsure of what he had just witnessed. He’d never heard anyone speak that way before, let alone Zayn. It had only been a couple of weeks since Harry had seen him last, but he seemed so… different. He’d lost his regard for the rules, as well as his respect for their Leader, and what was more, he almost seemed mad at Harry.

Harry couldn’t imagine why. While the two had never really been friends, they had always been polite to each other in passing. Harry hadn’t done anything, to his knowledge, to make Zayn become mad at him.

Liam straightened up, clearing his throat. “Sorry about that.”

Harry fidgeted with his fingers behind his back. “Is… he okay?” he asked, unsure of what else to say.

Liam gave a tight lipped smile before saying, “He’s fine.” Harry wasn’t sure if he believed this. He wanted to ask more questions, though he wasn’t sure if Liam or Niall would know the answers.

Before Harry could say anything else, Liam spoke again. “You should head in now; Zayn has already made you late.”

Harry nodded, making his way, once again, through the open door. “Thank you,” he said to the two men before the door closed behind him.

Harry took a deep breath, attempting to swallow down his nerves. The lack of discomfort in his throat—the kind that came from dry swallowing a pill—reminded him with a jolt that he hadn’t been given his capsule. After running into Zayn, Harry had nearly forgotten, but now the realization came rushing back.

Harry made his way into the room with caution, holding his breath instinctively. Maybe if he didn’t breathe, it would be okay that he hadn’t taken it. He knew this was a foolish thought—he couldn’t possibly hold his breath for more than a couple of minutes at most, and even the quickest of tasks for the Leader took at least fifteen minutes to complete.

Harry felt like the wind was knocked out of him when his eyes landed on his Leader, the air rushing from his lungs like a popped balloon. So much for holding his breath.

There he was, the greatest being that Harry had ever had the privilege of standing before. He sat in his throne on the far side of the room, a cigarette perched between his lips and a far-off gaze painted upon his features. He didn’t seem to notice that Harry had entered.

Harry’s heart pounded as he stood frozen in front of the door. How was he supposed to go in when he was tainted, when his wickedness wasn’t sheathed in the protective barrier that his capsule ensured? Without a cage for his impurities to be trapped behind, how could he move any closer to his Leader? The Leader was as flawless and clean as fresh snow blanketing the grass of an open field—not that Harry had ever seen such a thing, but he had seen pictures, and he was always struck by the wide expanse of such purity and beauty. Harry, on the other hand, was more comparable to the frozen ground underneath, hardened and dirty.

The Leader removed the cigarette from his mouth, an exhale of smoke billowing into the air. “You may approach,” came his voice, though he did not turn to look at Harry.

Harry bit his lip. Trust in your Leader, Liam had said. Harry trusted his Leader—with everything that he had. What he didn’t trust was himself and the evil that lurked inside of him.

Harry found that his feet were still stuck in place, his body suddenly releasing a shiver as he tried to force himself to move forward. This was unusual of him. Normally, once he was granted permission, he couldn’t get to his Leader fast enough. He was always filled with a rush of obedience, eager to do as he was told and begin his evening with his Leader. He never knew what was in store for him, and he often had to remind himself of his place to keep from getting too visibly excited.

But this time was different. He wanted to join his Leader on the other side of the room, let it be like every other time, but he just couldn’t. The risk was too great, and he cared about his Leader’s safety and wellbeing too much.

“I said, ‘You may approach,’” the Leader repeated, slightly louder and more firmly, before tucking the cigarette back into his mouth.

Harry let out an involuntary whimper at the distress that was filling him—how was he to choose between harming his Leader or making him upset? He immediately clapped his hand over his mouth when he realized that the noise had escaped him, worried that his Leader might have heard. However, it seemed as though what drew the Leader’s attention was the sound of Harry’s palm hitting his face, rather than the sound Harry had made prior.

The Leader raised an eyebrow before removing the cigarette once more. He let out a long slow breath, eyes still fixed on Harry, though he said nothing.

Harry found himself shaking under the stare of his Leader, and he half wished that the floor would open up and swallow him whole. He wasn’t sure what to do. Should he be saying something? No, he decided; he should be approaching. He took a step but stopped himself from going further, tightening his trembling fingers into fists at his sides.

The Leader cocked his head to the side slightly. “What has you so frightened, my child?” he finally spoke.

“I-I…” Harry swallowed, trying to clear the anxiety in his throat that was making it difficult to speak. “I’m not decent to be in your presence, Father.” Shame washed over him as the words left his lips, like a wave of icy water cascading down his flesh. “I haven’t—they didn’t let me take my capsule, last night or just now before seeing you, so I’m… I’m not—” His lower lip started to wobble, and he sucked it into his mouth quickly as he tried to find the courage to finish his sentence. “You’re not safe,” he finally breathed, not trusting that his voice wouldn’t break if he spoke any louder. “I don’t want to poison you.”

The Leader lowered his chin, and even from across the room Harry could feel the subtle kindness in his eyes. “He who lives and breathes by the truth shall someday become it, and need not suppress his toxicant, for it has been vanquished.”

Harry blinked, the words the Leader spoke lost on him. He’d heard the verse many times. It was what they all strived for—living the truth, being the truth, reaching a point when the evil was nearly undetectable within their system. But Harry knew he wasn’t there yet. He still had a long way to go and so much more to learn.

Harry was unsure of how to respond, not quite understanding what the Leader was trying to say. He didn’t want to disappoint his Leader, but it felt like that’s all he was doing so far.

The Leader offered a soft smile, which caused Harry’s heart to thud a bit harder in his chest. It felt to Harry as if the Leader had been anticipating his confusion. “I will explain during our time together this evening. But for now, I need you to trust that it is safe for you to be around me, even without your capsule. Can you do that for me, pet?”

Harry nodded, trying to genuinely feel the confidence that he was attempting to outwardly display. It didn’t feel right, but if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was trusting his Leader. “Unreservedly and with my whole being,” he recited, standing up a bit taller.

The Leader gave a smile and a quick nod. “Good lad.” He leaned over to snuff out his cigarette in the jeweled ashtray on the table beside him. “You may approach,” he said for the third time.

Harry did so swiftly, dropping to his hands and knees once he was in front of his Leader. He looked up in question, to which the Leader nodded. At that, Harry bent forward and gently pressed his pursed mouth to the top of the Leader’s right foot, just above the curve of his slipper. Harry swore he felt sparks on his lips the moment they connected, his Leader’s purity striking Harry and making him feel giddy. It didn’t matter how many times he’d had the privilege of kissing his Leader’s feet; every time made him feel like he was touching a little piece of light, drinking it in and letting it flutter into his system like stardust. He kissed the other foot before backing up slightly and sitting on his heels. He then looked up, waiting to be addressed.

“Harry,” the Leader said, like he was speaking to Harry for the first time that evening. “How have you been? You look well; are you well?”

“I’ve been well, Father,” Harry answered, nodding. “And yourself? How have you been?”

The Leader looked thoughtful for a moment before saying, “Why don’t you call me Louis?”

Harry’s eyes widened, shock evident on his face. “W-what?” he asked, sure that he must have misheard. He always called his Leader ‘Father Tomlinson’ or ‘Sir’ or sometimes simply ‘Leader.’ Harry had never heard him be called anything else. “Is… is that your name?”

Louis let out a laugh that made Harry jump. “Yes, it’s my name,” he said around a smirk. “You didn’t think my first name was Father, did you?”

Harry shook his head, suddenly feeling very small at being the subject of his Leader’s amusement. He hadn’t really ever thought about the Leader’s given name, if he was being honest. It wasn’t something he needed to know. He wondered how many people in the Community knew it, how many others the Leader had told.

“Anyway,” Louis said, waving his hand in the air in front of him. “I think we've known each other long enough that we can drop the formalities, wouldn’t you agree?”

Harry gave a light shrug, feeling awkward. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to ‘drop the formalities,’ as his Leader suggested. They were all Harry had ever known. They represented his respect and devotion, his obedience and trust. How could he give all of that up?

“Do I… do I have to?” he asked timidly. He would never refuse to do something that was required of him, but he hoped that this was not one of those things.

Louis shook his head. “No, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

Harry nodded, a soft sigh of relief escaping his lungs. “Thank you, Father. I just… I don’t want to disrespect you, is all.”

A gentle smile graced Louis’ lips. “You could never disrespect me, darling.”

Harry bit his lip and glanced down shyly at the pet name. He was nearly certain that Louis’ words were untrue, and his Leader was just being kind; Harry had been taught practically his whole life that there were dozens of ways he could disrespect the Leader, but he figured he should stay quiet about this fact.

“So,” Louis said, shifting in his chair and clasping his hands together. “I suppose you want to know about your task for today.”

Harry nodded, scooting forward slightly in eagerness as he demonstrated that he was paying full attention.

“You’ll be assisting me with a bath,” Louis informed him. “You do remember the specifics of that, don’t you?”

Harry nodded again, trying to contain his excitement. “Yes, yes Sir, I remember.”

Harry had bathed his Leader several times in the past, but he wasn’t even sure of the last time that he’d been chosen for the task. Each time filled him with great pride to be selected for such an esteemed position, and this time was no different. He could practically feel it rising up inside him and threatening to burst through his pores.

Louis gave a short nod. “Very well then. The bath has already been drawn up by the one before you.”

Harry grimaced slightly at the mention of Zayn. Maybe this was why Zayn had seemed cross with him. Perhaps he’d realized that Harry had been chosen to give the Leader a bath, and Zayn had become jealous.

“We’d best get going before it goes cold,” Louis spoke.

Harry hurried to his feet and came to his Leader’s side, hinging at the waist in a bow and holding his hand out.

Louis took it, and Harry had to bite back the smile threatening to crack his cheeks at the glee that rushed through him from the touch of his Leader. Harry knew, however, that he needed to pull himself together if he was going to remain composed enough to give Louis his bath.

Harry led his Leader to the master washroom, one of Harry’s favorite rooms in the Manor. He had scrubbed it many times from top to bottom, something that he found to be relaxing. There was always soft piano music coming from the speakers and a fresh bouquet of flowers on the counter. This time, however, the flowers were missing from their vase, and instead, they appeared to be diminished down to petals that were floating in the water of the large tub in the center of the room.

Louis sighed. “Don’t know how many times I have to say ‘no petals in the bath’ for it to stop happening,” he muttered with a light shake of his head.

Harry thought back to when Zayn had been late with finishing his task of preparing the washroom. Was this the reason it had taken him so long? Harry didn’t know why Zayn would have gone through the extra effort of doing something that would displease Louis, and from the sounds of it, this wasn’t the first time.

“I can remove them for you, Father,” Harry said quickly, eyes scanning the room for the rubbish bin. It seemed to have been moved from its usual position beneath the sink.

Louis waved him off. “Nevermind that. Let’s just get on with it before the water goes cold.” He removed his hand from Harry’s and held his arms down and back.

Harry took off Louis’ jacket and hung it on a hook on the wall before coming back to the front to strip Louis from his shirt. Harry slipped his fingers beneath the fabric, his breath catching when they brushed against his Leader’s skin. It was slowly sinking in that his Leader was going to be nude in front of him, something that Harry hadn’t seen in months. It didn’t usually affect him like this, but he found his heart stuttering as his shaking hands drew up Louis’ top.

“You seem nervous,” Louis commented, letting his arms be manoeuvred out of his shirt.

Harry bit his lip, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Father,” he mumbled. “I’m fine. It’s just… been a while since I’ve helped you undress. My hands are out of practice.” He forced a laugh, which Louis returned with a kind smile.

“You’re doing fine, dove,” Louis reassured. “Continue.”

Harry slipped the shirt over his Leader’s head and dropped it to the floor, watching as Louis stretched his arms and neck. Harry found his eyes drawn to the countless tattoos and the way they rippled over Louis’ muscles. He couldn’t let his stare linger for too long however, as he still had more undressing to do.

Harry came to his knees until he was eye level with Louis’ crotch, forcing his hands to slow down so that he was able to properly undo his Leader’s belt. It came open with ease, as did the button and fly on Louis’ trousers. He pulled them down to Louis’ ankles before realizing that he hadn’t first removed the slippers his Leader wore. He hurriedly encouraged Louis to lift each foot one at a time, removing them and hoping that he wouldn’t be scolded for doing things out of order.

He finally was able to pull Louis’ trousers over his feet, leaving him standing there in just his pants.

Harry knew what he was meant to do next—he had done it at least a dozen times in the past, the detail always coming as easily to him as the removal of any other article of clothing on his Leader—but he found himself hesitating to take off Louis’ underwear, the prospect of making his Leader naked and suddenly being in the presence of such feeling daunting and making his stomach swirl.

“Go on, pet,” Louis said, shifting his weight slightly. “Can’t bathe with my briefs on.”

Harry found himself looking up to his Leader’s face, a teasing grin pasted across Louis’ lips. Harry nodded once before his fingers curled into the waistband of the pants and pulled them down, revealing Louis’ bare genitals. Harry let out a light gasp, the undergarment swiftly falling to Louis’ feet.

Louis stepped out of his bottoms and kicked them aside, to be dealt with by Harry later.

Harry had seen his Leader’s prick before, seen it and serviced it on countless occasions. It wasn’t the sight that caught him off guard; it was the scent of him, the musk that immediately went to Harry’s head as he took in a breath. He felt dizzy, the light smell of sweat encompassing his senses and squeezing tightly, like someone had a firm grasp on his heart and lungs. He found himself wanting to press his nose and lips into the skin where Louis’ leg met his groin, and the thought created a thrum that he did not recognize deep in his own pelvis. He tried to push it away, immediately bending down with his hands to the floor and placing a single kiss on each of his Leader’s feet once again.

“Permission to worship your body, Sir,” he asked, as he always did, as was expected of him. This time, however, the words tumbled from his throat a bit more eagerly, and he clamped his mouth shut as soon as they left him, hoping Louis hadn’t noticed.

“Granted,” Louis said simply, and at once, Harry’s eyes were closing as he rested his forehead atop his Leader’s left foot, his lips already forming the prayer that came so naturally to him in this position.

“Thanks be to God, for he hath blessed us with the presence of personified sanctity, and for that, we are humbled. Please bestow upon us the worthiness of divine flesh, and may every caress bring us closer to purity and holiness.”

Harry placed a kiss on the skin where his forehead had just been, and then he lifted his head to repeat the same on his Leader’s ankle, directly over the small x tattooed there.

Harry had one too—everyone in the Community did, each member having gotten marked on their twelfth birthday. Harry remembered that it had been painful, but he hadn’t minded much. He had been too excited to finally be recognized as a true member of the Community, no longer just a silly child, but a man on his way to becoming a proper disciple of his Lord and his Leader. That was also the day he had begun taking his capsule, and the feeling of it getting caught in the back of his throat had been more uncomfortable than receiving his marking.

The next kiss was planted on the web tattoo at Louis’ shin and another just above it. Harry swore he felt his Leader’s knee twitch ever so slightly when Harry’s lips graced over it, and he couldn’t help the grin that was tugging at the corners of his lips. The thought of his worship physically affecting his Leader was delicious in a way that felt new and exciting as it misted through his veins. Harry’s soft pecks continued upwards, each one filling him with a warmth that made his lips tingle and his heart soar.

He reached Louis’ thigh and had to hold his breath, eyes fluttering closed at the thought of abandoning his total body worship in favor of focusing all of his attention on his Leader’s dick. The urge was overwhelming, attempting to reach from Harry’s ribcage and wrap around Louis’ cock like a firm hand. Instead, he simply placed a single kiss on the shaft before moving on to Louis’ hipbone.

Harry swore that his lips were glowing with a fiery heat that he hadn’t previously experienced, and he wondered if Louis could feel it in the subsequent kisses up his abdomen and chest. By now, the stirring between Harry’s hips had intensified, like someone had just turned up the hob beneath a pot of bubbling water. The sensation had Harry feeling lightheaded, but he still forced himself to stand up straight and give a final peck to Louis’ cheek.

“Thank you,” Harry spoke, the words coming out breathier than he had intended.

Louis smiled. “You alright, love? You’re flushed.”

Harry’s hand flew to his face, the heat of his skin grabbing his fingers and pulling them snug to his cheek. “Am I?” he spoke with a squeak in his voice, to which Louis raised his eyebrows once before letting them fall back in place. “Just—” Harry gave a tense chuckle. “Just overcome with your beauty as always, Father.”

Louis hummed a chuckle of his own before saying, “Of course you are.”

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, trying to regain some composure before holding out his hand for Louis.

Louis took it and let Harry lead him to the bath.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to remove the petals?” Harry asked now that they were directly in front of the tub.

“That won’t be necessary,” Louis said, lifting a leg to step into the water. “No need to create more work for yourself.”

Harry grabbed Louis’ arm and helped him in, stuttering a quick, “I-I don’t mind, Father. Want you to have the very best.”

“Mm, indeed,” Louis agreed, lowering himself down. “And God has sent it for me today.”

Harry bit his lip, unsure of what his Leader meant.

Louis stretched out his legs and leaned back against the end of the tub, sighing deeply.

“Jets?” Harry questioned, to which Louis nodded. Harry pressed the button on the wall beside the tub and watched as the water bubbled to life.

Louis groaned, rolling his shoulders forwards several times. “Thank you, cherub.”

Harry felt himself blush, like the pet name had painted his cheeks with a dusting of pink. He quickly busied himself with fetching his Leader’s dirty clothing and disposing of them in the laundry chute.

“Shall I go turn down the bed while you soak, Sir?” Harry asked, ready to give his Leader some privacy now that he was settled into the bath.

Louis shook his head, holding a hand in Harry’s direction. “Why don’t you stay with me? We can have a talk.”

Harry tried to hide the shock on his face. Everyone knew that as soon as the Leader was in the tub, he was to be left alone for exactly twenty eight minutes. During that time, Harry would busy himself with getting the bedroom chamber ready for Louis to sleep—laying out his pajamas, closing the curtains, finishing any tidying that needed to be done around the suite. Once the time was up, he would return to the washroom and begin to properly bathe his Leader. He had never once been asked to forgo his responsibilities to stay beside the tub with Louis.

Now though, that seemed to be exactly what his Leader was requesting of him. Harry didn’t know when he was supposed to prepare the bedchamber, but he wasn’t about to ask Louis this. Perhaps their chat wouldn’t take too long.

“Okay,” he agreed, nodding as he went to sit down on the floor beside the tub.

“Would you be more comfortable if you pulled up a chair? You can grab one and bring it in here,” Louis said as he motioned towards the door from which they had just come.

“I’m fine, Father,” Harry insisted, folding his legs in and sitting up straight.

“Very well.” Louis rested his head back against the edge of the tub, closing his eyes with a sigh.

Harry waited quietly for Louis to speak again, but he was silent for several minutes, the only sound being the gurgling of the tub jets and a gorgeous piano melody flowing around him. Harry fidgeted with his hands in his lap, trying to keep his eyes off of the dip in Louis’ left collarbone and the way it was collecting the water splashing against his skin. Harry was struck with the thought of leaning in and bringing his lips to the tiny well to drink from it like a chalice, like he was parched. It was as if the liquid pooling between Louis’ bones, made holy by its proximity to him alone, held all the sustenance that Harry’s body and soul would ever need. Harry could drink him dry, inhale every last drop and replace them with the tenderest of kisses and flicks of his tongue, until he licked his way into his Leader’s heart and—

“So,” Louis spoke, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “Harry. How are your studies going?”

Harry’s head shot up, anxiety rolling through him as he wondered if his Leader could sense his daydreaming. “Well!” He cleared his throat. “They’re, erm—they’re going well, Sir,” he said, nodding as if the motions would scatter the lurid images that had just been swimming through his brain.

“Good to hear it, good to hear it,” Louis said with his eyes still closed. “What are you learning about these days?”

“Erm, we’re learning about Sons of the Seraphim?” Harry said, his statement coming out as more of a question.

“Ah, yes,” Louis replied, like he already knew.

Maybe he did, Harry thought. Did the Leader keep up with everyone’s lessons?

“Tell me about them,” Louis said.

Harry swallowed nervously. Was this a test? Was this conversation going to be reported back to his lessons instructor? He wasn’t a big fan of being put on the spot, but he knew he couldn’t just sit there dumbly. He took a breath, trying to piece together the information he had learned.

“Well,” he began, mustering up a tone that felt somewhat confident. “Seraphim are angels of the highest ranking. God’s first in command. All angels are important, but these are more so than the others… And the Sons are humans who exhibit divine qualities. They sort of serve as God’s first in command on Earth.”

Harry paused, wondering if he should go on. Louis’ eyes hadn’t opened, and he made no move to acknowledge or respond to Harry’s words. Harry decided to continue.

“Sons of the Seraphim are rare, but they’re the purest of earthly beings. The title is granted most commonly to Leaders of the Order, like priests or other guides that help the lowly find their way to God. They’re… very special.”

He chewed the inside of his cheek, hoping that he had done well. He wanted nothing more than to impress his Leader, and he would take every opportunity that he was given to make his Leader proud.

“Correct,” Louis agreed. He opened his eyes, letting them land on Harry.

Harry felt his breath catch in his throat as they made eye contact and he got another look at Louis’ gorgeously blue irises. Harry didn’t know why he had never noticed how striking they were, how captivating and profound, like the depths of the seven seas or the vast expanse of a cloudless sky. It was almost cruel how blue they were, laced with an allure that had emotion suddenly racing through Harry’s veins and tingling in his sinuses. Why did he feel like he could cry from just looking upon the windows to his Leader’s soul?

“And what do you think of that?” his Leader spoke.

Harry blinked, breaking the connection between their eyes as he cleared his throat. “Think of what, Father?”

“The Sons. What they represent, who they are.”

Harry couldn’t help the shrug that crept up his arms and came out his shoulders. He quickly rolled his shoulders back with a stretch, hoping to cover up his body’s automatic response. He didn’t want his Leader to think he was dismissing the question.

“Well…” Harry pondered this for a moment. He hadn’t given it a whole lot of thought, if he was being honest. He thought the concept was nice, that God had people through whom he could speak and whom he could trust to deliver his word to the people. But Harry didn’t see how it affected him. It wasn’t like he knew anybody who was a Son of the Seraphim, and even if he did, he probably wouldn’t be able to relate to them very much. Sons were saintly, high above the rest on God’s totem pole, whereas Harry knew that he was on the very low end, at least of those who worshipped and believed. He had a hard enough time relating to his Leader; he wouldn’t know the first thing about interacting with a Son of the Seraphim.

But still, his Leader was waiting for an answer to his question. “I think it’s wonderful. A lot of people can have trouble receiving messages from God because they don’t understand what to listen and feel for. So having Earthly beings through whom he can speak ensures that the truth gets to the people who need to hear it and otherwise might not. Usually regular priests or Leaders can facilitate that, but I think that God places Sons of the Seraphim in areas of the world where they are needed the most.”

Louis furrowed his brow, looking off thoughtfully. “That's a very interesting way to put it,” he said after a few moments. “I’m not sure if I’ve ever heard it said quite like that.”

Harry couldn’t tell by his Leader’s tone or expression if this was a good thing or a bad thing, but he hoped it was the former.

“Do you think you would know one if you met one?” Louis went on, voice filled with a curiosity that Harry didn’t understand. Why was his Leader asking him so many specific questions?

“I should think so,” Harry replied with a thoughtful nod. “I’m sure God blessed them with great beauties.” Harry hadn’t thought about what the Sons of the Seraphim might look like, in what way they might stand out from the rest, but he imagined them to look angelic, perhaps with hair of gold, skin of bronze, and eyes of sweet cerulean.

Louis only hummed, not confirming or denying if Harry’s assumptions were true.

“Have you ever met one, Father?” Harry asked, very much wanting to hear the answer.

“Oh, sure,” Louis said. “Plenty of times.”

Harry tilted his head. “What do they look like? Are they lovely?”

Harry watched the hint of a smile twitch along his Leader’s closed lips. “Depends how you define ‘lovely,’” Louis replied. “But for the most part, they look just like you and me.”

Harry gave a thoughtful nod, though he found it strange that his Leader would compare their looks to each other. Harry was quite ordinary, while his Leader was something of a vision.

Nevertheless, Harry knew what his Leader meant, that Sons just looked like regular people, and he supposed it made sense—those who were in need didn’t often accept what was different, so a Son would probably need to blend in to best accomplish the duties of his role.

“I hope I get to meet one someday,” Harry declared wistfully. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like to be in the presence of such greatness—maybe similarly to how he felt when he was knelt before his Leader. Louis was the greatest earthly being that Harry had ever known. He couldn’t fathom that a higher greatness even existed.

“You have,” Louis said evenly as he sank further against the jets of the tub.

Harry frowned. He was certain that even if the Sons didn’t look any different, being in front of one had to make people feel something—a unique holiness, a love for God, a yearning to know and live the truth, something. He didn’t recall ever feeling that from just the mere presence of someone, other than his Leader of course. But his Leader was now saying that Harry had already met a Son of the Seraphim—and Harry had completely missed it?

“I have?” he questioned, brow still pinched in the center.

His Leader looked up at him again, giving Harry another view of his eyes.

Harry felt his breath stutter in his chest, an invisible pull drawing his focus away from the gurgling jets and melodic piano notes until it was only on his Leader

“Should you find your vision to be cloudy when you gaze upon holiness, blink until you see the sun,” Louis murmured, his voice barely audible.

Harry didn’t understand what this meant. Had his vision been cloudy when he’d come in contact with a Son? And if it had been, what was he meant to do about it now?

Harry’s eyes blinked closed automatically, and when he opened them…

He saw the sun, the truth, and all that his Leader wasn’t saying, deep in the blue of his eyes.

“You?” Harry said, his own eyes widening. He couldn't believe that he hadn’t seen it before, but of course it was true. His Leader had devoted his life to serving God and guiding the Community, and Harry knew that he had led so many people to the truth. Just being with him always made Harry feel closer to God, and all he wanted to do was worship. Louis was the textbook definition of a Son. And Harry hadn’t even known.

A slow smirk spread across Louis’ face. “Don’t act so surprised,” he replied.

Harry quickly shook his head. “I-I’m sorry, Sir, I didn’t mean—”

Louis chuckled and waved him off. “You’re fine, love,” he laughed, the ease in his voice making Harry feel a bit more relaxed. “I didn’t expect you to know, so I can understand the shock.”

Harry truly was surprised, but he tried to push that away as he nodded and cleared his throat.

“Well, I’m glad I know now, Your Majesty,” he spoke, bowing his head. He looked up again when he heard his Leader poorly try to hide a laugh.

“You can save the fancy honorifics, my dear,” he said with a pinched smirk. “No need for all that.”

Harry nodded again, a blush forming on his cheeks. “Okay, Father,” he breathed, though this title didn’t feel nearly great enough.

Harry thought back to his lessons, wondering why the fact that his Leader was a Son of the Seraphim was not included. Surely it seemed like it was something important for him and his peers to be made aware of.

“Why—” Harry cut himself off, pressing his lips together as he realized that he could come across as too forward if he continued. His Leader hadn’t invited questions about this new piece of information that he had revealed.

Louis looked at him curiously, cocking his head. “Go on,” he instructed.

Harry let out a puff of air through his nose before saying, “Why didn’t our lessons instructor tell us this? That you’re a Son of the Seraphim, I mean.”

“Probably because he didn’t know,” Louis said simply.

It was Harry’s turn to tip his head as a frown formed on his brow. “Why not?”

“Very few people know. I only tell those who I feel deserve to be made aware.”

Harry wasn’t sure if this made sense to him. Why wouldn’t his Leader want people to know who he truly was? He was about to ask, when he stopped himself, realizing the second part of what his Leader had said. He only told people who deserved to know?

“But… you told me,” Harry pointed out.

“I did,” was all his Leader said.

Harry didn’t understand. If his Leader only told people who deserved to know that he was a Son of the Seraphim, why would he tell Harry, of all people?

Before he could ask, Louis spoke again. “Get the loofah, will you? Let’s soap up,” he said, sitting up and stretching.

Harry jumped to his feet, his question forgotten as it was pushed to the back of his mind. “Already?” he glanced at the clock. “It’s only been ten minutes.” Still, he did as he was told and retrieved the large red loofah from the hook on the wall.

Louis chuckled. “I can tell time, believe it or not.”

Harry paled, suddenly filled with embarrassment at his implication. “I’m sorry, Father,” he rushed out, coming back to the tub. “I just meant—”

Louis waved him off with a smile. “You’re alright, darling, don’t worry. I just have some things I want us to get to.”

Harry pressed the button to turn off the jets, curious about his Leader’s words, but he didn’t question them.

“Alright,” he said as he knelt beside the tub and pulled the plug to drain the water. “Do you want to wash your hair this evening?”

Louis shook his head, dismissing the suggestion. “Don’t want to take up time fussing with the hair dryer. Just the loofah is fine for tonight.”

“Yes, Father,” Harry said as he dipped the loofah into the bath before dousing it in body wash.

The scent flooded Harry’s nostrils and made his eyelids flutter, a rush shooting through his system at the memories of his nose pressed close to his Leader’s body. Harry could practically taste it as the soft aroma of peaches tickled his plethora—at least, that’s what the bottle said the smell was. Harry had never even seen a peach before, let alone tasted or smelled one, as the fruit wasn’t allowed in the Community. He’d asked why once, years ago, and the only answer he’d received had been a line of scripture: “If the tongue cometh in contact with the flesh of the nates, it shall be ripped out and replaced with thorns.” Harry hadn’t known what that meant, but he’d gotten the sense that he should not ask again. From then on, he’d simply learned to be satisfied with the tiny bits of exposure he’d get during the times he was with his Leader.

It was silent again as Harry diligently soaped Louis’ skin, watching the ink of his tattoos disappear behind the suds.

“You know Harry,” Louis spoke suddenly as Harry switched to the other arm. “You’re very different from the other adherents.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “Different?” he asked, worry climbing into his thoughts. Was different bad? “I-I’m sorry, Sir. I always try my best.” This seemed like a poor excuse for whatever ‘different,’ disappointing behavior he had exhibited, but he didn’t know what else to say.

“None of that now, pet,” Louis scolded. “No apologizing. I didn’t mean negatively different. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“I’m… I’m not sure I follow, Father,” Harry said meekly, frustrated with himself for being unable to decipher the meaning of his Leader’s words. He continued rubbing the loofah over his Leader’s tan skin, across his shoulders and the back of his neck.

“I mean that you’re unique,” Louis went on, leaning forward to give Harry easier access to his back. “You’re always so eager to do well and to please. You take your lessons very seriously, and you wholeheartedly live by the gospel.”

Harry was becoming more confused as his Leader continued. How did it make him unique to be doing what he was supposed to do? “Doesn’t everybody?” he questioned.

Louis leaned back again with a hum, and Harry brought the loofah down over Louis’ chest tattoo. “Maybe so,” Louis said, lowering his voice and causing Harry to look up at him. “But not like you. You, Harold, are special.” He tapped a wet finger on the tip of Harry’s nose, the action startling Harry nearly as much as the adjective his Leader had chosen.

“I—” Harry shook his head rapidly, sitting back and bowing his head. “I’m—I’m not special, Father, that’s…”

“Ah-ah,” Louis interrupted. “Shall your Leader seeth, he shall sayeth, and it shall be. And I ‘sayeth’ that you’re special. Now carry on with the soap.”

“But,” Harry protested, returning the loofah to Louis’ skin and working down his stomach. “How can I be special? I’m just…” He shrugged, at a loss for what to call himself. He’d had dozens of words fed to him over the years from those above him—plain, subordinary, impure, sinful. Sitting before his Leader, however, with nothing between them but a tub and a smear of bubbles, he had a feeling these weren’t the words Louis wanted to hear at that moment. “I’m just me.”

“Of course you’re you,” Louis said with a chuckle. “That’s what’s so perfect about you.”

Harry suddenly slipped as his hand with the loofah slid down and landed on Louis’ thigh, bumping into Louis’ cock in the process. “I’m sorry!” Harry squeaked as Louis grabbed his arm to keep him from falling in the tub.

Louis laughed. “You’re fine, dove.”

Harry sat up and gave a sharp exhale. “Sir,” he spoke, barely able to find his voice. “You… you’re not supposed to say that I’m perfect.” He lowered his volume to a whisper, like someone might hear him. “It’s against the rules.”

The word replayed in his mind like the echo of a pin dropping—perfect. Harry had never heard it in reference to himself before. None of the followers had; the word wasn’t meant to be uttered at all unless it was about God or the purest of things that he had created.

A sunset could be called perfect, shining in a bleeding blend of ethereal hues as it descended from the heavens to give those on earth a glimpse of God’s light. A dandelion could be called perfect, with fluffy seeds arranged in a sphere, easily disconnecting with a puff of air and then floating along the wind in search of a place to create new life. The Leader was often called perfect, as he was created in God’s image and held a most esteemed position in the Community. And of course, Sons of the Seraphim could be called perfect as well.

But a Commoner—Harry, of all people—was never to be called perfect.

Nevertheless, that had been the word his Leader had used to describe him.

Louis hummed, pushing himself up and standing straight.

Harry was momentarily distracted by the way several flower petals stuck to his Leader’s body, clinging to him among the soap suds like he was their source of life.

“You’re really going to tell me how to follow my own rules?” Louis mused, looking down at Harry with crossed arms.

“No!” Harry said quickly, bringing his stare away from the flowers. “O-of course not, Father, I’m sorry.”

Louis motioned for Harry to continue washing, and Harry quickly busied himself by removing petals from his Leader’s legs. Dropping them in the tub one by one reminded him of a notion he had heard once, of young maidens stripping flowers down to the stems as they pondered their fate with a man they admired. By the time the flower was bare, they would have their answer. Harry wasn’t quite sure how the dwindling petals were related to the future—perhaps they were magical fortune telling flowers.

The flowers from his Leader’s bath were no such things, he knew. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what they might tell him if they held the power to reveal his future, what he might find when the last one fell to the water and his Leader was nothing but a barren stem.

“I can call my best follower perfect if I so choose.”

Harry blinked himself out of his thoughts as he was met with another word he hadn’t heard in regards to himself—best. Did his Leader really think that Harry was the best follower? Out of several hundred members, Harry was better than all of them? That couldn’t be true. He wasn’t the best at anything. He swallowed the urge to argue, instead mumbling, “You’re the perfect one, Sir.”

“Ah, yes,” Louis agreed. “But maybe we’re not as different as it would seem.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, looking up in confusion.

Louis raised his eyebrows, like he was waiting for Harry to make some sort of connection. When Harry didn’t say anything after a few moments, Louis spoke again. “Have you ever thought that you could be like me?”

Harry frowned, removing the last petal from his Leader’s leg.

Like Louis? What could this possibly mean? Harry was nothing like Louis. He’d been told from the time he was very small that the Leader would always be above him, above everyone, in every way. Now that Harry had found out that his Leader was a Son of the Seraphim, this fact was even more emphasized.

“I-I’m not, I couldn’t be. I’m just a Commoner, Father,” Harry muttered, shaking his head. “I’m not like you.” He wasn’t sure why he felt tears burning beneath the sockets of his eyes, but he quickly busied himself with soaping his Leader’s leg.

Louis let him, but when Harry pulled back to switch to the other leg, Louis reached for Harry’s chin and tipped his head upwards, until they were staring at each other.

“When one looketh to God in pursuit of holiness, those most revered by him are provided a looking glass.”

Harry bit his lip. He didn’t know what this meant, let alone how to respond to it. Was the verse meant to be about him? Why would he want to see his own reflection when turning to God? “You’re, erm… You’re confusing me, Sir.”

Louis gave a soft smile, brushing his thumb delicately over Harry’s jaw. “My apologies, little lamb. I don’t mean to confuse you. Finish up here. We’ll talk about it more in the other room.”

Harry’s mouth pinched slightly as he held back the dozen questions filling his brain and continued with the loofah and soap.

He found his breath hitching in his lungs as he neared his Leader’s genitals, knowing that he was meant to soap them just like every part of Louis’ body. On any other day, Harry would have done so without hesitation. But on this day, for a reason he couldn’t fully grasp, he was mesmerized by the way that water droplets were slowly sliding down the shaft and dripping off the tip. He almost wanted to lean in and position his mouth open beneath it to catch the drops on his tongue. His throat felt incredibly dry, and he just knew that a single drip from his Leader’s cock would satisfy every thirst that he’d ever had.

A twinge between his hips had him clamping his eyes shut with a light groan, trying hard to stay grounded and remember what he was supposed to be doing. But now that his eyes were closed, he found his mind to be nothing but thoughts of his face buried in his Leader’s lap, servicing him in the best way, as Louis held the back of Harry’s head and let out gorgeous moans of pleasure. The images behind Harry’s eyelids were so vivid, and he swore he could almost taste his Leader’s blessing in his mouth.

Harry blinked his eyes open quickly, heart racing as he tried to find his breath. He must have performed the action of his thoughts several dozen times, but never had he thought about it before it was time, never had it appeared so evocatively in his head, never had he felt this fullness in his testicles and a tightness in his chest that he was experiencing now.

“Harry,” Louis spoke suddenly. “I said finish up.”

Harry nodded, clearing his throat and focusing back on his task. “Sorry Sir,” he uttered, squeezing his thighs together and hoping that the action would settle the buzz between them.

It was then that he noticed a single petal stuck between Louis’ cock and his scrotum. Harry had the thought of removing it with his teeth, but instead he plucked it carefully with his fingers, his breath shaky as Louis’ dick twitched.

Harry wanted to stroke his finger down the length, watch it jump again. However, he chose to obey his Leader’s command and brought the loofah between Louis’ legs, ignoring the way he wanted to abandon it and use only his hand. He watched as his Leader’s cock was soon cloaked in bubbles, and with it came a feeling of envy pervading Harry’s system. The only good reason, Harry felt, for Louis’ dick to disappear from sight would be if it was suddenly enveloped by Harry’s hand or swallowed into his mouth. Otherwise, Harry wanted it on full display, to be admired and fantasized about.

Harry shook his head minutely, moving the loofah to wash over his Leader’s scrotum. Why did such intimate thoughts keep entering his mind? It was like his head was a glass of water, and the mental images in his brain were cubes of ice. Everytime it seemed like they had melted away into the background, another one would plop in out of nowhere, splashing him with a chill that caught him off guard every time.

Once Harry finished masking his Leader’s front with suds, he handed the loofah to Louis and sat back on his heels. He was about to push himself off of the floor, but he was stopped by several water droplets splashing onto his trousers.

“Sorry, cherub,” Louis chuckled.

Harry looked up, met with the sight of his Leader’s foot resting on the edge of the tub as he ran the loofah down over each side of his bum. Harry’s breath hitched, eyes wide as Louis reached back with his free hand to spread his cheeks and wash between them.

Harry never watched this part of Louis’ bath, never felt the need to, but now that he’d seen it, the way Louis’ fingers nearly dipped into the crevice where he was split, Harry couldn’t help but wish he had bothered to pay attention to it before now. Moreover, he found himself struck with the urge to reach forward and move Louis’ hand out of the way so that he could use his own fingers to spread his Leader open.

Or perhaps Harry could take the loofah and let Louis hold his cheeks with both hands, leaving the washing to Harry. He liked this idea. He didn’t know why, but he had a feeling that his Leader would look good with each hand wrapped around the curved flesh behind him, revealing the most intimate piece of himself for Harry, only Harry, who could then slick it with the soft foam of the bubbles, and—

“You want to take a picture? It’ll last longer.”

Harry jumped, eyes flying to his Leader’s face who was looking over his shoulder down at Harry. Harry’s mouth fell agape, words lost as he realized that he had been caught staring. Why had he been staring? A bare bum was such a strange thing to want to look at, but it was as if he couldn’t pull his gaze away.

And what did his Leader mean, ‘take a picture’? Commoners weren’t even allowed to have photography devices of any kind. “I-I…” Harry stuttered, trying to form a sentence. “I don’t have a camera.”

Louis barked out a laugh, bringing his foot back down beside the other one. “You do amuse me, dear Harold,” he said as he dropped his loofah to the floor of the tub.

Harry blushed, hurrying to stand and hoping his Leader would forget the apparently amusing comment he’d made. His legs felt wobbly beneath him as he reached for the removable shower head. He turned the water on, holding his hand beneath the stream as he waited for it to become the perfect temperature. When it was finally hot enough, he aimed it at his Leader’s body.

Harry couldn’t help but be drawn to the way the suds slid over Louis’ muscles, his pecs, his chest, and his abs, before melting away completely. He loved how his Leader looked like this—toned. Tan. Tempting. Harry wanted to take his fingertips and travel along the rivers of water down his Leader’s skin, riding the rapids and feeling every piece of him.

There it was again, that strange something buried deep inside of a place that Harry could not reach within himself. It was like unrecognizable emotions, an eager restlessness, and a peculiar tasting want, all wound together like a wet ball of yarn that he couldn’t seem to untangle. He wished he could pull it all apart piece by piece, dry them off, and try to decipher their meaning. But instead they were a matted mess that, for some reason, was starting to make his dick ache.

Harry’s eyes were soon on his Leader’s cock, and he swore he saw it twitch again under the water cascading over it. This somehow made Harry’s pain intensify and his breath catch in his throat. He wanted to fall back to his knees and suck his Leader dry, let his own saliva be the only liquid that would ever touch Louis’ cock again.

“Harry.”

Hearing his name snapped Harry out of his thoughts, and he quickly brought his eyes away from Louis’ dick and up to his face. “Hm?” he hummed absently, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth.

“I said, ‘Get my back.’”

“Oh!” Harry quickly moved so that he was now behind Louis, spraying the water over his neck and shoulders. “I’m sorry, Father.”

“You must focus, Harry,” Louis lectured. “When serving and servicing one’s Leader and Lord, undivided attention is the sincerest form of payment.”

Harry nodded, before realizing that his Leader couldn’t see him. “Yes, Sir.” He aimed the water slightly down Louis’ back, wondering how it was that the steam seemed to be thicker than normal. It felt like it was blurring his vision, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say that it was clouding his brain as well, like the monocle on his mind’s eye was fogging up.

“Good lad. Give it to me hard now,” Louis murmured, just as Harry’s gaze began to lazily drift to his Leader’s bum.

Something about the way his Leader spoke this command had Harry’s stomach doing flips, as if he had just been dizzily spinning in circles. He couldn’t oblige fast enough, twisting the shower head until it switched to the hardest massage setting.

Louis immediately dropped his chin forward and groaned deeply, a sound that shot straight to Harry’s testicles. They felt so full, as if the sounds coming from his Leader were directly funneling down into them and making them swell.

Louis lifted his head again, rolling his shoulders back with a sigh. “That feels bloody fantastic.”

Harry let out a soft whimper, squirming in place as the buzz in his cock started to match the intensity of the buzzing hot water. Why was this happening? Why was he acting like this?

“I’m done,” Louis said after a moment. “Turn the water off.”

Harry’s hand shook as he turned the faucet, the pounding of his heart feeling loud in the absence of the sound of the water. He struggled to put the shower head back in place, and he had to take deep breaths in order to calm himself enough to properly hang it on the wall.

Harry turned back around, ready to help his Leader step out of the tub.

“Oh, darling, you’re flushed again.” His Leader looked concerned, brow furrowed as he studied Harry’s face. “Are you feeling okay, love?”

Harry swallowed hard, his dick twitching in his pants. Could his Leader tell just by looking at him that something was wrong with his cock? Harry dropped his hands to his front, linking them together and feigning casualness as he raised his eyebrows. “I’m fine, Father,” he insisted with a nod and a forced smile.

He told himself that it wasn’t a lie if he wanted it to be true badly enough. He really wanted to be fine; he wanted everything to be fine—his body, his mind, his emotions. He truly wished and hoped to be fine. He half considered mentally saying a quick prayer to make it so.

Louis gave a slow nod, eyes narrowing, and Harry wondered if Louis was going to call him out for being very not fine. “Get my towel,” was all Louis said.

Harry jumped to obedience, hurrying to retrieve the white fluffy towel from the warmer on the counter. He sighed with glee as he approached it, eager to hold the heated cloth in his hands for a moment. Towels in the Manor were one of the most luxurious things that had ever touched Harry’s skin, nothing like the scratchy terry cloth they were given in the Commons. Sometimes, when Louis wasn’t looking, Harry would bury his face into the warmth, just for a moment. He loved the way it felt like heaven on his cheeks and butter in his palms, and it smelled just as lovely.

When Harry opened the warmer however, he was not met with a draft of heat like he normally was. The box was cold. Harry frowned, placing a hesitant hand on the towel. It was cold too.

“Uh…” This had never happened before. Every single time that Harry had gone to retrieve Louis’ towel, it was hot, fresh, the perfect temperature to cloak his Leader’s naked body. Only now…

Harry’s heart pounded, unsure what he should do. He could close the machine and turn it on again. But Louis was waiting, and Harry knew it would take ages to warm. That was why it was the responsibility of the follower who drew up the Leader’s bath to also turn on the warmer.

Zayn, Harry remembered. That’s whose job it had been this time. Niall had mentioned something about the warmer being finicky—had it given Zayn trouble earlier in the evening?

“Harry,” the Leader spoke, an impatience slinking through his tone.

Harry winced, spinning back towards his Leader with empty hands.

“I’m shriveling up over here,” Louis said with raised eyebrows. “My towel?”

Harry wrung his fingers together. “It’s…” He swallowed the anxiety clinging to the roof of his mouth. “It’s cold. I-I don’t think the warmer was turned on.”

Louis’ jaw tightened in an incredulous smirk, a puff of air escaping his nose. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head with a low chuckle. “That little rat is good,” he mumbled under his breath, the words barely reaching Harry’s ears.

Harry frowned, confused, but he decided not to ask Louis what he meant. “I’m sorry,” Harry said, feeling like he was somehow to blame. “I should have double checked that it was on when I came in.”

Louis cleared his throat and pasted on a warm smile. “Nevermind that, lamb,” he said kindly. “Just bring me the towel, it’s alright.”

He returned to his Leader, wrapping him in the towel and then holding out a hand to assist him out of the bath. Harry took in a breath, the question on the back of his tongue feeling much more delicate than the first time he had asked it. He wasn't sure if the same words would be able to properly convey his wants, as he felt it so much more strongly this time, but he forced himself to speak, hoping that they would be enough. “Permission to worship your body, Sir,” he murmured softly, eyes wide and hopeful.

His Leader offered a crooked grin, reaching to nudge Harry’s cheek with the back of his finger. “You ask like you’re scared I’ll say no,” Louis said, a hint of what Harry thought might be teasing in his voice.

That wasn’t a yes, Harry noted.

“Those who asketh questions with hesitancy have no mind for answers of confidence.”

Harry forced his chin to nod. “Yes, Father,” he mumbled, embarrassment tugging at the roots of his hair. Part of Harry still hoped that his Leader would give him another chance to ask again, to get it right, but Harry knew better than to repeat his request without being prompted. He was kicking himself mentally for not asking with more conviction the first time.

“Well?” Louis said, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms over his chest.

Harry gaped up at him, mind going blank. Was this a silent permission to retry his request? Harry couldn’t be sure. Still, Louis seemed expectant, so Harry knew he had to say something. “Yes, Father?” he spoke, trying not to seem as unsure as he was feeling.

Louis made a gesture with his hand, circling it forward and raising his brows even higher. “I’m going to catch a chill if I stay wet much longer.”

“Oh! Right!” Harry exclaimed, reaching for the towel wrapped around his Leader’s shoulders. “Sorry, Sir.”

Louis took a step back and waved him off. “I’ll do it,” he said, a tinge of something in his voice that Harry couldn’t decipher. Was it annoyance? Was it disappointment?

Harry wanted to ask, wanted to murmur a timid, ‘Are you mad at me, Father?’ but all he said was, “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Mm, so you’ve said,” Louis replied as he began drying himself off.

Harry winced, a sting hitting him like the towel had just whipped his chest. A hazy cloud of discomfort misted through his bones, dampening them with shame for having let down his Leader.

He mourned the loss of his opportunity to dry his Leader, knowing that if he hadn’t messed up, he could have been kissing away dew droplets and replacing them with tiny seeds of devotion that he would fertilize with the traces of his adoring fingertips. Harry loved the way the water would tickle his lips and the way that his worship was the first thing Louis’ flesh would experience after emerging from the steam.

Harry fidgeted with his empty hands, pulling at his fingers that felt like they were going to twitch off of his body. He wasn’t used to not having something to do while he was with his Leader, and he found himself feeling useless. “Shall I clean out the tub?”

Louis didn’t answer, sliding the towel down each of his legs and patting them gently.

Harry stood frozen in place, not wanting to take initiative on his own without being told what to do. He watched as Louis moved the towel to dry his genitals, and Harry had to stop himself from lunging forward to take over. He swallowed roughly, his throat feeling like sandpaper behind his tongue. He’d never thirsted so greatly as he did while watching the water from his Leader’s body be wasted instead of sucked into Harry’s open mouth.

Harry swore that his Leader was taking longer than necessary to dry himself between his legs, or maybe time had just slowed down, like God was trying to torture Harry and rub it in his face that he wasn’t the one performing the task. Would God do that to him?

Of course not, Harry thought, feeling silly for even considering it. God was not a torturous being.

Louis finally removed the towel from his groin to reveal that his prick was now half hard, beginning to swell and stand away from his body.

Harry had to choke back a whine at the sight, his own cock twitching and tingling in his pants. He fell to his knees, a soft moan of pain being forced through his throat when they hit the hard tile. “Please, Sir,” he implored, bowing his head and folding his trembling hands together. He drew a centering breath, focusing on gathering his passion into a ball that he could thrust forth with his words, indicating just how strongly he wanted what he was asking for. “Please, can I worship your body, Father? Please?”

He could hear the shakiness in his voice, and he hoped that it came across as fervent rather than apprehensive. He wished that he could look into Louis’ eyes, show how close he was to tears over the amount of need coursing through his veins, but he knew that keeping his head low was in his best interest.

He heard what almost sounded like a hummed chuckle before he received a quick head pat that made his heart sink.

“Those who lack ardor when God’s door opens will find it cloaked in chains by the morrow.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut tightly in an attempt to press back tears before opening them and lifting his head to look at his Leader. He only got as far as Louis’ crotch, as he realized that Louis cock was only centimeters from his face. He choked back a whine and closed his eyes again, wishing that he could use his mouth to coax his Leader to full hardness.

Harry jolted with a start as Louis’ towel was dropped to the ground, snapping out of it and finally bringing his gaze to his Leader’s face. Harry swallowed hard. “Shall I get your robe for you, Sir?” he asked.

Louis turned away, and Harry had to take a measured breath to keep from staring at his Leader’s arse. “No need,” was all Louis said as he walked towards the door.

Harry blinked several times and watched his Leader blur out of focus. Was Louis going to deny him the privilege of assisting for the rest of the evening? Would Louis be the one to slather lotion over his muscles that Harry normally loved letting his fingers dance over? Would Louis put on his own sleep clothes, fastening the buttons with steady fingertips instead of Harry’s shaky ones? Would he turn down the bed by himself and read his evening scripture passages alone, while Harry was forced to return to the Commons?

Or perhaps someone else would be brought in to pick up where he’d left off. At the very least, another member would come in to service Louis for the evening. How was Harry to sleep with the knowledge that not only had he failed to complete his task successfully, but now someone else would have their hands and mouth on his Leader? A pang of overwhelming nausea coursed through him at the thought.

Of course other followers serviced the Leader; Harry had known this from the moment he’d found out what servicing was, and this fact had never bothered him before. Now though, it made him feel sick with an unusual bitterness to think of his Leader with whomever would come in to replace Harry.

Someone else would be the one to bring his Leader the last pleasures of the day; someone else would get to receive his Leader’s blessing; and all Harry had received was a few lecturing lines of scripture and a knot in his stomach.

Louis retrieved his robe from a hook on the back of the door and slid it onto his body.

Harry bit his lip as Louis opened the door, something that Harry always did for him. Was his Leader really going to leave him alone in the washroom without any further instructions? Harry held his breath, waiting to see if his Leader would acknowledge him before leaving the room.

Louis paused, his hand gripping the partially opened door. “Unless you plan on worshipping my dirty towel, I suggest you get off of the floor,” he spoke over his shoulder, though the words felt like an afterthought—like Harry was an afterthought. Louis then opened the door the rest of the way before disappearing from where they had come, leaving Harry behind.

Harry frowned, pondering Louis’ words as he brought his gaze to where the towel had been dropped. He had never worshipped his Leader’s used towel before, though he supposed it made sense. It had touched his Leader’s bare flesh, and now the fibers held the water drops that had cleansed his naked body.

Something told Harry, however, that Louis hadn’t been serious when he’d made the suggestion. Harry looked back to the door through which his Leader had just left. Should he follow? He eyed the towel again, wishing that he’d been given proper instructions rather than some sort of riddle that he was meant to work out himself.

He remembered suddenly that the tub hadn’t been rinsed, and its bottom was still littered with flower petals. Perhaps, Harry thought, he should take it upon himself to clean up so that he could win back Louis’ favor.

No, Harry decided. Louis probably wanted Harry to leave quickly so that his replacement could be brought in.

Harry pushed himself to a standing position and swiped his thumbs along the dampness clinging to his lower lashline. He couldn’t cry in front of his Leader. That had to wait until he was back in the Commons, alone in his bed, waiting for sleep to find him. Then he could wallow in self pity and shame and wonder if he would ever be chosen to do a task for his Leader again.

He took a deep breath and brushed his hands down his outfit. He then removed his Leader’s towel from the floor and brought it to the laundry chute before leaving the washroom.

Louis was already back in his throne, lounging back comfortably like he had been there for ages. He released a sigh, reaching into his robe and retrieving a cigarette and lighter.

Harry tried to swallow down the sting that was rising in his throat as he watched Louis place the cigarette between his lips and flick his thumb along the wheel of his lighter. Harry was always the one to light Louis’ post-bath cigarette, and to see that his Leader was doing it himself had Harry’s stomach twisting up with a feeling of uselessness that he wasn’t sure how to shake.

In an instant, the end of the cigarette began glowing, and Louis dropped the lighter back into his pocket. He leaned back and inhaled with closed eyes, his two fingers coming to loosely grasp the cigarette between them.

Harry liked seeing his Leader like this—freshly bathed and wearing nothing but his plush robe, relaxed in his throne and smoking lazily. He looked soft, warm, attractive in ways that had Harry’s toes curling. He must have seen his Leader in this very state dozens of times, but seeing him now felt different somehow. The sight was making his heart quicken, his palms sweat, like the gorgeous view of his Leader was actually changing the functionality of his nervous system. His knees felt unsteady, like he could fall to them at his Leader’s feet, but he hadn’t been invited to even reapproach his Leader, let alone worship in front of him. He debated asking permission, though he knew it wouldn’t come out right, and that was what had gotten him into trouble in the first place.

Harry swallowed hard. If he hadn’t messed up in the washroom, he would have been able to lead Louis to his chair and stand directly in front of him as his Leader sat down. He wouldn’t have needed to ask permission to reapproach—he would have already been right there where he belonged.

Louis brought the cigarette away from his mouth, staying silent and still for several beats of Harry’s heart.

Harry felt like he was hanging on to every second as he waited for the smoke to be released from his Leader’s lungs. Any moment now, Harry too would be released from Louis’ presence and told to go back to the Commons. All Harry could hear was his stupid quickened heartbeat. The room was so quiet that he half wondered if his Leader could hear it too, even from across the room.

Finally Louis exhaled, long and slow, sending the smoke straight into the air.

Harry was so mesmerized by it that he almost missed the way his Leader parted his knees, the ends of his robe sliding over his thighs as it opened. From where he stood, Harry couldn’t see anything between Louis’ legs, but the heavenly sigh his Leader let out had Harry’s stomach swooping down into his groin. Riddled with the knowledge that Louis’ cock could be visible to the empty space in front of him but not to Harry, Harry wanted to chew his own tongue off.

He needed to see it, he needed to touch it, he needed it in his view and in his fist. He needed to suck it into his mouth with an eager tongue and a hungry slurp, swallow it until the tip touched the back of his throat. He needed to choke on it, gag on it, feel his stomach lurch like it was thrusting a pair of hands up Harry’s throat, desperately trying to grab ahold of his Leader’s cock and pull it deep inside of Harry’s body.

Harry felt his throat constrict, tightening around a strange lump, as if Louis’ cock really was being forced down into him. His stomach felt like it had jumped up into the back of his mouth, dragging with it a course of panic. He needed his Leader so badly, but this need was so overwhelmingly foreign that Harry didn’t know what to do with it.

A strange-sounding choked breath escaped him, not unlike the ones that he often let out around his Leader’s dick. He clapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late—the noise had already punctured the air.

Louis looked up without moving his head, letting just his eyes meet Harry’s.

Harry sucked in a breath through his nose, feeling like he’d been punched in the stomach. He didn’t know how Louis’ eyes could look so piercingly blue from across the room, but they had Harry’s own eyes misting at the sight of them. He pressed his lips together as he brought his hand away from his mouth, clasping it with the other behind his back.

He forced his body to be still, trying to keep from fidgeting or rolling his ankles, as he waited for his Leader to dismiss him.

Louis said nothing, eyes still locked with Harry’s as he brought his cigarette back between his lips and inhaled deeply. He pulled it away and released the smoke without bothering to hold it in this time. He then gave his cigarette a flick, which Harry knew was sending bits of ash onto the clean floor. He wondered if Louis would make him clean them up before he left.

Louis sat up and adjusted his robe over his lap with his free hand. “Come here, dove,” he said, patting his leg. “Come sit with me.”

The request caught Harry so off guard that he half thought that maybe Louis wasn’t talking to him. He was tempted to look behind him to see if someone else had come in. Before he could decide to do so, he felt himself tripping over his feet as he rushed to obey. Finally he could be close to his Leader again, feel his warmth and his strength, be one step closer to quenching the thirst itching at Harry’s tongue.

Harry sat on his Leader’s thigh, trying to perch himself delicately so that he didn’t put too much weight on Louis’ leg. He was trying not to vibrate with eagerness, for fear that he might get scolded or sent away.

Louis had gone back to his cigarette, bringing it to his mouth and leaning back again with closed eyes. He hadn’t even acknowledged that Harry had joined him, something that had Harry watching him curiously.

Louis took in a sharp breath, and Harry’s stomach flipped at the familiarity of it, the action akin to the way his Leader would inhale when Harry would wrap his mouth around Louis’ cock head and give a harsh suck.

Harry shook his head with a flick, trying to rid himself of the thoughts that kept ambushing his mind. The need he’d had earlier had gone down, now barely noticeable, but it was there in the background, a low simmer in his veins that was keeping his blood warm.

Louis let the smoke out through his nose this time, licking his lips as his whole body relaxed.

Harry had to hold his breath so as to not cough from the smoke—cigarettes were not allowed in the Commons, and it always took his lungs a few minutes to adjust to the presence of Louis’ habit when he was this close. Harry didn’t quite like it, the smell or the thin layer of tension that it gave him in his chest, but still, it gave him a jolt, knowing that it meant he was with his Leader.

Louis stayed relaxed, breathing deeply as if he was alone in his throne.

Harry wondered for a moment if Louis was going to fall asleep. What would Harry even do if that happened? Would he leave? Would he be expected to stay there all night since he hadn’t been dismissed? He decided that maybe spending all night in his Leader’s lap wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Maybe Harry could curl up and fall asleep too, drifting off with the feeling of Louis’ warm body against his own and the ghost of smoke in his lungs.

Suddenly Harry felt Louis’ arm shift behind him, and soon Louis’ hand was clutching Harry’s waist, the first move his Leader had made to acknowledge Harry’s presence since he sat down several minutes before.

Harry bit his lip, trying to force his own breaths to match Louis’—deep and wide—rather than quicken to keep up with the racing of his heart. His Leader’s hand felt warm, even through the fabric of Harry’s shirt, as if Harry had placed a heat pack on an ache in his side.

“So,” Louis finally said, reminding Harry of when Louis had been in the bath. “Harry.” Louis opened his eyes and let them land on Harry’s face.

Harry swallowed hard, his chin dipping in an automatic nod at hearing his name. He sucked his lip into his mouth as a lazy smile appeared on his Leader’s face.

“Harry,” Louis said again, softer this time.

Harry let out a light whimper, his cheeks instantly warming at the sound.

Louis lifted the hand with his cigarette, bringing it towards Harry’s face.

Harry flinched, and the hand on his waist tightened, a silent warning to stay still. He bit his lip and braced himself for whatever his Leader was about to do. He wanted to close his eyes, but he found himself helpless to the wild gaze from his Leader’s, making Harry’s heart pound.

He soon felt the end of the cigarette touch just below his eye, catching a tear that Harry hadn’t realized was there. This was an action that Harry found strange, but perhaps it was just another use for cigarettes that he’d been previously unaware of.

He wasn’t sure if it properly hurt to feel the heated cigarette on his skin for the brief moment that it had touched him. His tactile awareness was zeroed in on the warmth of the hand on his waist, still gripping him tightly. He couldn’t remember there ever being a time when Louis had held him in this way, but Harry liked it, feeling like his Leader’s firm grasp was keeping him from floating away.

“While I’d love to assume that my mere presence brings my best disciple to tears, maybe you should tell me what has you so worked up,” Louis finally said, chucking his cigarette behind Harry.

Harry jumped as he heard it land on the floor, apparently having missed the ashtray. He wrung his hands in his lap, looking down. “I don’t want you to be cross with me,” he mumbled, unsure of how else to explain. “Because of… before.”

“Cross with you?” Louis asked. He tipped his head back and barked out a laugh that made Harry jump. “I could never be cross with you, sweeting.” He reached up and tucked back a loose strand of Harry’s hair. “How could anyone be cross with someone as darling as you?”

Harry felt his brow pinch in confusion. He could have sworn that he had at the very least annoyed his Leader, what with the way Louis had just been acting cold towards him only minutes ago in the washroom. Had Harry only imagined it? Had his shame and self disappointment somehow altered his perception of his Leader’s attitude?

Harry didn’t know what to say next. “I-I thought I messed up,” he stammered awkwardly.

“Nonsense,” Louis exclaimed, swiping his hand through the air as if to wave away the thought. “Why would you think that?”

Harry shrugged with one shoulder, biting the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t sure how to answer the questions that his Leader continued to ask him. “I just want to please you, Sir,” he said, feeling like that was as good of a statement as any.

Louis hummed, placing his free hand on Harry’s thigh and gave it a light squeeze. “I know you do, pet. You’re so glorious like that. Always wanting to do what’s right, always trying to be the most obedient little lamb… and you always succeed.”

Harry felt the tips of his ears turning pink at all of the compliments his Leader was showering him with. He still wasn’t used to so many positive things being said about him, and they were beginning to make him feel a bit dizzy as they whipped around his head like dandelion seeds, dozens of tiny wishes for his Leader’s words to be true. But of course, he thought to himself, if his Leader was saying them, they had to be true. His Leader never spoke lies.

“Thank you, Father,” Harry said, trying to rise to the praise instead of crumpling under the weight of it all like he had nearly done previously.

“I’m really glad you’re here tonight,” Louis said lowly as he stroked his thumb over Harry’s leg.

Harry’s eyes darted to it before looking up at Louis’ again. He would never get over how deeply blue they were, as if God himself had chipped away pieces of the sky and gifted them to Louis. Perhaps it was Harry who was truly the receiver of this gift—he was the one who had the privilege of being able to gaze upon them, after all.

“You are?” Harry asked, his Leader’s words suddenly sinking in.

“Of course,” Louis confirmed. “They were going to send me someone else for the evening, but I requested you specifically.”

“Y-you did?” Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Why would his Leader specifically request him, of all the followers in the Commons? He’d never been specifically chosen for anything.

“Of course I did, love,” Louis said again, offering a small smile.

Harry wondered for a moment if his Leader was going to explain why, but Louis didn’t speak.

Instead, he removed his hand from Harry’s thigh and brought it to the front of his robe, pulling it open and revealing his dick, now fully hard and on blatant display for Harry to take in.

Harry let out a small gasp as it came into view. Finally, finally, finally. It had been too long since he’d seen it last.

No sooner had this thought entered his mind than Harry realized how silly it was—he had seen it, kissed it even, only minutes ago in the washroom. But now, it was stiff and blushing red, the sight of it making Harry’s stomach jump and his mouth water. Why was his body continuing to act so strangely? Usually Harry was neutral and unfazed when his Leader took out his cock, but now…

Harry was struck once more with an insatiable itch in his brain, a thirst in his hand that wouldn’t be quenched until he had it wrapped around his Leader. He wanted it more than he could even fathom, and he wondered if this is what a craving felt like. He had never craved anything before, but at that moment, he was so sure that if he wasn’t allowed to touch his Leader soon, he was going to positively burst. He had to pinch the skin between his fingers with his opposite hand to keep himself from reaching forward to grasp it before he was told.

“Eyes up here, pet,” Louis instructed, fingers coming to lift Harry’s chin.

“Sorry, Father,” Harry mumbled, a touch of shame punctuating his sentence.

Louis smiled with a light exhale. “You’re okay, darling. Patience, yeah?”

Harry’s face felt like it was going to melt off of his skull, embarrassment racing through his veins at his Leader needing to remind him of patience. He had never needed reminders—then again, he had never felt like he needed Louis’ prick either.

“Gosh, look at you,” Louis chuckled, stroking Harry’s cheek gently. “You’re the color of the petals from the bath.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed hard, like maybe if he couldn’t see his Leader, then his Leader wouldn’t be able to see him.

“Hey, look at me,” Louis said, a firmness lightly underlining his tone.

Harry obliged automatically, never wanting to disobey his Leader.

“Just because I don’t like petals in my bath doesn’t mean that I also don’t like them on your cheeks,” Louis teased as he brought his hand back to Harry’s thigh.

Harry bit back a giggle, deciding he didn’t mind a blush on his face if his Leader liked it.

“I can’t get over how lovely you are,” Louis went on, hand inching higher up Harry’s leg. “You’re more incredible than you know.”

Harry took in a shaky breath, all of his awareness zoomed in on the touch of his Leader’s fingers. He swallowed hard, sure that Louis’ thumb was going to burn a hole in his trousers where it was resting on Harry’s inner thigh. “Father,” he murmured softly, unsure what else to say. He felt a stirring between his hips again, and he flinched minutely as Louis’ thumb began rubbing back and forth.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, you know,” Louis went on as Harry inhaled shakily.

“M-me?” Harry stammered. It didn’t matter how many times his Leader said wonderful things about him; he would never fully believe that he was truly the one his Leader spoke of. Perhaps Louis was feeling ill or confused—there had to be some explanation.

Harry was suddenly overcome with guilt as he internally questioned his Leader, the wisest being Harry had ever encountered. Louis had never been wrong in the years that Harry had known him. Why would he be wrong now?

The thought was sucked away from Harry’s mind as Louis gave his thigh a gentle squeeze, causing Harry to jump.

“You have so much potential,” Louis said next. “You have such acidity for the gospel and the truth.”

Harry nodded, trying to keep his breathing steady as the tingling in his groin began working its way to his dick.

“It reminds me of this one verse: He who hath a match for a soul shall be struck with brilliance and burn bright from within. Henceforth, he shall be a guiding light to those cloaked in darkness.”

Harry’s trousers were growing tight, as if they were shrinking in the front and constricting him uncomfortably. He knew that it wasn’t possible for fabric to suddenly change on its own—something was happening to his prick, like it was growing and getting firm, pressing up against the seam of his bottoms. He wondered if Louis would be able to tell just by looking at him, and he quickly began fisting his hands in his lap.

“Do you know what that means?” Louis asked.

Harry wracked his brain for the words his Leader had just spoken, realizing that he hadn’t been properly paying attention. He shook his head slightly, biting his lip like it would put out the flames along his cheekbones.

Louis took Harry’s hand in his and brought it down to his exposed cock, placing it there and letting go.

Harry’s hand molded around it instantly, releasing a moan as he felt that it was wet to the touch. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. He’d never made that noise before. “W-what does it mean, Father?” he forced himself to say, balling his other hand tightly at his crotch. His dick was starting to hurt, and he was trying to stay calm despite this.

“It means a lot of things,” Louis told him. “But you’re clearly one of those that the verse is speaking of.”

“I-I don’t understand Sir,” Harry said softly. His hand twitched on his Leader’s shaft, his eyes going wide, and Louis inhaled sharply.

“Move your hand properly for me, pet,” Louis said gently.

Harry immediately began sliding his hand up his Leader’s dick, collecting wetness on his fingers. He moved his hand back down before repeating the action and reminding himself to breathe again. He couldn’t remember the details of the last time he’d been able to do this with his Leader, but he was sure that it’d never had him forgetting to breathe.

Louis groaned as his eyes fluttered. “It means,” he breathed before opening them and finding Harry’s, “that you have an affinity for greatness.”

“Greatness,” Harry echoed, like he was testing the word in his mouth.” I don’t—” He inhaled deeply, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about being great, Sir,” he said. “I’m… just a Commoner. I could never be great.”

“Stop contradicting me,” Louis snapped at him.

Harry shrunk back slightly, an apology on his lips as his Leader shook his head.

“I have got to get you out of the Commons,” Louis muttered, seemingly more to himself than to Harry. “They’re brainwashing you far too much.”

Harry frowned. “Brainwashing?” he questioned, having never heard the word before. How would one even wash a brain? Through the scalp? When washing hair? He shook his head. “They’re not doing anything like that. I always wash myself. Nobody else has bathed me or helped me wash my hair since I was a kid.”

Louis slid his thumb against one of his eyelids and his pointer finger along the other. “Never mind,” he muttered, followed by something Harry couldn’t make out. “Just keep your hand moving and your mouth quiet, cherub. I’m trying to tell you something.”

Harry nodded, having almost forgotten what he was meant to be doing. He gave his Leader’s shaft a light squeeze to show that he could be good and follow orders before he resumed his gentle strokes.

“I know greatness when I see it, Harry. And you are one of the most committed aspirants I’ve ever had the pleasure of leading.”

Harry swallowed the protests that were inching up his throat, replacing them with a quiet, “Thank you, Father.”

Louis closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose. “And the touch of an angel,” he chuckled before leaning back into his throne with a sigh. “You always know how to treat your Leader well.”

Harry flicked his wrist and thumbed over Louis’ cockhead, his own dick aching at the way his Leader’s eyes were suddenly rolling backwards. Harry repeated the action with his thumb, wanting to cry at how badly he wished for his Leader to make that face forever.

Louis groaned, clearing his throat and blinking several times before his gaze found Harry again. “Maybe too well. I’m never going to be able to finish our conversation at this rate,” Louis said with a crooked smirk.

Harry felt warmth on the backs of his fingers and looked down to see his Leader’s cock oozing and dripping clear fluid down Harry’s skin. Harry’s chest tightened at the sight, along with his grip on Louis’ cock. He knew that if he didn’t keep his hand locked in place, his fingers would find their way to his mouth so that he could suck them clean and savor every drop of his Leader’s fluid.

Harry’s cock was aching even more now, throbbing like it had its own pulse. A light sweat was breaking out along his skin, and he wished he could take off his clothes and press his body close to that of his Leader. He wanted to touch his Leader all over, make him sweat too, rut their crotches together until they were both panting and gasping for air. The thought of his dick against his Leader’s had his heart pounding, and he was dizzy with needs that he didn’t understand. Notions that had never even crossed his mind were now all his brain could think about, and having such a lack of control over his thoughts had him feeling frightened.

Suddenly he felt his trousers growing wet, and he pressed his hand harder to his crotch with a gasp. Was he losing control of his bladder? He didn’t feel like he needed a wee, but his whole body was acting in ways it never had before. It all hurt so bad—his chest, his head, his cock—and he didn’t know why.

A hand on Harry’s wrist brought him out of his thoughts, and he looked back up to his Leader’s face with wide eyes.

“Harry,” Louis said. “Are you listening to me?”

Harry blinked. His Leader had been speaking to him again? How long had Harry been lost in his own mind and body? He looked down to see that his hand was still moving slowly up and down his Leader’s dick, fingers still glistening.

“Cherub, your pulse is racing,” Louis spoke as he adjusted his fingers on Harry’s wrist.

Harry blinked again, unable to form words or think about anything other than the pain below his waist. He’d never felt anything like it in his life, never even heard of anyone experiencing such a thing. Was it because he hadn’t taken his capsule? Was the pressure of the evil inside of him building up and threatening to escape and poison his Leader? He didn’t know what to do, but he needed to get it to stop.

Harry jumped when he felt his Leader’s hand cupping his cheek. “What’s the matter, baby?” Louis asked gently. “Are you feeling poorly?”

Harry flipped the words over in his mind like a bar of soap between his palms. Feeling poorly. That had to be it. Harry was coming down with some sort of strange bug, and he needed to go to the infirmary. Maybe they would be able to fix whatever was happening to him.

No sooner had the idea entered Harry’s head than he remembered something, a warning he had been given years ago when he was a young boy and had begun taking his daily capsule. ‘If anything strange should ever happen to your genitals, you need to seek immediate medical treatment, and it’s very important that you stay away from others until the issue is fixed.’

Harry couldn’t believe he had forgotten what he’d been told. At the time, he hadn’t known what it meant for his genitals to act strangely. He’d thought it meant that his dick might start bleeding, or something similar, and he’d been very worried for weeks after his talk with the med care worker.

Harry’s stomach lurched as he remembered the wetness in his pants. Was it blood? If it was, he needed to get away from his Leader as fast as possible—Harry knew that as a Commoner, his blood was filled with evil, and every second that he remained in his Leader’s lap was another moment for the poison escaping him to attack his Leader.

Harry scrambled to get to his feet, but his Leader held onto his waist, his other hand coming to grip Harry’s arm.

“Harry, if something’s wrong, you need to tell me,” Louis said firmly, his tone serious and making Harry shudder.

Harry pressed his lips together, shaking his head. He couldn’t tell his Leader what was wrong. He didn't want to make his Leader mad, didn’t want to get in trouble. Harry knew that this was his own fault. He hadn’t prayed deeply enough or studied hard enough, or maybe he’d had too many daydreams during class when important lessons were being taught. He hadn’t done everything he could to keep the evil inside of him at bay, and now… What would his Leader do when he found out?

“Harold,” Louis spoke sternly. “Tell me now.”

Harry whimpered, powerless to his Leader’s command. “Something’s happening to my—” He cut himself off, devouring the word before he could speak it aloud. He shook his head, eyes closed as he attempted to get them to swallow the tears that were itching to get out. “It’s—between my legs, it’s… I’m…”

Louis took ahold of Harry’s hand that was covering his crotch and carefully removed it, revealing a large bulge in his trousers. “Oh, darling,” Louis breathed, almost sounding in awe as his previously harsh tone melted away.

Harry swore he could hear a hint of a smile in his Leader’s voice. This confused him very much. “I-I’m sorry, Father, I-I didn’t mean for—for this to happen. I don’t want to leave you but… I think I need to go to the infirmary so that they can f-fix it.”

Louis shook his head, releasing Harry’s hand and wrist. “That’s not necessary, love. Let me see. Undo your trousers for me.”

“But Sir, it’s—”

“Now, Harry,” Louis instructed firmly.

Harry didn’t want to further infect his Leader, but disobeying him could have severe consequences. His inclination to follow orders had him disregarding all he knew about the evil in his blood, hoping that somehow Louis would be okay. Trust in your Leader, echoed the verse in his head once more.

Harry let go of his Leader’s dick and brought his trembling hands to the buttons on his trousers, messing the fabric with his Leader’s fluid. He knew that he should probably feel embarrassed about undressing in front of his Leader, and he knew that he should follow the warning he’d been given to go to the infirmary. But his trousers were causing him so much discomfort, and all he could think about was getting some relief from the pressure.

He closed his eyes as he undid the last of his buttons, scared to see how much he was bleeding.

“Take it out, doll,” Louis instructed next. “Let me get a good look at it.”

Harry did so with his eyes still closed, breathing hard as he felt what he knew had to be blood sticking to his hand. The cool air hit the head of his cock and made him moan—the pain must have been even worse than he realized if it was causing him to make such sounds.

Louis gently took Harry by the wrist and pulled his hand away. “Oh,” he heard his Leader exclaim breathily, making Harry wince. “Wasn’t expecting you to be so big, look at you. My stars.”

Harry suppressed a whimper as he squeezed his eyes shut tighter. “It’s so swollen,” he said softly, as if speaking any louder would only make it grow bigger. “I-I don’t know why it’s happening.”

“No, baby,” Louis said, a chuckle in his voice. “It’s not swollen. You’re just very blessed. God must love you very much.”

Harry didn’t know what this meant. If God loved him so much, why would he be causing Harry’s body to be in such a concerning state?

Harry jolted forward, choking on his own spit mixed with a deep groan as he suddenly felt a finger delicately tracing up the length of his dick. Nobody had ever touched him like that before, but he instantly had a sharp heat shooting through his body and a numbing static in his brain.

“And look at it drip. Good Lord,” Louis exclaimed, rubbing his fingertip in a gentle circle around the head of Harry’s dick in such a way that had Harry’s eyes rolling behind his closed lids, a strangled whine getting lost in his throat. Why did he keep making such jarring noises?

He couldn’t tell through the ringing in his ears whether Louis seemed concerned about the blood, but the fact that he had touched Harry’s dick certainly did not indicate any fear. Harry, on the other hand, was suddenly filled with it. Hearing Louis taking the Lord’s name in vain had Harry even more scared than he had been before. His Leader normally would never do such a thing. The poison had already begun taking effect.

“I… I want it to go away so that I can keep servicing you properly.” Harry bit his lip at the thought, though he had to hold back a whimper when he felt that his dick was bleeding even more, almost like the words he spoke were causing it. The evil within him was leaking from his body quickly, and he felt his heart picking up speed behind his ribcage.

He needed to leave. He couldn’t afford to put his Leader in danger like he was. He needed to go to the infirmary, like he should have done ages ago, the moment that he felt something was off. Now it was too late; he was practically gushing wickedness, right in his Leader’s lap, and with the amount of blood that he could feel seeping from him, there was no way Louis could be protected from him. Who knew what was going to happen to his Leader now that he’d been exposed—probably something terrible, Harry was sure. Something flipping awful was going to happen to him, and everybody in the Commons would know that it was Harry’s fault. He’d be kicked out, or maybe even put to death. He’d never heard of any of the followers being executed before, but he had a feeling that if there was any crime worthy of such a punishment, it would be contaminating their Leader.

“I-I have to go,” Harry choked out, opening his eyes and bringing his hands to the front of his trousers to close them.

He paused, frowning in confusion as he realized that he wasn’t bleeding at all. His cock looked completely unharmed, besides the fact that it was twice its normal size. Actually, Harry realized, it looked a lot like Louis’. What he had thought was blood was actually clear, like the fluid that came from his Leader’s cock when Harry was servicing him.

“Hey, hey, easy there, cherub,” Louis said gently, taking Harry’s hand in his own. “You’re alright, I promise.”

Harry shook his head, feeling dizzy as it occurred to him that the wetness on his hand was now on Louis’. “It’s not me that I’m worried about, Father,” Harry whispered shakily. “I don’t want to harm you.”

“Harry, my child,” Louis said, bringing his hand to cup Harry’s cheek. “You could never bring me harm, sweeting.”

Harry let out a sob, tears falling from his eyes and running into Louis’ fingers. How could what his Leader was saying be true? Ever since he could remember, he’d been heavily schooled on all of the ways that he could bring harm to his Leader—and now his Leader, the very being he’d been told to protect and respect, said that Harry couldn’t ever harm him?

“But!”

“Oh, Harry,” Louis fawned, stroking his thumb through the tear streaks on Harry’s cheek. “You are so, so ready, sweet lamb.”

Harry closed his eyes again, focusing on the feeling of his Leader’s touch on his face, like the touch of God’s light upon the hill at high noon.

“Ready,” Harry breathed as he opened his eyes and gazed at his Leader once more, like repeating the word would suddenly make it make sense to him. What did his Leader mean? What was he ready for?

“Yes, doll. Only an angel could look so enchanting with tears in his eyes,” Louis murmured.

Harry wanted to ask more, but a throb between his legs pushed the thought away. “Father,” Harry spoke, voice wavering. “I really should go. The infirmary…” He swallowed, unable to finish his sentence.

“You don’t need to go to the infirmary, pet,” Louis said, smoothing his thumb along Harry’s cheek once more. “You’re okay.”

“But,” Harry protested, trying to keep his fluttering eyes open. “They need to give me an antidote and write a report on my condition, I-I’m sorry—”

Louis shook his head with a chuckle. “Harry, darling, who do you think the reports go to? The med staff in the infirmary sends them all to me. You don’t have to report something that I’m seeing with my own eyes.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to this. It was against the rules to not report an illness or bodily anomaly, and he always followed the rules. It seemed, however, that the rules were changing the longer he sat with his Leader, something that Harry found frightening and slightly uncomfortable.

“Sir,” he choked out, trying not to release the sob bubbling in his chest. He couldn’t help it though, and it escaped him anyway, bursting through his mouth with a force that he couldn’t control. His eyes burned, and his chest felt like it was being squeezed, forcing him to take rapid shallow breaths that didn’t satisfy his need for air nearly enough. Was he having a heart attack? How embarrassing it was, he realized, to be suffering such an ill fate in front of his Leader, and with his trousers undone, to top it off.

“Harry, darling, breathe for me,” the Leader said gently, combing Harry’s hair back with his fingers.

Something about his Leader’s soft command had Harry feeling calmer almost immediately as he obeyed and began taking slow deep breaths. Breathing came to him more easily when he reminded himself that he was in his Leader’s arms.

“That’s good, baby,” Louis nearly whispered. “You’re so good for me.”

Harry let out a whimper with his next exhale, eyes closing at the praise. He felt so lightheaded, as if he was floating away now that he could no longer see his surroundings. All of his attention was suddenly focused on the pulsing in his dick, and the way he could feel it dripping down the shaft. He really needed to go get an antidote from one of the med staff. “Father…”

“What is it, cherub? Be a good lad and tell me.”

Harry swallowed hard as he opened his eyes. “I have to go,” he whined, though his whole body was protesting against the words as he released them.

“Forget the infirmary, Harry,” Louis said firmly. “You’re fine. If I ran to the infirmary every time I got hard, I’d have to move in.”

Harry’s eyes darted to Louis’ cock at the mention of it. It was still erect, though it seemed so naked now with Harry’s hand no longer wrapped around it.

Louis took Harry’s hand in his. “I can tell you want to service me, dove.”

Harry’s eyes widened. Had Louis read his mind?

“You don’t need to fight it,” Louis went on. “We can keep going.”

“But my—”

“Harry,” Louis said harshly, his tone making Harry jump.

Harry cowered, disliking the way his Leader had spoken to him. The only thing that would make his anxiety worse than it already was would be if his Leader became cross with him, and it seemed like that was exactly what was happening. He felt tears welling along his lashes again, and he wiped at them with his free hand before looking at Louis once more.

Louis’ eyes softened, a kind smile appearing on his lips as the hand around Harry’s waist began smoothing gently back and forth over Harry’s shirt. “You need to trust me, lamb. You’re going to be okay.”

Harry’s lip wobbled before he tucked it into his mouth. He wanted to believe it, he wanted to trust his Leader, but he felt so lost, unsure of what was tethering him to the moment he was currently existing in.

Louis squeezed Harry’s hand tighter. “Just focus on me, angel,” he murmured, stroking his thumb over the back of Harry’s hand. “Only on me. And tell me what you want.”

The command made Harry’s eyes go wide, his chest clenching at the unfamiliarity of the words. Nobody had ever asked him what he wanted before. It had never mattered. Whether he wanted something or didn’t want something, things always were the way that they were. Things happened, and he responded accordingly, always in the way that was expected of him.

He didn’t mind it, really. It was just the way of his life. It had never even occurred to him to want something. What more could he want than his wonderful life and everything within it? He didn’t need to want. He wasn’t even sure if he knew how. Wanting was too close to desiring, a sin of men from older times, and Harry was most certainly not a sinner.

Only now, his Leader was asking him to want, and to share this want out loud. How could his Leader be asking him to sin when he’d been taught his whole life not to? Maybe he was misunderstanding something. But how was he to ask? He didn’t want Louis to think he was daft.

His Leader’s words repeated in his mind, tumbling around like laundry in a hot dryer. Tell me what you want. What did he want? He didn’t know where to begin.

He wanted Louis—he knew that. He wanted to fulfill his duty, as he always did, but it was so much more than that. He wanted to shatter to pieces before his Leader and then beg to be stitched back up. He wanted his Leader’s dick, in his hands and mouth and on his face until he was gagging for it with ravenous need. He wanted to fall to his knees and pray until he was bawling, pleading for God’s mercy and his Leader’s release. He wanted it, he needed it, with parts of himself that he didn’t understand and couldn’t figure out.

But he also needed to dissect the feelings floundering in his chest and the thoughts crackling in his head. What were they? Why were they there? Where had they been all this time? What was he supposed to do with them?

He looked up at his Leader, realizing that he hadn’t given an answer. He still didn’t know what to say. “I-I… Father, I’m—”

Louis brought his thumb to Harry’s lips, effectively shushing him. “Don’t think, lamb,” he said. “Thinking is the enemy of the devoted.”

Harry nodded as Louis dragged his thumb down the man’s bottom lip. “Thought is the confidant of the depraved,” Harry finished, proud of himself for completing the verse his Leader spoke.

“Good lad,” Louis murmured, gripping Harry’s chin and pulling him down gently. “Do you know the next part?”

“Erm…” Harry searched through the pages of scripture in his brain, but he was coming up blank, too focused on the look in his Leader’s eyes and the way it felt like his prick was bleeding again. “I don’t think so, Sir. I’m sorry.”

“Let that which you know lead you to prosperity; let that which you think—”

“Be put to death,” Harry spoke up, the words suddenly coming to him, as clearly as if they had been written out for him.

“Good, Harry, see?” Louis said with a soft smile and another swipe of his thumb over Harry’s bottom lip. “You do know.”

Harry beamed, biting back a grin and casting his glance downward.

“Now,” Louis said lowly, lifting Harry’s chin again. “For prosperity. Forget what you think. Tell me what you know. What do you want, dove?”

“I want to service you, Father,” Harry said automatically. The words felt like candy on his tongue—sweet and hard and forbidden—but he knew them to be true with all of his person.

“Yeah, doll,” Louis said, like he had known before Harry had confirmed it. He took Harry’s hand and brought it back to Louis’ cock, wrapping his fingers around it firmly. “Let nothing stand between you and your divinity except a green light.”

“Father,” Harry said breathily as he began to slide his hand up and down with greater intention. “What about my—”

“Shh, baby,” Louis murmured, the pet name making Harry’s heart sing. “Your cock is fine. It’s perfect.”

Harry shuddered at his Leader’s words, having never heard anyone talk about his cock before. And his Leader had called it perfect. He didn’t understand how that could be true, what with how strange it was acting, but he still let the word tickle him in the deepest of places.

“Why’s it—” Harry let out a gasp as Louis suddenly swiped his thumb over Harry’s dick head. “Why’s it hard and wet like yours?”

Louis sucked the tip of his thumb into his mouth with a moan. “You taste like heaven,” he murmured, seemingly ignoring Harry’s question.

Harry blushed deeply, shaking his head as he gave Louis’ shaft a squeeze. “One hath not sampled paradise until he is knelt before his Leader, tongue blessed with the pearls of God.”

Harry palmed over the head of his Leader’s cock, watching as Louis’ lips parted in another moan.

“Is that what you want?” Louis asked with a half smirk. “You want to take communion tonight?”

“Yeah—yes Sir, please,” Harry whined. “Want to be blessed, please.”

“Of course, pet,” Louis said, giving Harry’s thigh a squeeze. “Get down for me.”

Harry let go of his Leader’s dick and brought his hands to his own, beginning to tuck it into his trousers.

Louis grabbed Harry’s wrist and gently pulled it away. “Leave it out.”

Harry didn’t know why his Leader was asking him to do this, but he wasn’t about to disobey. He abandoned his prick between his legs and hurriedly sank to the floor. He immediately sat on his heels and leaned forward, hands behind his back. He swallowed a wine at the way his dick felt trapped between his thighs and his belly as he placed his forehead atop his Leader’s left foot.

“Please, o Lord,” he began, summoning a heartfelt prayer. “Preparest my body to service my Leader to the utmost; preparest my mind to know nothing but his delectation; preparest my soul to taketh the holiest of thy gifts.” He paused for a moment, digging down deep in his core for his next words. “And thank you, dear Lord, for the gift I am about to receive. May it nourish my soul and quench its thirst, now and forevermore.”

He lifted his head and looked up at his Leader, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth as he waited for approval.

Louis nodded. “Very good, little lamb. You always say grace so well.”

Harry scooted in closer, feeling like his cheeks were going to crack with the smile that was trying to burst from his lips. “May I please, Father?” He asked huskily, his eyes briefly darting to his Leader’s cock. It looked so delicious, so lucious and inviting. He’d never wanted anything more in his entire life.

“Hey now,” Louis scolded. “I praise you for remembering and suddenly you forget how to ask properly?”

Harry squirmed, antsiness tickling his bones like a feather tracing up his spine. “Your Greatness,” he corrected himself, bowing his head. “Please choose me as the provider of your pleasure and the recipient of your blessing, and I shall treasure both with all of my being.”

Louis said nothing, and Harry looked up to see his Leader’s head tilted and eyebrows raised, like he was expecting more.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, digging far into the back of his brain for a verse that would show his Leader how ready he was to begin. “If willingness is water and servitude is sand, let me be the rolling tide on the shore for my Lord and Leader to wade through.”

Louis hummed, rubbing the short stubble on his face as if he was contemplating Harry’s choice of words. “Good lad,” he finally said. “You may proceed.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he took his Leader’s dick in his hand. He leaned in and pressed his lips gently to the base, inhaling deeply and making himself salivate. He swallowed before murmuring a soft, “I taketh this—”

“Speak up, pet,” Louis interrupted. “I want to hear you nice and loud.”

Harry cleared his throat before beginning again, louder this time. “I taketh this shaft and entreat thee for its sacred fruit, for only thine is able to satisfy the hunger of my spirit.” He licked a long stripe up his Leader’s dick, the connection between their bodies causing a series of goosebumps to blossom up the back of Harry’s neck, contradicting the heat he was feeling under his collar. When he reached the tip, he placed another kiss right on Louis’ slit, giving a soft whimper when his lips came away wet.

He lifted his gaze and made eye contact with his Leader as he sucked the head into his mouth, lips molded around it and drawing more fluid onto his tongue. He let out another moan and then came off, sticking out his tongue and tipping his head back slightly for Louis to see.

Louis smiled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind Harry’s ear. “Excellent start, dove,” he praised. “You’ve always been very diligent in your service work. My best little worshipper.”

Harry swallowed. “Thank you Sir,” he spoke as he leaned in again and took his Leader’s cock back into his mouth. He was becoming more comfortable with his Leader’s praise and the words being chosen to describe him. It still felt funny to hear them, like little balls of fluff in his ears, but the urge to protest faded more and more each time his Leader opened his mouth.

“Give me another line of prayer, pet,” Louis instructed after a moment.

Harry hummed, bobbing his head twice before pulling off just enough to speak. “I taketh thy body into my own…” he mumbled, the words hitting Louis’ cockhead. He swirled his tongue over his Leader’s slit before saying, “and I pray to be cleansed from all wrongdoing by the power of holy flesh and blood.” He immediately returned his mouth to its place, coating his Leader’s shaft in saliva and avidity.

Louis groaned, reaching down and weaving his fingers among Harry’s locks. “May the only time a mouth is devoid of prayer be when it is full of God himself.”

Harry moaned around his Leader, adding his hand to the bottom and giving twisted strokes in time with his mouth.

“For having a mouth full of God…” Louis continued, scratching Harry’s scalp gently.

Harry swallowed his Leader down deeper, flattening his tongue and stuffing whines back down his own throat. His mouth felt so wet, the light saltiness of his Leader’s drooling cockhead encouraging Harry’s tongue to slicken. The wetness of Harry’s dick was increasing as well, making a sensitive mess of the head as it rubbed against his clothing.

Seconds later he was suddenly pulled back by his hair. He popped off with a gasp, a long strand of saliva sticking his lips to Louis’ prick. Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes lifted to his Leader, who was looking down at him expectantly.

“…is to have a bite of the sun and a swig of the moon,” Harry rushed out. He opened his mouth and tried to lean forward, but the hand in his hair was firm.

Louis was still staring at him, eyebrows now raised.

Harry gave a light huff. “And a meal of the sky can only bringeth forth profound nourishment and maketh one’s soul heavenly.” He bit the inside of his cheek and dropped his gaze back between Louis’ legs, waiting for his Leader to allow him to continue his mission.

“It’s not like you to try and skip or rush through scripture,” Louis chided.

Harry fidgeted, jolting slightly as his cockhead rubbed along the wet silk of his shirt. “Just eager to keep servicing you, Sir,” Harry spoke. The hand in his hair forced his head back, and he gave a light yelp.

“Servicing your Leader includes scripture recitation,” Louis spoke, his voice low and steely. “You know that.”

Harry tried to nod in agreement, but it was difficult with the way his head was being held. “Yes Father, I’m sorry.”

Louis didn’t acknowledge Harry’s apology, and for several moments, it was silent. Louis kept his hand firmly in Harry’s hair, staring him down with hardened eyes and a tightened jaw.

Harry bit his lip, trying to breathe through the pit that was now forming in his stomach. He hated letting his Leader down, more than he hated being injured or ill. He’d rather come down with the plague or break all the bones in his body than be on the receiving end of one of his Leader’s cold stares.

Harry couldn’t help but think about how Louis’ dick was only inches from his face, untouched and dripping like an abandoned ice lolly in the sun. He wanted to say something to his Leader, plug up the silence that was flowing all around them, but he didn’t know what words to choose.

Finally Louis let go of Harry’s hair, but not before giving a tug that almost had Harry almost falling backwards.

“Should a disciple find himself in the face of disappointment, he shall beseech at the feet of his Leader, forthwith,” Louis spoke evenly.

Harry winced as Louis spoke the word ‘disappointment,” though he nodded at his Leader’s scripted command. Carefully Harry backed up and lowered himself downward, stopping when his forehead reached his Leader’s right foot. He took a deep breath, straightening and then curling his fingers behind his back before he began speaking the prayer he’d memorized long ago.

“Hear me, dear Father, for I have erred in my actions. My lips hath misspoken, my feet hath misstepped, and my heart hath been misguided. I am imperfect by design, with a spirit cloaked in fallibility.”

Harry took a breath, remembering what Louis had said earlier about Harry being perfect. Were the words of prayer Harry spoke now still true? He pushed down the thought and continued.

“I kneel before ye, humbly seeking pardon, and declaring my devotion henceforth, or may my soul rot in the trenches. I pray this with conviction and sincerity.”

Harry ended with a deep breath and a moment of silence, letting his words settle around him. He then kissed the foot he was resting on and the opposite one before sitting back again.

Harry lifted his head and looked up at his Leader, searching for approval. He was shocked to find that instead of a nod or a look of satisfaction, he was met with the image of Louis leaned back with his eyes closed and a hand wrapped around himself, slowly moving it up and down.

Harry swallowed hard, having never seen his Leader in this position before. Had he even been paying attention to Harry’s repentance? “Father,” Harry breathed, fingers twitching in an aborted move to reach up and take over. “You…”

He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to ask why his Leader was touching himself, what it meant for Harry, why he wasn’t being praised and told to continue his service.

Louis groaned, squeezing himself tighter as fluid dribbled from his tip and slid over his fingers.

Harry whined lightly, wishing to leap forward with an eager tongue before the mess ran into the hair at the base of Louis’ cock and was wasted. This thirst was all encompassing, the only thing Harry could focus on being his need to get his mouth on his Leader again. “Sir,” he tried, hoping to capture his Leader’s attention once more.

Louis still did not acknowledge him, all of his focus seemingly on his hand and the feeling between his legs.

A tightness was forming in Harry’s lungs with which he was unfamiliar. He had never been in this situation—never had he needed to pause his service to ask for forgiveness; never had his Leader stopped him in the middle of a session; never had he experienced an aching behind his ribs and in the pit of his stomach, like a cruel kind of hunger that felt like his body was caving in on itself. The more he watched his Leader touch himself, the deeper the hunger travelled, now moving into Harry’s groin and up his dick before making its home there in the form of a fierce pulsating.

Harry winced, pressing the heel of his hand to the base of his dick in an attempt to ease the ache, but it didn’t seem to be helping.

“Sir, can I—” Harry cut himself off, preventing any further words from tumbling from his mouth without his consent. He didn’t ever ask anything from his Leader, not unless he was told to first, not unless it was expected of him—never because he wanted it. But now, the driving force behind the question on the tip of his tongue wasn’t obligation or obedience—it was pure desire, the need to soothe the burn in his system and satisfy the craving in his brain.

He’d heard about this, ancient tales of men who had once been ruled by their greed for the flesh and had thought with the head between their legs instead of the one between their shoulders. They’d experienced unquenchable thirsts and highs more toxic than any drug—lust, it was called. It was supposedly very agonizing, and at the time, the only cure had been to perform deplorable acts on each other, things that were supposedly so awful that the details couldn’t even be spoken of in present times.

Harry didn’t even think that it was possible for someone to feel lust anymore—it had been eradicated many decades ago—but with the way his prick was tender and beating like it had its own brainwaves, and how his heart was pounding with raw starving need, Harry didn’t know what else to call it.

The only thing he wasn’t understanding was the notion that lust supposedly had caused wishes of unspeakable actions. Harry felt no such thing. All that he wanted was to service his Leader—what was so despicable about that?

“Father,” Harry spoke, with an anxiety behind his voice that he couldn’t seem to hide. “May I please continue?”

Louis exhaled, eyes still closed. “If you want to extend your prayer, you may.”

Harry took a deep breath. “I meant may I continue servicing you,” he clarified.

Louis said nothing, squeezing the head of his dick and then bringing his hand to lick the backs of his fingers with a moan.

Harry pressed his lips together, focusing on his breathing and swallowing the instinct to jump up and rip Louis’ hand away so that he could suck the fingers himself.

Louis returned his hand to his cock and began pulling at himself faster.

Harry’s heart sped up too, like the rate of his pulse was directly connected to the pace of Louis’ fist, as if Harry was tied to his Leader with a string. Panic gurgled in his stomach, his palms felt damp, and Louis’ body became slightly blurry as tears brewed in Harry’s eyes again.

He didn’t know what to do, kneeling in prime servicing position with the job already started but effectively being replaced by his Leader’s own touch. Harry didn’t even know Louis was capable of doing the task himself. Harry supposed it made sense though; surely his Leader’s own hand must have felt ten times better than Harry’s. Harry was just a Commoner, a nobody with a mediocre touch and the grip of a man.

His Leader, however, had the touch of God himself, with fingers of an angel and the caress of heaven. Anyone in their right mind would have chosen Louis’ hand over Harry’s, just as it seemed like Louis was doing now.

But this was Harry’s duty, his calling, his purpose. He was meant to serve and service his Leader at every given opportunity. If the opportunity had been ripped out from under him, what was he meant to do? Was he supposed to leave? He couldn’t imagine the anguish that would eat at his soul if he was sent away before his task was complete. His only option was to stay, watch his Leader service himself, which seemed like a far worse fate—seeing the look on his Leader’s face the moment he spilled his seed, leaving Harry with the sickening truth that he hadn’t been the one to cause it. And the blessing, the fluid that had been meant to be consumed by Harry as an act of sanctification—to witness it become nothing as it hit the air instead of the back of Harry’s throat would surely cause his heart to stop.

“Please!” Harry burst out suddenly, body jerking like the word had been punched out of him.

Louis’ eyes opened, landing directly on Harry’s.

“Please Father, please, I need to service you, please, I need to service you,” Harry went on, words he had never spoken before firing from his mouth like bullets.

Louis quirked an eyebrow, an action that had Harry’s heart in his throat. “You need it, poppet?” Louis questioned, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Never imagined I’d hear you say such a thing.” His hand was still stroking himself, now at a leisurely pace.

Harry fidgeted, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t meant to admit his desperation aloud, but the words had just burst from him like they had a mind of their own—like they had come from the head between his legs, Harry realized. He blinked hard in an attempt to stave off the tears scratching in his sinuses.

“How’s your cock?” Louis asked next.

Harry inhaled shakily. “It hurts,” he croaked, this fact only just settling in now that his focus was called to it.

Louis chuckled. “Good,” he murmured, adjusting in his throne.

Harry didn’t know what Louis meant by this, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

“Give me a verse that demonstrates how badly you need it,” Louis instructed, “and then perhaps I’ll let you continue.”

Harry took a sharp inhale, excitement filling his bones at the prospect of getting to please his Leader again. His eyes fell to the floor, flitting around as if it was littered with the scripture he might need. He mentally combed through the lines he had been memorizing for years, hoping he could find one that fit his Leader’s expectations.

Finally, something came to him, the words as clear in his mind as the day he first read them. “Like air in one’s lungs and blood in one’s veins, so too shall be the inclination to fall to one’s knees, to kiss the skin of the earth betwixt their Leader’s feet and the skin of heaven betwixt their Leader’s legs.”

Harry held his breath, silently praying that the verse he had chosen was enough to portray his need to get his lips back around his Leader.

Louis paused his hand and scrunched his mouth to the side, as if contemplating the intention behind Harry’s words.

“Please,” Harry whispered, like if he raised his voice any louder he might erase every piece of scripture he’d ever spoken. “Please let me kiss the skin of heaven again, Father.”

Louis stared down at Harry for several beats before removing his fist from his shaft and extending his hand towards the man.

Harry rushed into it, letting Louis cup his face and trying not to moan at the way traces of his Leader’s fluid was now pressed against his cheek.

“Sweet cherub,” Louis murmured, smoothing his thumb over Harry’s skin. “You truly are meant to be right here, aren’t you.”

Harry sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, assuming the question to be rhetorical. It didn’t exactly sound like permission, but it certainly wasn’t a denial either. He continued staring up at his Leader, making calculated blinks so as not to get too lost in Louis’ eyes before receiving an answer.

Louis moved his thumb to Harry’s chin below his lip, giving a drag against the skin and pulling it from between his teeth. He then let go and brought his hand between his legs to gather fluid on the tip of his finger before swiping it along Harry’s lower lip delicately.

Harry whimpered, tongue flicking out automatically to draw the taste into his mouth.

Louis hummed a chuckle and grabbed ahold of his cock by the base, angling it outward towards Harry. “Go on, my darling,” he said softly. “You may continue.”

Harry let out a sob as he lunged forward and placed his hand over Louis’, leading with his tongue as he finally sucked his Leader back into his mouth. He moaned deeply, forcing himself down so that his lips hit the top of Louis’ fingers, and suctioning hard until he felt more fluid burst from Louis’ tip onto the back of his tongue. He sobbed again, swallowing his Leader down with greed and bobbing his head fervently.

“He who hath great passion is rewarded with great gifts,” Louis spoke, running the back of his index finger along the hollow of Harry’s cheek.

Harry removed his mouth from his Leader’s prick, gasping out, “There is no greater gift than to be blessed by the seed of God.” He looked up at his Leader, sticking his tongue out and licking a long stripe from root to tip. “May we be the soil he hath chosen to tend…” He did it again. “…and let his light shine upon us…” And again. “…to nourish the flower of our soul.” He then sucked Louis back into his mouth and slowly worked his way down again.

Louis took in a shaky breath, eyes closing. “My worshipful lamb,” he murmured, combing his fingers through Harry’s locks.

Harry keened at the praise, the words his Leader spoke raining on him like holy water, making him feel blessed. Harry scooted forward on his knees with a hum as he continued bobbing his head in slow deliberate motions.

“You're so good, Harry,” Louis went on, gently playing with Harry’s hair. “So, so good for your Leader, and for God.”

Harry picked up the speed of his movements, moaning and letting his tongue flutter on the underside of his Leader’s cock. He pulled back until his focus was on the head, lavishing it with spit and attention and measured sucking that had his Leader’s breaths coming more quickly.

“Baby,” Louis sighed. “That mouth… You’re a proper angel on your knees, aren’t you, pet?”

Harry let out a whine. He loved being on his knees—in prayer, in worship, in service. Standing never felt quite right to him. He was clumsy on his feet, always stumbling or bumping into things or knocking things over. But on his knees, he was steady, he was stable, glued to one spot with only his Lord and his Leader on his mind. There was nothing to trip over, nothing to break, no risk of falling, nowhere to go but up. He loved it so much, and he never felt more whole, more holy, than when on his knees.

“Harry,” Louis said huskily in between panted breaths. “I’ve got a surprise for you, little lamb.”

Harry pulled his mouth off of his Leader and cocked his head. “What is it?” he asked, his hand continuing where his lips had just been.

“I’m going to anoint you with my seed this evening.”

Harry’s eyes grew large, hand slowing. “You… a-are you sure?”

“Don’t stop,” Louis chided with a hardened gaze.

Harry sucked his lower lip into his mouth and began stroking more roughly, watching as his Leader slumped backwards with rolled eyes.

“Father,” Harry spoke, trying to recapture his Leader’s attention. “You’re going to anoint me? With your…”

Louis nodded, still breathing audibly through his lips. “I think it’s time, pet. You’ve been so good, so devoted. You deserve it.” He opened his eyes, staring down at Harry with a delicious burn behind his gaze. “You’re so, so very special, Harry. I want to mark you as such.”

Harry’s heart was thudding hard in his chest as he took in his Leader’s words. He remembered a handful of times in his life when he had been anointed, but never with fluid from his Leader, never after his act of service. The thought had never even occurred to him as a possibility. But as he digested the revelation Louis had just spoken of, Harry realized that he wanted it; he might have even dared to say that he needed it.

Harry nodded, the motion nearly making his ears ring with its intensity. “Please,” he breathed, slotting himself further between his Leader’s legs. “It would be an honor, Sir.”

Louis smiled, saying a soft, “Good lamb.”

Harry bit his cheek as something occurred to him. If his Leader’s fluid was needed for the anointment, did that mean Harry couldn’t consume the blessing? “Will… Will I still be able to take communion?”

Louis smiled. “Of course, sweeting,” he said with a nod. “I’ll spill onto your tongue instead of down your throat, and you’ll keep it there while I say an additional prayer. Then I’ll apply the blessing to your skin, and then you may swallow the rest of it when I tell you to.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. As exciting as the idea of getting anointed was, he definitely wouldn’t want to miss out on his communion. It meant so much to him to have traces of his Leader deep inside of himself, where they could be absorbed into his soul and spread throughout his body like an otherworldly warmth. He wondered if getting the fluid wiped on the outside of his body would intensify the feeling.

“Okay,” Harry said, nodding again. “I’m ready for it.”

His Leader gave a sharp laugh, taking Harry by surprise. “Nice try. I’ll say when you’re ready,” Louis corrected, catching Harry’s chin in his hands. “You know you need to earn it.”

“I will, Father” Harry said confidently, picking up the speed of his hand that was still wrapped around his Leader’s shaft. “He shall not be awarded his wages until he hath won the war.”

Harry lowered his mouth over his Leader’s cock, squeezing his lips and tongue along Louis’ flesh with a moan. He moved his head up and down in quick jerks, relishing in the way that his Leader was fingering through Harry’s hair again.

Harry waited for Louis to speak, utter an appropriate verse or other wise words. All that came from his Leader’s mouth, however, was deep breaths and soft groans.

“Harry,” Louis eventually mumbled around a panted breath. “Sweet cherub.”

Harry increased his pace at that, the way that his name sounded on Louis’ lips, airy yet intense. He relaxed his muscles and pushed himself down completely until Louis’ cockhead nudged the back of his throat. He stifled a gag, tucking his thumb into his fist and trying to breathe evenly through his nose.

“Hey,” Louis spoke, though it lacked the edge that Harry knew it was probably meant to have. “None of that.” His hand paused in Harry’s hair, fingertips sinking into his scalp and pushing him downwards. “If you gag, then you gag. No holding back.”

Harry gave a muted yelp as Louis was forced into his throat, trying to cough but only sputtering as drool slipped from the corners of his mouth.

Louis’ voice struck him again. “When the hands of God descend to grasp turpitude, thwart not his efforts, lest the Devil himself remain nestled within the soul.”

Harry felt a gag racing up his chest and didn’t fight it this time, lurching forward and involuntarily squeezing his throat around Louis’ cockhead.

Louis moaned loudly, pushing Harry down even farther. “Good lamb. Let it happen.”

Harry gagged again, his face pressing against the wet hairs surrounding his Leader’s cock as saliva continued to pour messily down his chin.

“Good,” his Leader repeated, his voice low and sensual.

Harry released a muffled sob, his eyes suddenly welled with tears as Louis repositioned his hands to either side of Harry’s skull.

“Stay still, pet,” Louis muttered as he began heaving his hips upwards, grinding the head of his dick even deeper into Harry’s throat.

Harry choked, coughing as he tried to open himself as much as possible for his Leader

“The Lord, the Leader… is most at home, not among the heavens,” Louis spoke, his voice barely above a whisper over his heavy breathing, “but deep within… his most staunch disciples.” He held onto Harry’s head in a forceful grip, heaving his hips roughly with every few words.

Harry struggled to take in breaths, his head growing dizzy as he was used to demonstrate the scripture his Leader spoke of. He gagged hard but barely felt it, his attention focused on being good for his Leader.

“Taketh his body, consumeth his gifts… as far into the soul… as roots into the—” Louis cut himself off with a broken groan, and Harry felt more fluid drip down the back of his throat. “…the earth. Let the seed of his loin be planted into thy mire, and let it spare ye from evil.”

They were so close to the final blessing; Harry could feel it—the way his Leader’s breathing was changing; the way his fingers trembled slightly from their position in Harry’s hair; the way his cock was pulsing and leaking as it was repeatedly shoved down Harry’s throat.

Harry’s eyes rolled back as tears streamed down his cheeks and onto his open jaw, clinging there like they were waiting for permission to fall to the ground.

The room fell silent, save for the sounds of rough breathing and wet thrusts. This was another sign that Harry’s Leader was getting ready to bless him—the lack of words Louis spoke that would have had Harry longing for his voice if not for the overwhelming buildup of sensations in his own body. His throat felt swollen shut, and he wasn’t even sure if he was getting any air in the split seconds that Louis was pulling out. Yet, he didn’t feel like he needed any, like his Lord’s love and his Leader’s cock were taking the form of oxygen and feeding his brain all that it needed. Harry’s whole body was tense, but he felt relaxed, serene, like he did when he was in his Leader’s arms, like nothing could hurt him or touch him.

Harry suddenly had the thought of wanting to stay eternally locked in the moment he found himself in. With his mind floaty and his body warm, he felt as though he could remain at his Leader’s feet, nearly choking on his dick, for at least a dozen lifetimes, maybe more. Harry had almost forgotten how much he would often struggle through this part in the past, desperate to close his aching jaw and take a proper breath. But now, he felt no pain, no urgency, and even his gagging had subsided. All he felt was love for his Leader, for God, and for all that they meant to him.

“Blessed are those… who service and serve… their Lord among men,” Louis finally spoke breathily, beginning the prayer Harry had heard so many times.

Harry’s stomach dropped into his groin at the words, feeling his cock pulse almost in sync with his Leader’s thrusts. He discreetly took a hand and wrapped it around himself, giving his dick a hard squeeze in an attempt to get it to stop. It felt unreal, powerful in a way that he hadn’t thought possible, like his hand had pulled at a chain wrapped around the base of his spine. He would have cried out in surprise if not for the way his Leader’s shaft was muffling any sounds that came from him. He let go almost just as quickly, worried that he might miss the blessing if he was too distracted.

“Blessed is… the bounty he hath to offer… of his flesh and of his… spirit,” Louis went on, breathing roughly in between the words of prayer he spoke.

Suddenly Louis pulled out and tipped Harry’s head back by his hair, replacing Harry’s mouth with his own hand. “S-stick out your tongue, cherub. And—” He let out a sudden cry that he quickly gulped back down. “Remember not to swallow.”

Harry did as he was told, letting his tongue fall out of his mouth like a hungry dog and gazing up at his Leader with wide eyes. He tried to portray through his stare and his obedience that he was ready—he was so, so ready for what his Leader was about to give to him.

Louis stroked himself roughly, still holding Harry’s hair with his opposite hand. “Blessed are the lambs of God… who taketh his body… his breath… and his blood… and make them their own.”

Harry’s heart seemed like it was going to hammer out of his ribs as he breathed heavily. He could feel saliva slipping off of his tongue, and he flinched when some of it landed on the head of his dick.

His eyes were drawn to his Leader’s face, not used to being able to see him so clearly for this part. Louis practically looked like he was glowing as he continued pumping his fist between his legs. His face was glistening with a sheen of sweat, with his fringe clinging to his forehead and his lips parted in pleasure and prayer… This was the most ethereal that Harry had ever seen his Leader, and he wanted to stay in this position forever, head tipped back and drooling onto his own cock at his Leader’s feet, with the most gorgeous view this side of heaven.

“Bless us…” Louis choked out, hand tightening in Harry’s hair. “And… and let us… come together.”

At the end of his prayer, Louis stilled his fist and held his dick to the tip of Harry’s tongue. Only a split second later, hot fluid was shooting from the tip as Louis threw his head back and cried out loudly. Rope after rope striped along Harry’s tongue and upper lip, and both of them were twitching by the end as he forced his mouth to remain open.

It was strange, he thought, to have his Leader’s blessing on his tongue rather than down his throat. He couldn’t remember when he’d last gotten a chance to truly savor it in his mouth before swallowing, and it felt good to experience the thickness and heavy taste of it for the first time in so long.

Louis finally lifted his head, breathing hard and looking down at Harry with hooded eyes as he freed the man’s hair from his grip. “Little lamb,” he whispered, as if his voice had gone out with his release. He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed before opening them and letting his hand gently cup Harry’s face. “You look so, so good like this. Like an Elysian vision.”

Harry beamed under the flattery, curling his tongue upwards slightly with a whine as he felt his Leader’s seed start to slide off of it.

Louis puffed out a laugh. “Pull your tongue into your mouth, doll. But keep it open.”

Harry obeyed, loving the way Louis’ fluid felt between his cheeks. His mouth was watering, and he knew that his saliva was mixing with the blessing on his tongue, creating a shining pool from which his Leader would soon draw for his anointment.

Harry watched as Louis stood and rolled the sleeves of his robe up off of his wrists. Harry suddenly felt small, like his form was shrinking at the feet of his Leader. Soon he would be nothing but a speck in a puddle of holy fluid.

Louis took a breath and suddenly placed his palm on Harry’s forehead, his fingers disappearing into Harry’s hairline. He closed his eyes and stayed like that for a moment, breathing deeply.

Harry wondered if Louis was reading his thoughts, or perhaps he was transferring important knowledge or divinity into Harry’s mind.

Before Harry could settle on which it was, his Leader spoke. “Let only those who are truly children of God enter his kingdom; all others shall perish before the gates.” He removed his hand and dipped two of his fingers into Harry’s mouth, brushing his fingertips against the man’s tongue.

Harry breathed shakily, tongue twitching as he reminded himself to keep his jaw open instead of gripping Louis’ fingers with his lips and drawing them into his mouth. Harry wanted to keep as much of Louis’ fluid inside of himself as he could.

Louis removed his fingers and brought them to Harry’s right cheek, tracing the shape of an X onto his skin.

Harry was familiar with this, the symbols his Leader was to make on his skin during anointment, but knowing that it was with his Leader’s seed this time made his stomach flutter and his heart sing.

“When God returns to collect his disciples,” Louis went on, returning his fingers to Harry’s tongue, “he shall know them by sight alone, for they shall display his mark proudly.” He drew another X on Harry’s opposite cheek, this one feeling wetter than the first. “But those who will ascend to the highest branches of God’s tree are those who wear his seed.”

Harry couldn’t help himself—he closed his lips around his Leader’s fingers the third time they touched his tongue. He gave a gentle suck, staring up at his Leader with passion and wide eyes. He let out a yelp when he felt a sudden flick to the hollow of his cheek with the fingers of his Leader’s free hand, and he quickly opened his mouth with a choked gasp.

Louis grabbed Harry’s chin, leaning in close and petting Harry’s tongue gently. “If you want to see this through, little lamb, I suggest you be still and let me finish it properly,” he murmured lowly, as if he didn’t want anyone—maybe God—to hear him.

Harry gave a minute nod and a soft whimper of apology. He didn’t want to disappoint God, and he especially didn't want to upset his Leader. He would do as he was told and keep still, being on his best behavior.

“Enough,” Louis whispered, his face stern as he let go of Harry’s chin. He cleared his throat, suddenly pressing down on Harry’s tongue in such a way that had Harry's eyes fluttering backwards and the urge to gag tugging at his stomach. It was fleeting, however, as Louis released the pressure and crouched down until he was eye level with Harry.

Harry took in a noisy breath through his nose, startled to have his Leader’s face so close to his. This wasn’t how the anointments usually went. Was Louis stopping the ritual because Harry had misbehaved? Was Harry about to get yelled at? He could feel his sinuses flooding, and a moment of panic rippled through his bones as he wondered what would happen if he started to cry and ruined the marks on his face. Would the anointment be compromised?

“The obedient hold his fluid solely in their stomachs,” Louis spoke, fingers delicately tracing down Harry’s tongue. “The worthy wear it on their cheeks.” He slowly removed them, dragging his fingertips over Harry’s bottom lip on the way out. “But the chosen…” He lifted Harry’s shirt with his clean hand and brought the touch of his other to Harry’s chest, just beside his right nipple.

Harry jumped with an aborted moan but quickly regained composure as Louis swooped his fingers down in an upside-down arc that concluded beside Harry’s other nipple.

“The chosen wear it on their heart.”

Harry’s vision became blurry as tears forced their way onto his waterline. His chest felt like it had swelled up, stuffed full with emotions that he couldn’t properly process or put names to. It was all beginning to touch him deeply—the scripture his Leader had recited; his blessing on Harry’s skin and in his mouth; the way that they were still face-to-face, passing the same breath of air back and forth between them…

He took in a shaky breath before closing his eyes as tears pushed past his lashes. He didn’t even care anymore that his tears could wash away the marks on his cheeks—it didn’t matter, for he wore it on his heart now, just as his Leader said, and nothing could take that from him. He had relished many times in the way he felt with his Leader’s seed in his stomach, but to have it on his heart was an entirely new experience, one that brought upon a glow in his chest and raw emotion upon his cheeks.

At once, Louis’ thumbs were beneath Harry’s eyes, wiping his tears away tenderly. “Harry. You look so beautiful, dear cherub,” he murmured. “And so sweet. God loves you so much.”

Harry gave a choked wail, wanting to fall into his Leader’s arms and cry, be held and comforted as he let out everything he was feeling.

Louis leaned in, placing his forehead against Harry’s and beginning to mumble words under his breath that Harry couldn’t properly decipher.

Harry held back another sob, breathing shakily as he took in his Leader’s close presence. Louis’ sweat clung to Harry’s skin, and his breath tickled Harry’s upper lip, where bits of his Leader’s fluid were drying. Harry was beginning to feel woozy, overwhelmed, like he might break if Louis wasn’t careful with him. He wasn’t even sure if he was fully there anymore, but the gentle pressure of his Leader’s forehead on his own grounded him enough to stay glued to the floor of the Manor instead of floating away to the heavens.

Louis stopped his inaudible recitations moments later, disconnecting their heads and placing a gentle kiss to Harry’s skin where they had just been touching. “Let God’s seed nourish; your devotion, flourish,” Louis said as he pulled back.

Harry knew these words well—he’d been waiting for them for what felt like ages. Yet, he stayed frozen, jaw hung open stiffly, like he was waiting for more. More of what, he wasn’t sure, but he needed something that hadn’t come yet.

“Swallow your blessing, sweetheart,” Louis encouraged softly, an instruction that Harry didn’t normally receive or need.

As if a switch had gone off in his head, Harry closed his mouth and swallowed, keeping his head tilted back so that his Leader could watch his throat. It felt different going down, thinner than it usually did. He realized this was probably because much of it was now on his skin, and the rest was mixed with his saliva. Still, his chest fluttered as the seed went down his throat, a shiver shooting through his spine and shoulders as he finally received what he had wanted for so long.

“Thank you for your body and blessing, Father,” Harry gasped out the moment he swallowed. His throat hurt, and his voice felt rough, much more so than they normally did after servicing. Perhaps it had been more physically intense than he’d realized.

Louis gave a short nod as he straightened up and sat back in his throne. He leaned back and spread his legs, his robe falling open and revealing his cock.

Harry’s eyes fell to it, surprised to see that Louis was hard again—or perhaps still. Harry didn’t often get a good look at his Leader’s dick after his service, but he did know that giving a blessing usually made it go back to its normal state.

Seeing his Leader’s prominent hard-on made Harry remember that his own cock had been acting strangely. He looked down to his lap to see that it still looked just as hard, though it was now blushing angry red, and the sides were soaked all the way down to the hairs at the base. He had the urge to take himself in his hand, see if he could make it go away somehow, but instead he kept both palms resting on his thighs.

He looked up, licking the excess fluid from his lip and waiting to be shooed away. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do about the fact that his dick was still swollen and leaking; he would most likely make a stop at the infirmary before returning to his room for the evening, like he had been planning to do earlier.

But his Leader was not sending him away. “Harry,” Louis said, extending one of his hands. “Come here, pet.”

Harry’s eyes fell to Louis’ outstretched palm. This was different. His Leader never helped him up after communion or servicing, never said anything more than his dismissal. Oftentimes Louis would turn around and leave the vicinity without so much as a glance back before Harry even got the chance to return to his feet. Once Harry fulfilled his duty, their time together was over, unless Louis had another task for him. Maybe that was what Louis had in mind now. Maybe Harry would be sent off to clean the washroom.

Harry took his Leader’s hand carefully and stood, very aware that his cock was still out in the open. He brought his free hand to his crotch in an attempt to cover it, but it was difficult to do without getting his hand wet.

Once Harry was standing fully, Louis let go of his hand and leaned back in his throne before stretching his legs forward. His robe fell further open over his thighs, and Harry had to force his gaze to remain on his Leader’s face rather than drop back between his legs.

For a moment, Louis said nothing.

Harry shifted nervously under his gaze, wondering if he had done something wrong during his servicing. From Harry’s perspective, everything had seemed to go just fine—better than fine, in his opinion. It had been amazing. He was about to ask if he had made a mistake when his Leader spoke first.

“So. Harry.” Louis’ tone was nearly identical to when their evening had first begun together. Harry couldn’t imagine the purpose for his Leader to sound that way now.

“Yes Father,” Harry replied, trying to suppress the nerves that had returned to his system.

“What are your plans for the rest of the evening?”

“Oh, erm…” Harry didn’t understand why his Leader was asking, nor was he quite sure how to answer. He had finished his chores back in the Commons, and his assignments for his studies were complete and ready for the next day. He’d eaten before visiting the Manor, and there were no events that he needed to attend. Normally on evenings after servicing his Leader, Harry would return to his quarters in the Commons and pray or study for the rest of the evening, especially on nights that he took communion. He was going to tell Louis as such, but then he remembered again that he was still dealing with the issue beneath his hands.

“I—” Harry blushed, trying to find the words. He didn’t know why he suddenly felt so embarrassed about his problem, especially when his Leader had seen and even touched it earlier. “I was going to pay a visit to the infirmary,” he mumbled. “For my, erm. To make it go back to normal down there?”

“Ah,” Louis said, raising his eyebrows slightly. He then patted his thigh. “Come here, come sit with me.”

Harry wanted to hesitate—he didn’t know if it would continue to get worse the longer he didn’t seek treatment—but the déjà vu of being asked to sit in his Leader’s lap flooded him with the beginning of a warmth that he wanted to feel again. He couldn’t resist, and he soon found himself back on Louis’ thigh.

“Let me see,” Louis said gently, taking a hold of his wrist.

Harry let his hand be pulled away, revealing his dick once again. It was still standing upright, pink and sticky and pulsing.

“Is it still painful?” Louis asked, reaching forward and stroking a knuckle down the underside.

Harry shivered, biting back a whimper. “A-a little,” he admitted. “I erm, I’m still not sure what’s caused it. This has never happened before.”

Louis met Harry’s eyes, a soft smile gracing his features. “Oh, sweet lamb,” Louis murmured, reaching up and combing back Harry’s fringe. “I told you, darling. We’re so very alike, you and I.”

Harry nodded minutely. “I don’t know what that means, Sir,” he nearly whispered.

Louis shushed him, dragging a thumb down Harry’s lower lip. “Nevermind that, poppet,” Louis said. “Let me take care of you.”

Harry frowned. “Take care of me?” he questioned, wondering what his Leader could possibly mean by this. It seemed that as the evening went on and the more that Louis spoke, Harry was only becoming increasingly confused.

“Yes, take care of you, so you don’t have to visit the infirmary,” Louis explained, bringing his hand down to Harry’s lap. “Just relax for me.”

Suddenly Harry’s cock was in Louis’ hand, being gently squeezed with a tug that had a moan zipping up Harry’s throat. “S-Sir,” he breathed, blinking several times in disbelief. Nobody had ever held his prick before—he never would have even dreamed of the possibility—and the feeling was so startling that he had to force himself to breathe.

“Be quiet now, pet,” Louis murmured, thumb stroking over the head of Harry’s cock. “Let me show you what it feels like to be serviced.”

Harry jerked forward at the touch, mind spinning with the effort to process what was happening. His Leader couldn’t service him. Being serviced was meant only for the highest guides of the Order, which Harry most certainly was not.

“Sir,” he repeated, eyes fluttering as his Leader petted his finger over the slit of his cock again. “Father, you—you can’t, I-I—”

Louis interrupted him. “To object before God is to command a bird not to fly, a fish not to swim, a lion not to prey.”

The Leader’s words were only partially making sense to Harry; how could an animal have the mental capabilities to pray? He knew that that was one of the main differences between humans and animals—humans worshipped; animals did not.

“Stay still, dove,” Louis instructed lowly. His free hand slid around Harry’s waist and up his shirt, holding onto him with a warm assuredness that made Harry feel safe.

Before he knew what was happening, his dick was being stroked firmly, dragging sharp electric shocks through his body that had him moaning loudly. He had never felt anything like it in his entire life. It was like there were buzzing claws in his groin, reaching up into his cock and scratching stripes of pleasure all through the flesh of his shaft. It was so intense that he didn’t know if he wanted to beg for more or pull away.

Somewhere deep in his brain, he knew that he should be protesting—the entire situation was so very wrong. He was just a lowly Commoner, and Louis was saintly, a Son of the Seraphim. Harry knew that in no universe would there ever be an instance where a disciple was placed above their guide, and that’s exactly what was happening to Harry in Louis’ lap.

Harry wanted to tell him all of this, but as his Leader’s hand sped up, all Harry could say was a breathy, “Father, I’m not worthy.”

“Ah-ah,” Louis corrected lowly. “God measures worth with a meter stick that nary a man could carry.”

Harry tipped his head back with a groan, the next words of the verse appearing in his mind like someone had whispered them to him. “So carry good faith that the worthy will be defined,” he mumbled, “and those undeserving will… fade away.” Harry didn’t know how true the words he spoke actually were—his Leader implied that Harry was worthy, but with the tingling feeling that was tickling his insides, he wouldn’t be surprised if his body dissolved into nothingness right in his Leader’s lap.

Harry’s jaw dropped open in a guttural moan as Louis quickened his hand, and Harry found his fingers suddenly gripping his Leader’s arm tightly. “Father,” he gasped, eyes rolling back. The sensations in his body were only getting stronger, a fuzzy heat breaking out along his skin that had him shivering. He could hardly think, fragments of thoughts whipping through his mind and refusing to stick together to form something intelligible.

Gradually he could feel pieces taking shape, as if God himself had reached into his brain and was stringing words together like pearls on a cord. Without meaning to, Harry started speaking them out loud into the space between himself and his Leader.

“O glorious God,” he began, the words leaving him in a harsh exhale. “I come to you in a prayer of thanks, for—” He cut himself off with a gasp on a particularly good stroke, his nails digging into Louis, who shushed him softly. “For this wondrous moment in time.”

Louis gave his cock a squeeze, almost like a gesture of approval that made Harry’s heart feel safe.

Harry dropped his chin to his chest in a moan, breaths coming harder and keeping time with the jerks of Louis’ fist.

“Don’t stop, cherub,” Louis murmured, the hand wrapped around Harry’s waist smoothing over his skin lightly. “God wants to hear you.”

Harry sobbed harshly, the sound surprising him. He didn’t know why he felt so close to tears, but he continued on with his prayer. “Go-God,” he stuttered before swallowing hard and closing his eyes. “Hear my thanks for… this feeling within me, and for heavenly pleasures… which man can not understand.”

The more Louis pulled at Harry’s cock, the more words were pulled from Harry’s system, coming out of him in between panted gasps and other sounds he had never made before.

“Good Lord, I am so… so grateful for our Leader… Father Tomlinson.”

Harry swore he could hear Louis smirking as he slowed his hand, switching to tantalizingly teasing drags that had Harry mewling in the back of his throat. “Th-thank you, thank you for… guiding me to him, and blessing me… with his wisdom and grace.”

Harry felt a tender energy beating in his core, spreading upwards into his ribcage and downward into his pelvis. It was slowly filling his body, like a soft light that was gradually brightening and warming him from the inside out.

“Please,” Harry cried out, like he wanted all of the heavens to hear him. “Please, keep me humble…keep me worthy… keep me… forever… in your glory.”

“Oh, Harry, Harry, Harry,” Louis mumbled, letting go of Harry’s cock and pulling the man close to him. “You’re ready, you’re so ready, darling.”

Harry wanted to scream after going from feeling so much on his dick to suddenly feeling nothing at all, the contrast stinging like he’d been slapped across it. He was trying to regain his composure, but he managed to make out his Leader’s words through the fog in his ears. “Father,” he breathed, swiping his hair out of his eyes. “Please, what am I ready for?”

“The only way one can truly know God is on one’s hands and knees,” Louis replied, adjusting Harry’s weight in his lap.

Harry frowned at his Leader’s words. Did Louis want him to kneel on the floor again? Harry would gladly do it a hundred times—he would live at his Leader’s feet if he could—but Harry couldn’t be sure that that’s what Louis had meant.

“Any disciple can let the light of the Lord shine upon their face; only God’s chosen angels allow his light where darkness is greatest.”

Before Harry could ponder the meaning of the verse his Leader had spoken, he was being scooped up into Louis’ arms, one around Harry’s back and one under the crook of his knees. Harry yelped in surprise, bringing his own arms to wrap around Louis’ neck as his Leader stood and began carrying him away.

“Where—where are you taking me, Sir?” Harry asked, trying not to squirm out of Louis’ hold at the sensitivity of his dick rubbing against his silk shirt once again.

“When day hath broken, when night hath fallen, the devoted find themselves bedded with God.”

The scripture the Leader recited was pouring into Harry’s brain in a jumbled mess, like an overturned can of alphabet soup, and Harry was sitting with a spoon trying to make sense of the words in the muddle. Bedded. He repeated the word in his head, like he was going over the taste of each letter on his tongue. Was Louis taking him to his bed?

Soon Harry’s question was answered as Louis pushed through the curtains at the entrance of his bedroom chamber.

Harry was surprised to see the bed already turned down, something that he hadn’t had a chance to do during Louis’ bath. Had Louis napped here earlier?

Louis dropped Harry to the bed and immediately began tugging at the cuffs of Harry’s trousers.

“Father,” Harry protested, trying to sit up. He didn’t understand what was happening, why his Leader had brought him here and was attempting to remove Harry’s bottoms from his legs.

“Need you naked,” Louis mumbled, almost as if the words were only meant for himself.

“Naked?” Harry squeaked as his trousers were pulled down over his thighs. “Father, please, what’s going on? Why must I be naked?”

“The purest way to receiveth our Lord is bare as the day he breathed life into our lungs,” Louis replied.

Harry couldn’t argue with this verse. He wholeheartedly agreed. He often prayed in the nude, before his morning yoga or after his evening shower. It made him feel more connected to God to have the cool air kiss every piece of his body. He loved being naked, how natural and raw it felt, but it was against the rules to show too much skin outside of solitude in the toilets. He usually had to rush his nude prayers so that his compeers didn’t see.

Now though, in the privacy of Louis’ bedroom chamber and with his Leader’s encouragement, Harry would be able to take his time, really think through and feel the words he spoke from his soul. He was suddenly very excited to pray naked with Louis, and he eagerly assisted with removing his trousers.

“Let the Lord on my skin, through my flesh, in my heart and soul,” he spoke, letting his Leader remove his pants and throw them to the floor with his trousers. “Let not any man nor material block the power of orison.”

Louis hummed in what Harry was taking as approval before reaching down and ripping Harry’s shirt open, not bothering with the buttons.

Harry gasped as the air hit his chest, wordlessly letting his Leader tear the sleeves at the seams until it came free from Harry’s body.

Louis gave a satisfied grunt, discarding the torn fabric off the edge of the bed. Harry wasn’t sure what he was supposed to wear to get back to the Commons, but he supposed he would worry about that when the time came for him to return.

Louis hastily slipped his robe off his shoulders and let it pool to the ground. “Bend over like you’re going to worship at my feet,” he instructed, walking over to a nightstand and leaving Harry alone on the bed.

Harry came to rest on his heels, though he couldn’t help but watch as Louis opened the drawer and removed a small bottle.

“What’s that?” Harry asked curiously.

“On the rough path to righteousness, lustral water makes the best lubricant,” Louis said as he closed the drawer. “Put your head down.”

Harry huffed as he did what he was told, wishing that for once, his Leader would stop speaking in scriptural riddles and just answer his questions properly. Besides, Harry had never heard of keeping holy water in a bottle before. Then again, he considered, there was a lot that he apparently didn’t know about his Leader.

Harry took a deep breath when he heard the click of the bottle cap as Louis came onto the bed beside him. Harry closed his eyes, willing his mind to find the serenity he needed for a proper prayer. He wasn’t sure where his Leader was going to spread the holy water—possibly across the back of Harry’s neck or down his spine—but he wanted to be prepared mentally to be blessed.

Harry let out a shrieked yelp as something cold touched him between his bum cheeks, directly on his hole. He jumped and sat up, scrambling and nearly falling off of the bed. His heart was practically pounding out of his chest, and he looked down to see that the thing that had touched him was his Leader’s wet finger.

Harry looked up at Louis, eyes wild as he tried to read his Leader’s face. “Father,” he breathed, his voice coming out raspy. “What are you doing?”

“One can go through life tasting God every day, but—”

“Father, please,” Harry pleaded, shaking his head. He couldn’t handle any more scripture that was only half making sense. “Just tell me?”

Louis’ jaw visibly tightened, and Harry bit his lip anxiously at the sight. “You’ve taken communion. You’ve been anointed. The final step to Ultimate Purification is the Copulative Ordinance.”

Harry blinked. He had no idea what the words that Louis spoke meant. His brain did latch on to one term, however. “You’re… you’re going to purify me?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” Louis replied, tone serious. “Your spirit is ready.”

Harry couldn’t believe what his Leader was saying. Harry had been taught for most of his life that he would always have some wickedness inside of him, that he would never truly be clean. It was why he needed to follow his Leader so closely, as Louis would help him on the path that would get him as close to God as humanly possible. But all this time, there was a way for Harry to become totally sanctified? Harry wanted that more than anything. And Louis said he would do it, there and then.

“But,” Harry said smally, almost afraid to say anything that might make his Leader change his mind. “You touched my…”

“Yes,” Louis said again, like it was obvious. “Sin tends to settle in the deepest parts of our being.”

“And… you’re… going to get it out?” Harry asked slowly, trying to make sense of what his Leader was saying.

“I’m going to attempt to, yes,” Louis said. His voice seemed different, almost impatient or irritated.

“Attempt to,” Harry repeated. “You mean… it might not work?”

“It’s complicated. I will do my best. But we’re wasting time.”

Harry bit his lip, eyes falling to the bed as he tried to process everything his Leader was saying. Harry had been excited to hear that he could be ultimately pure, but to hear that it had a chance of failing was disappointing. He was also nervous about having someone touch him in such an intimate place.

“Will it hurt?” Harry asked timidly. He was almost afraid to hear the answer. He would hate for the thing standing between him and his potential purity to be pain.

“In the spinning wheel of life, evil is the needle.”

Harry didn’t know what this was supposed to mean. He didn’t know much about spinning wheels, or needles, for that matter. He knew that most needles, in the traditional sense, were typically sharp, but he had heard that the needle of a spinning wheel was actually quite dull, thought to be otherwise only because of an ancient story called a ‘fairy tale’— Beautiful Sleeper, or something of the sort. Was the needle Louis spoke of sharp like in the fairy tale, or was it dull like in reality?

“You’ll be able to handle it,” Louis spoke, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “Sons possess strengths great enough to withstand the thorns of a dozen roses, the winds of a hundred storms, and the heat of a thousand flames.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he liked the sound of that. Is that what being made pure would feel like—sharp thorns and harsh winds and scalding flames?

Harry's breath caught as he tried to repeat the verse in his head, getting stuck on the first word.

“Did you say ‘Sons’?” he asked, sure that he had misheard.

“I did,” was all his Leader said back.

“But I’m not—”

“Don’t you see it, Harry?” Louis interrupted, cupping Harry’s face with both hands. His voice was full of a wonderment that immediately captured Harry’s attention. “We’re so, so alike in our love for God and his truth. I can see it in your eyes, in your heart…”

Louis reached down, and suddenly Harry’s dick was enveloped in a warm hand that ripped a moan from his throat. Louis smoothed his thumb over the slippery head, and Harry had to remind himself to breathe.

“Even your cock weeps tears of lust for God, yeah?” Louis murmured, beginning to slide his hand up and down along the wetness coating it.

Harry whimpered, the only answer he could find as his head started to spin with pleasure. He squirmed slightly, unsure if he wanted to buck up into his Leader’s touch or jerk away from it.

“Don’t fight it, darling,” Louis breathed, one thumb stroking over Harry’s cheekbone and the other tracing wet circles on Harry’s tip. “You’re so very special. I can see it, and God can see it. He wants you to be a Son of the Seraphim, he wants you to be ultimately purified. He wants you, cherub.”

Harry took in several shaky breaths. “Me,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering. He was finding it very hard to focus with such agonizingly teasing strokes along his cockhead.

“Yeah, baby, you,” Louis said. “God wants you, he needs you. But you’ve got to let me eliminate the evil from within you. God only wants you if you’re pure.”

“Pure,” Harry repeated with a half nod, pressing his face into his Leader’s hand.

“I need to purify you from the inside, regardless of the pain it may bring.”

Harry let out an anxious whimper, swallowing hard. Pain. He shook his head automatically at the thought.

Suddenly Louis’ hands were gone, leaving Harry to jerk forward with a whine as his eyes shot open. He looked up at his Leader, waiting for him to speak.

“Don’t you trust me?” Louis asked, his tone suddenly steely and cool.

Harry tensed at Louis’ question, hating that he might have given his Leader reason to think that he didn’t trust him. The verse Liam had spoken earlier suddenly popped into Harry’s head—‘Trust in your Leader…’ And Harry did trust him, more than anything.

Harry nodded quickly, scratching restlessly at his thighs with his fingers. “Of course I trust you, Father,” he said, wishing the words sounded a bit more sure than they had come out.

“You want to be good for me, for God, yeah cherub?” Louis went on.

Harry nodded again, more firmly this time. He lived to be good for God and his Leader, though, in that moment, Harry was slightly more concerned about pleasing the latter. “I always want be good for you, Sir,”

“Okay then. Let’s do this.”

Harry swore he saw a flicker of something in Louis’ eye, though he couldn’t quite determine the meaning behind it. Whatever it was, it made Harry want to obey, even if fear was still fizzing in his blood.

“Show God that you’re one of his chosen ones,” Louis said softly, reaching up and tucking back a strand of Harry’s hair. “Let’s make him proud of you.”

Harry’s eyes closed as his chin fell into another nod. “Yes Sir,” he breathed, piecing together fragments of confidence that he was fabricating on the spot.

Louis’ hand came to Harry’s shoulder and encouraged him back into his submissive position. “Just relax, darling,” Louis told him as he grabbed the bottle of holy water and coated his finger once more. “When breaths waft like the wind, when tension releases like the rain, God’s love will shine like the sun.”

Harry tried to follow his Leader’s words, but he found himself bracing for the chill on his entrance. It wasn’t as startling when Louis touched him for the second time, though it still made him want to squirm at the unfamiliar feeling.

Louis smoothed his finger in several slow circles, chasing a wavering breath out of Harry’s chest. The holy water warmed up the more that Louis moved, though the texture was strange, more viscous than that which Harry had experienced before. This thought was fleeting as he felt the knots of worry in his stomach slowly begin to melt with every stroke of his Leader’s finger. If Harry let the strangeness of the action slip from his mind, it almost felt good, kind of like when Louis rubbed the tip of Harry’s cock in a similar motion.

The pleasant feeling was quickly stomped out as Louis suddenly pushed his finger inside without warning.

Harry gasped at the intrusion, automatically trying to pull away and sit up, but his Leader still had a firm hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“You’re not relaxing,” Louis said evenly, the unaffected ease of his words feeling strange in comparison to the way Harry’s limbs were tensing.

“I’m sorry, Father,” Harry whined, trying unsuccessfully to loosen the muscles that were clenched around his Leader’s finger. “It hurts.”

“Pain is but the Devil, sinking his claws into one’s flesh,” Louis said sternly. “It’s the evil trying to cling to your insides. You must push through it.”

Harry took a deep breath, nodding with his eyes squeezed shut. He knew that verse well. It was what his mother said every time he fell and scraped his knee as a child. It was what the infirmary doctor told him when he’d broken his arm. Hearing it from his Leader now was nothing new. Hearing it with a finger inside of him after being told this would purify him, however, caused the meaning to intensify that much more.

But he knew his Leader was right—he needed to push through it, force himself to tolerate the pain no matter how bad it became. He had gotten through all of those scraped knees and the broken arm; he could handle a small intrusion, even if it was in an uncomfortable place.

Harry flinched, breathing harshly through his teeth as it suddenly burned, like his rim was being set aflame. He didn’t understand why the pain was so intense when it barely felt like Louis had moved his finger, but Harry soon realized that his Leader had added a second.

“Sir,” he gritted out, body twitching and tightening as Louis slid his fingers in further.

“You’re not relaxing, darling,” Louis muttered. He moved his free hand to the small of Harry’s back, continuing to sink his other fingers inside. He slowly moved them out and back in several times, an action that had Harry groaning deeply.

Harry wasn’t sure how to describe the sensation of his Leader’s fingers inside of him. The pain was fading to a low simmer, and the slide felt wet as it was becoming easier. It didn’t exactly feel good, but the initial peculiarity was gradually being blocked out by something else, like a soft cloud moving in front of the sun.

In a strange way, it reminded him of the way his Leader would sometimes play with Harry’s mouth in a similar fashion, sliding his fingers between Harry’s lips and stroking his tongue gently. Harry had never understood why his Leader enjoyed this so much, but he didn’t mind. Sometimes Louis would do it while Harry stroked his cock, and it seemed to intensify Louis’ reactions. Harry wished he could get a look at his Leader’s face now to see if having his fingers in Harry’s bum was eliciting a similar response, but he was afraid to move and potentially bring the pain back.

Harry jolted forward with a startled sob as Louis suddenly pushed inside even deeper, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. It was like his Leader had just pressed a button far within him that sent a shock of overwhelm shooting through his body and a zap of fog scattering throughout his head. It left him feeling blind even with his eyes wide open, like his brain couldn’t process sight while simultaneously experiencing a sensation so new and so jarring.

Harry barely had time to come down from the first jab before Louis did it again, a bit more firmly this time. “Father!” Harry choked out, the word being forced from him like a piece of food that had been lodged in his throat.

“You’re okay,” Louis told him lowly, continuing to rub his fingers along the torturous point deep inside of Harry. “You have to focus, Harry. When thou hath experienced the touch of God, he will be known by an all-consuming presence unlike any other.”

Harry must have imagined a thousand times what it would be like to finally feel God’s touch. He’d thought that perhaps it would feel like being kissed by ten million fireflies, soft and glowing as they brushed against his skin. Or maybe it would feel like something more familiar, like standing under a hot shower, letting all of the tension and worry melt away with the steam and heat.

Out of the many predictions Harry had managed to conjure up in his head, he never would have guessed it to be like this. It was like he couldn’t feel his body, like every last nerve ending had fled from their proper positions to stitch themselves between his cheeks, all of his physical awareness now centered on a spot he’d barely ever given a second thought.

Harry had always thought that the touch of God would be more gentle, surrounding him in a feeling of calmness and serenity, similar to the way he felt when he was praying. He supposed the scripture his Leader had spoken was right—the feeling, if nothing else, was definitely unlike anything Harry had experienced before.

Still, he held on tightly to the knowledge that it all was necessary. He needed to prove to God, to his Leader, to himself, that he was worthy of greatness, that they hadn’t been mistaken in their belief that he was special. He loved being called special by Louis, and the thought of being unable to handle the pain and forcing his Leader to take back the words made Harry dizzy with anxiety. At least it was a momentary distraction from the pain in his backside.

Harry knew that he could never be a Son of the Seraphim with evil still lingering inside of him, and if pain was what he needed to go through for its removal, then so be it. God would never—his Leader would never—put him through something that he couldn’t handle. He was sure that he would be kept safe, so long as he remembered this.

A shout of agony burst into his awareness as he was stretched even further, unsure if his Leader had added a third finger or was just spreading the ones he was already using.

“Shhhh,” he heard Louis breathe, the sound rushing through Harry’s brain like a crashing wave against his skull. “Pain hath no power, malevolence hath no might. Amass only amelioration, reap only righteousness.”

Harry sank his teeth into the back of his hand, trying hard to summon the strength to keep from wriggling away from his Leader’s fingers. He searched through his brain for words of a prayer or scripture that could help ease the pain that was searing inside of him, like he was running through a thick woods, frantically looking for the right path home.

“My dear God, O Lord,” he began, teeth still clenched around his skin as Louis moved his fingers in and out. “Deliver me from the discomfort of this moment, deliver me, deliver me, deliver me.”

Louis scratched his nails lightly down Harry’s back. “You can take it,” he murmured. “You were made for this.”

Made for this, Harry repeated internally, the words making him shiver. Could it really be true? He knew that he was made to serve his God and his Leader—he’d known that forever. As certain as he knew his own name, he was sure that he was created for the sole purpose of serving and servicing those highest above him. But was he also made to become pure, and to endure the pain that came with it? Was he made to take Louis’ fingers inside of him, doing things Harry had never even imagined? Was he made to be a Son?

“Father,” Harry groaned out as he released the skin of his hand from between his teeth. “How… how much longer does… the purification process take?” Harry was struggling to form a proper thought through the pain, but he’d forced himself to ask the question that was humming in his head. He was almost afraid to hear the answer, worried that it might take hours.

Louis chuckled. “Oh, little lamb,” he said as he pressed the sensitive button inside of Harry again, sending a moaned hiss through the man’s teeth. “We haven’t even begun the purification process yet.”

Harry had to have heard him wrong. Surely the pain had gone to his head and made the connection fuzzy between his brain and his ears. “What?” he asked, picking up his head slightly to try and look behind him. “What do you mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Louis responded, as if his question answered Harry’s. ”You were anointed, you had communion… What do those things have in common?”

“Erm…” Harry closed his eyes, searching for the answer behind his eyelids as Louis continued to work his fingers inside of Harry. The pain was beginning to subside, gradually being replaced with a new sensation that had Harry’s stomach doing cartwheels and his cock feeling heavy on his thighs. It didn’t feel exactly the same as when his Leader was stroking his dick, but it caused a similar kind of heat to develop deep within his system, this time starting further back towards his tail bone instead of between his hips. He found himself lifting up off of his heels the slightest amount, pushing back into the motions of Louis’ fingers with a groan.

“Harry,” Louis said lowly in the same moment that he jammed his fingers deeper inside the man.

A loud moan was forced out of Harry, like he’d been punched in the stomach, and he felt his cock give a blurt of fluid onto his thigh with a throb. “Father,” Harry gasped, unsure of how his Leader was making his dick react the way that it was.

“Answer me,” Louis commanded, massaging his fingers into the spot that had Harry nearly shaking.

“Ohh,” Harry sighed, eyes rolling backwards. “I don’t—” He cut himself off with an open-mouthed shout, trying desperately to stay present and obey his Leader’s orders. He was having trouble remembering what Louis had asked him, what they had been talking about, what he was meant to be doing. All he knew was that Louis’ fingers were somehow working the mystical concentration of nerves inside of his deepest place in a way that made his heart stutter and his testicals ache.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” he breathed, too lost in the feeling of pleasure to put enough sincerity behind the apology. “I… don’t know.”

Louis sighed, crooking his fingers hard and making Harry whine. “You must keep up, Harry,” Louis chastised. “They both involve my dick.”

The word hit Harry like a smack to the face, and he spat it back just as fast. “Your dick,” he uttered in shock as he lifted further off of his heels. It was the first time he had ever spoken the word out loud, and it felt funny on his tongue, fuzzy but luscious.

Behind him, he swore he heard a low moan over the sound of his own breathing. “You sound so good saying that, baby,” his Leader said, pulling out his fingers.

Harry let out a frustrated whimper, dropping his bum back onto his feet. It was only then, with the clarity of his thoughts coming back now that he was empty, that it sank in what his Leader was saying. “Your—” He stopped himself from saying the word again, the thought of it making his face red. He sat up, turning slightly so that he could see Louis.

Louis had his cock in his hand, stroking it firmly and sending a jolt of jealousy through Harry’s body at the sight; he still wasn't used to seeing his Leader touch himself.

Harry quickly noticed that his Leader’s cock and hand were both wet, as if Harry had just been sucking him. He wondered if it was from the fluid Louis had produced, if it had leaked that much just from his Leader touching him. He didn’t know how that was possible, but if it was causing Harry’s own dick to weep fluid, maybe somehow it was doing the same to Louis.

It was then that Harry saw the bottle of holy water on the bed beside his Leader, and he made the connection that Louis had poured some into his hand before slathering it on himself.

“Father,” he spoke with a furrowed brow, confusion filling his brain. “Why are you putting holy water on your…”

“What, you can only say dick when I’ve got my fingers in your arse?” Louis questioned, amusement written on his face.

Harry said nothing, pressing his lips together like he could draw the color from his face down into his mouth.

“Bend over, little lamb,” his Leader said, his dry hand coming to press against the center of Harry’s back.

“You’re going to put that… in my…”

Louis sighed impatiently. “Yes, cherub, your arse, come on now.” He had stopped stroking himself and was now just holding his cock by the base, tempting Harry’s eyes. “What did you think I was going to do with it?”

Harry shrugged, fidgeting in place. “Thought I was gonna get to suck it again, Sir.”

A playful smirk teased at the corner of Louis’ lips. “You just love servicing your Leader, don’t you, pet?” he asked, fingers tracing circles on Harry’s back.

“Yes Sir,” Harry said, hoping Louis would change his mind and let Harry get his mouth on Louis’ cock.

Louis hummed. “Such a darling little slut you are,” he murmured, stroking himself again.

Harry didn’t know what this new word meant, but it made his stomach feel fluttery as his dick pulsed between his legs. “Thank you, Father,” he said, not completely sure if that was the right response.

Louis let out a laugh but didn’t otherwise acknowledge Harry’s words. “Bend over, sweeting.”

“Father,” Harry spoke up, trying to keep his voice from sounding panicky. “Once you put it inside of me… what’s going to happen?”

Louis removed his hand from Harry’s back and pinched the bridge of his own nose with closed eyes. “I’m trying to show you, Harry, if you would listen to me.” He ran his fingers through his hair and looked up at Harry with a huff. “You want to be ultimately purified?” he asked simply.

Harry nodded. “O-of course I do, I—”

“You want to be one of God’s favorites?” Louis interrupted with raised eyebrows. “A Son of the Seraphim?”

“Yes! Please, I want to be—”

“Then bend over, darling, let’s go.”

Harry tried not to wince at his Leader’s tone, impatient and bordering on annoyed, but Harry didn’t think he did a very good job of hiding how much it affected him.

Louis softened, lowering his chin and looking at Harry kindly. “When thou hath the choice to obey or dismay, that is when God seeth the most.” He reached forward and gently stroked Harry’s cheek.

Harry whimpered with fluttering lashes, leaning into the touch that was making his heart stutter in his chest.

“God’s watching you, baby,” his Leader murmured, sending a shiver down Harry’s spine. “Be a good follower for him.”

Harry nodded with a deep breath. His Leader was right. He didn’t want to disappoint God, not after all of the hard work Harry had put into his worshipping and his studies. And he definitely didn’t want to disappoint his Leader, who had believed in Harry enough to guide him to this very moment. He’d seen the potential in Harry, through the plainness that everyone else claimed him to have, and he’d chosen Harry to be spared from evil. With such an honorable gift being offered to him, of course Harry couldn’t turn it down. He would show God, and his Leader, that he could obey, like the good disciple Louis said he was.

Harry finally did as he was told, bending over as his heart pounded.

“Push yourself up onto your knees, but keep your chest down,” Louis instructed, adjusting so that his body was completely behind Harry’s.

Harry listened, lifting his bottom into the air and trying not to whine with embarrassment at how vulnerable and on display he suddenly felt.

He felt a finger slick over his hole delicately, making it twitch as a light gasp got caught in his throat.

“Beautiful,” Louis muttered quietly, stroking over it again. “Going to look so pretty wrapped around my cock.”

Harry choked back a moan and forced his body to stay still, taking measured breaths as he waited for his Leader to bring his statement to fruition.

He heard shuffling behind him and soon his Leader’s finger was replaced with the blunt head of his cock, pushing past his rim.

“Ahh!” Harry cried out as his Leader stretched him open. It burned even worse than his fingers had earlier, like Louis’ dick was a hot iron rod, melting Harry from the inside out. “It hurts!”

“Focus, Harry,” Louis said lowly, sliding his way in deeper. “If there’s no pain then it will not work, but you mustn’t give in to it.”

Harry breathed hard through his nose, groaning and balling his hands into fists. “It hurts, it hurts.”

“Pain will create a feast of the weak; the strong do not let themselves be consumed,” Louis spoke, his groin pressing against Harry’s cheeks. “Are you strong or are you weak, Harry?”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut tight, breaths still coming hard. Strong or weak—he didn’t know which he was. He wanted to believe that he was strong, but he currently felt like the pain was going to swallow him whole and leave him to disintegrate in a pit of acid.

“I-I… I want to be strong, Sir,” Harry whined sheepishly.

“Then be a good lamb and take what your Leader gives you.” With that, Louis pulled all the way out before slamming back in, sending a wail through Harry’s system.

If Harry was the type of lad to swear, he would definitely have been shouting a string of expletives, but he prided himself on having a clean mouth his whole life. He wasn’t about to ruin that streak now, especially not in the hour of his purification, when it mattered most.

Harry grabbed the sheets beneath his hands, gripping them hard. The silk fabric felt like melted butter in his palms, a welcomed contrast to the way he felt like his hole was being split open as his Leader moved his hips, this time continuing the motion again and again. Louis’ cock felt wet inside of him, and Harry was half convinced that this was due to his rectum bleeding in addition to the holy water.

Harry breathed roughly through his nose as he scrunched his face up and squeezed his eyes shut, like maybe if he focused all of his energy into the top of his body, the bottom wouldn’t hurt so much. It didn’t seem to be working very well.

He thought back to what his Leader said earlier, how the pain was just evil trying to hold on when it was being forced out. With the amount that it was hurting, Harry figured he must have been stuffed full of evil. This thought made his sinuses burn and his chest clench. He had always tried his best to be good, to obey and do everything that was asked of him. And his Leader had even told him that he was special and had potential. Heck, God himself had chosen Harry to be made pure, to be a Son of the Seraphim. And yet, Harry was in agony from all of the evil inside of him. His Lord and his Leader must not have been aware of how much there actually was, hiding in his deepest place.

Harry had never heard of God making a mistake before, and it was embarrassing to think that he was the subject of the very first one. He wondered how long it would be until Louis noticed, until God noticed, until the two of them realized how evil Harry was and rescinded their offer.

He felt tears prickling sharply behind his eyelids, and he dropped his head to press his fists against them. He knew that he couldn’t let his Leader know that he was crying, couldn’t let God find out how much it was hurting and how much evil he possessed. He could tough it out for however long it would take, though it occurred to him that the time would probably be longer than anticipated, now that he knew how wicked he truly was. But he could pretend to be strong. He had to. He wanted to make his Leader proud.

“You’re so tight,” Louis muttered, bringing Harry out of his thoughts.

Harry couldn’t gauge whether this statement was good—‘being tight.’ He hoped that it wasn’t a bad thing and that his Leader wasn’t mad or frustrated with him.

“Like shagging an angel, straight out of heaven,” Louis went on as he gripped Harry’s hips firmly.

Louis was continuing to use words that Harry didn’t recognize. He wondered for a moment if he was meant to know their meanings, if he had maybe learned them during his lessons but he’d forgotten to write them down.

“I knew you were special, Harry,” Louis said, interrupting Harry’s worries. “So, so special.”

Harry choked back a sob, trying to cover it up with a cough. He hated that his Leader still thought he was special when he so clearly wasn’t. Harry’s mind was spinning with questions, of unknowns that were giving him a headache. What would Louis think when he found out? Was he going to get angry? Would Harry be exiled from the Community?

He accidentally let out a sniffle and he swore he felt a change in his Leader, the air shifting in a way that he couldn’t describe.

“Does it still hurt?” Louis asked lowly.

Harry didn’t know how to respond. If he were to say yes, Louis would surely realize the truth, and then everything would be ruined. But Harry had a feeling that lying was probably not a good idea either—he’d always been told that his Leader could sniff out a lie from a hundred kilometers away, not that he had ever tested out this theory. Besides that, lying was certainly not the way to become pure. If anything, it would probably exacerbate the evil inside of him.

Still, there was part of him that was in denial, that didn’t want to admit the pain or say it out loud, as if opening his mouth to confirm would allow more evil to enter his body and soul. Speaking the pain into existence would make it more real, more intense—Harry was sure of it.

So he only whimpered instead of giving a verbal answer, hoping that his Leader would just forget that he’d even asked.

His Leader was silent for several moments, the only sound being rough breathing and skin hitting skin.

“Do you want this, Harry?” he finally said.

“Ye—es,” Harry croaked, his voice feeling scratchy in his throat.

“You have to really want it for it to work, Harry.” Louis’ tone was different—steely, deep in a way that was making the bottoms of Harry’s lungs tingle with pins and needles. “I don’t know if you really want to be made pure.”

“I do!” Harry burst out, lifting his head and trying to look over his shoulder. “I want it, Sir, please! I want to be purified!”

“Then answer me,” Louis gritted out. “Does it hurt?”

As if his Leader’s command had flipped a switch inside of Harry, a sob burst from his throat, sending tears down his cheeks. “Yes!” he cried, tipping his head back and abandoning his previous worries in favor of obeying his Leader’s order. “It hurts, Father, it hurts so much!”

Louis moaned lowly, a sound that Harry recognized from the many times he had serviced his Leader. “Tell God how much it hurts, baby,” he instructed, pulling Harry’s hips back to meet his thrusts. “Beg him to take the pain away.”

“It hurts!” Harry wailed again, not really directing the statement anywhere in particular. Louis’ words rang in his head, and he tried to focus. “Please God. Please deliver me from the pain, please God, please.”

Louis tutted, and Harry could picture him shaking his head in disapproval. “God needs more than that, darling,” he spoke casually, scratching his nails up Harry’s back and making Harry twitch. “Try again.”

“Father,” he gasped, unsure if he was speaking to his Lord or his Leader. He could hardly think clearly with the way his hole was stinging inside, words flitting through his mind in broken pieces and fragments that couldn’t make proper sentences. He felt like he was grasping at water, trying to catch more than a few droplets in his hand to feed the thirst that the moment, and his Leader, held before him.

“Destroy within me the affliction of evil,” Harry prayed. “Spare my soul, blesseth my spirit, free me from torture, Father, please please please.”

“Torture,” Louis muttered, the word barely reaching Harry’s ears. “Is it too much for you, little lamb?” His tone was almost mocking, and it hit Harry right between the hips.

He hadn’t been paying his cock much attention, but he now realized that it was rock solid and pulsing hard. He dropped his head to look between his legs and saw that it was dripping. A long strand of fluid was connecting the head to the bed below him, swinging and threatening to break as Louis kept thrusting into him. It fascinated Harry greatly, still unsure of why his body was causing his dick to behave this way. He wondered suddenly if this was another way of evil leaving his system.

“Harry,” Louis spoke firmly, making Harry jump. “You’ve got to get your head out of your arse and pay attention to what I’m saying to you.”

Harry thought this sentence made no sense—how could he possibly even put his head into his arse? He knew it wouldn’t fit, for one thing, especially with Louis’ cock currently inside of him. Plus, even with all the yoga he regularly practiced, he didn’t think he could fold himself into a position to attempt such an act.

He might have questioned what the phrase meant if his Leader didn’t sound like his irritation was growing. Instead, Harry simply nodded, swallowing hard before mumbling a, “Yes Sir, I’m sorry.”

“Do you know how many disciples would chop off their right hand to be where you are right now? To be given the opportunity that you’ve been given?”

Harry whined, unsure how to respond. “Father,” he mumbled, dropping his head in shame.

He cried out as it was yanked back by a hand in his hair, forcing him upwards until his own hands lifted off of the bed. The action filled Harry with a brief flash of shock, a spark in his groin that was gone as soon as it appeared. Before he could attempt to process what it was, suddenly his Leader’s breath was on Harry’s ear, panting in time with the thrusts of his hips as he pulled Harry flush to his body.

“God only chooses the best to be purified, Harry,” Louis said, snaking an arm around Harry’s upper chest. “Do you want to be the best?”

Harry nodded, eyes fluttering at the heat spreading along his neck from his Leader’s breath. “Yes,” he sighed with contentment. He found his head tipping away from his Leader, as if he was subconsciously displaying his neck in the hopes that he’d soon be able to feel Louis’ lips there.

Louis traced his nails across Harry’s chest, scraping over his nipples and making his body jolt forward. “Then you need to focus. I shouldn’t have to keep telling you.”

Harry whined softly as Louis’ fingers crawled over his collarbones and made their way to his neck, slowly curving around it and holding onto it loosely.

“Are you scared, pet?” Louis murmured darkly, fingers twitching so lightly that Harry wondered if he imagined it “Are you scared of becoming pure?”

Harry’s heart was pounding hard, his pulse points jumping against Louis’ fingers. “I… I don’t know,” he breathed. He let out a groan as his Leader stopped his thrusts and instead switched to grinding against Harry in deep circles.

“Everything you’ve worked for has led to this moment,” Louis continued, smoothing his thumb against Harry’s skin. “Your studies and your prayer and your worship. If you let God down, it will all be for nothing. And you don’t want that do you, darling?”

Harry shook his head. He couldn’t even imagine what his life would become if the words Louis spoke came true. This life was all he’d ever known, devoting himself to God and his Leader. If he disappointed them… he didn’t even want to think about what that would result in. “No, Sir,” he whispered.

Louis hummed, tightening his hand. “God wants you, baby,” he spoke, his voice so soft that Harry almost couldn’t hear him. “He wants you so badly, your body and your sacrifice. You going to be a good boy and give it to him?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed before swallowing against Louis’ palm that was increasingly closing in on his throat by the second. It was becoming more difficult to breathe, like his trachea was just a pinched straw stopping the air from reaching his lungs. He tried to groan, but it came out muted, strangled. The lack of sound mixed with a low ache in his chest is what made him realize that he was being choked.

Harry’s hands flew to Louis’ arm, digging his fingers into his Leader’s flesh out of instinct as he struggled for a breath. Between his legs, he felt his cock blurt out more fluid, as if Louis was squeezing it from his system.

Louis held on firmly. He was murmuring something in Harry’s ear—likely scripture, if the tone and cadence of his voice were anything to go by—but Harry was unable to make sense of the words. He couldn’t decipher their intention, could hardly hear them over the rushing in his ears and the distraction of spots in his vision. He tried to gasp, but no sound was made, no air was consumed, no hint of relief was tasted.

Harry wondered for a moment if this was how he would die, gasping for breath, naked in the hands of his Leader. It was just like how he’d been born, he realized. Was that what was happening to him? Was he being reborn? Was this how Louis was going to take away the evil within him?

All of Harry’s focus was zeroed in on his Leader’s hand, the hand that previously had cupped Harry’s face and held Harry’s head down and slipped fingers into Harry’s mouth. That hand had given him so much, and now, curled around his neck, it was taking so much away—the breath in his chest, the life in his body, the depravity in his soul… Harry would give it to him; he would give it all to Louis a thousand times. Anything his Leader wanted, he could have, as long as Harry could stay wrapped in his Leader’s grip until his blood ran out of oxygen and his heart ran out of evil.

Just as Harry began to grow dizzy and the smudges in his vision were turning to mud, Louis released him.

Harry lurched forward, throwing his arms out at the last minute to catch himself on the bed. Air flooded into his lungs like water crashing through a broken dam, and several coughs escaped him as he struggled to learn to breathe again. It felt like honey was stuck to the inside of his throat, like no matter how he tried, he still couldn’t get all of it down into his body. Other than that, he didn’t feel any different. He’d expected being reborn to have a more profound effect on him. Maybe he’d been mistaken.

“Was that scary?” Louis asked, his tone taunting. He began thrusting again, sending a choked wail through the stickiness in Harry’s throat.

“Father,” Harry gasped, all other words fleeing from his brain.

“Because that’s what being made ultimately pure is like, Harry,” his Leader went on, fingers pinching into Harry’s hips. “It’s terrifying, it’s painful, it’s a lot to handle.”

Harry nodded, mainly to himself, as he squeezed his eyes shut tight in an attempt to stave off more tears. His Leader was right—being without air had been scary. It reminded him of when he had been baptized, on the day he’d turned three years old. Even though he’d been so young, the memory was still fresh in his brain; it was the very first thing he could recall ever happening in his life.

He could still feel the stinging cold on his skin from the February waters of the lake at the center of the Community. He could still hear his Leader’s muted prayers from above the surface while Harry’s head had been held underneath. He could still taste the musty water from when he had gasped while still submerged. The burn he’d experienced when the water had entered his lungs had been almost identical to the feeling in his chest as his Leader’s hand had wrapped tightly around his throat.

Harry hadn’t understood, at the new age of three years old, why he’d been forced underwater in the middle of winter. He hadn’t known how lucky he had been to officially be initiated into the Community and become one of God’s children. He couldn’t have seen all of the things that the moment of panic and pain had been preparing him for.

Maybe this—everything that his Leader was doing to him now—was the same. Perhaps it was preparing him for things that he did not yet understand, building a foundation that seemed confusing in the moment, but would surely become clear to Harry in the future. Maybe one day, he would look back on the memory of his Leader causing him pain and realize that it had all been for his own good, just as he now reminisced on the day he’d been baptized and understood that it had needed to be done.

Harry realized too late that his teeth were chattering, like he’d just come out of the icy water in his memories.

“Maybe we should stop,” Louis said suddenly, slowing the motion of his hips. “You may be too weak to see the process through.”

“No!” Harry cried out. “No, Father, please, I can take it! I promise I’ll do better, I’ll be better!”

Louis hummed as if in thought, and Harry really wished that he could see his Leader’s face. “I don’t know,” Louis muttered. “Seemed like you were ready to give up for a moment there. Is that what you want? Are you going to give up, or are you going to try harder?”

“I’m gonna try harder!” Harry spat, the words falling off his tongue of their own volition. But he meant them, with everything in his heart and soul. He would try as hard as he possibly could, fighting through the pain and the anguish and the struggle until he made his way out on the other side. He knew that his Leader would meet him there at the end of the finish line, wearing a proud smile and holding out a golden halo.

“What’s that?” Louis said, his mocking tone making Harry want to cry. “You’re going to try…”

“Harder,” Harry gasped, tugging at the sheets and letting the tears fall down his face.

Louis groaned deeply and began heaving his hips with even more force, pulling Harry close.

Harry let out a guttural moan, front half dropping to the bed as he felt his Leader’s cock brush against the sensitive spot inside of him. “Father,” he said around another moan. “Father, that’s—” He cut himself off with a cry, though he was unsure if it was in pleasure or in pain. The soreness in his hole was slowly being replaced with a feeling even more intense than when Louis’ fingers had been inside of him, but his cock was so hard that he wanted to cry. He remembered suddenly how much better it had felt when his Leader had wrapped his hand around it, stroking and servicing him, and Harry wondered if he could achieve a similar effect with his own hand.

He pushed himself up slightly, trying to balance with one arm as he worked his shaking right hand between his legs. He soon found his dick, letting out a sigh of relief as he closed it in his fist. He gave it a squeeze, similar to times he had touched his Leader, gasping lightly as fluid suddenly drooled over his fingers. His hand began moving automatically, slathering his fluid along his cock like it was the most natural thing for him to do. He released several light whimpers, eyes rolling at how good it felt. Not only did his dick feel incredible, but touching himself in this way was also making the remaining pain in his hole vanish. His Leader’s cock pummeling in and out of him was actually starting to feel nearly pleasurable. He began to work his hand faster at this realization, a high-pitched moan escaping his throat.

“Don’t,” came Louis’ bellowed voice from behind Harry, in the same moment that Louis grabbed Harry’s elbow.

Harry released his prick with a jump right before his arm was yanked back behind him painfully. He yelped, falling face first into the bed.

“Thought I wouldn’t notice you trying to touch yourself?” Louis prodded, his voice stabbing its way into Harry’s brain like a nail.

Harry started to lift his head, opening his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a choked shout as Louis’ hand landed flat in a harsh smack against Harry’s arsecheek.

Harry’s eyes slammed shut, the beginnings of tears biting at the corners. His Leader had never struck him before—nobody had. Harry’d never had a hand laid on him with such force, with a strength so great that it nearly knocked the wind out of him. It left a cool flame on his skin that made him want to cry. Deeper down, however, beneath the layers of flesh that the smack seemed to somehow penetrate, Harry felt something else—he wanted more.

He knew it made no sense—why would his body crave physical harm? He’d sustained many types of pain in his lifetime—the burn of the sun-soaked pavement on the soles of his feet in the summer; the crimson slice from a sheet of paper streaked through his index fingerprint; the stinging of tea-tree soap suds slithering into the caves of his eyes. None of those were ever pleasant, though they seemed to be repeat offenders. But it was this, the fire of power in his Leader’s hand on his arse, that had him wishing for a recurrence of pain. That was it, Harry realized—the difference between the pains he’d experienced in the past and that which he’d just been given was Louis.

Of course pain from his Leader felt desirable—his Leader was the epitome of all good things, like sunshine and scripture books and soaks in the tub on the rare occasion that Harry could take a bath. These things always made Harry feel warm and tingly in his chest, as if the spaces between his ribs were being filled with steam wafting from a mug of tea.

His Leader made him feel the same way, whether his hand held Harry’s in prayer or held Harry’s dick in service. It only made sense that Louis’ hand would make him feel just as good when it collided with Harry’s backside—it possessed the notion of guidance, the strength of sanctity, the force of God. Harry could feel the truth of it settling in the base of his lungs—pain from within himself was evil; pain from his Leader was holy. The torture of his inner sins was no match for the love of his Leader.

“Trying to make it feel good, you raunchy little harlot?” Louis spoke, startling Harry as he removed his cock from Harry’s arse. He grabbed Harry by the shoulder and rolled him over forcefully.

Harry fell onto his back with a gasp, letting out a whimper as he realized his bum was sore inside and out. Harry stared up at Louis now that they were finally face to face again. His Leader’s eyes were wild, the blues just thin little outlines threatened to be swallowed by a deep glassy blackness. It almost looked like he was wearing two round soap bubbles for contacts.

Harry’s gaze darted around his Leader’s face, searching for something that he couldn’t put a name to. It had been there all evening, in Louis’ eyes, in the soft dimples in his cheeks, in the delicate touch of his hand and in the sweet symphony of words he’d spoken. It had made Harry feel so much, feel so deeply, like his heart was too small for all of the emotions that Louis had been giving him.

But now all traces of it were gone, like it hadn’t even existed in the first place. It had been replaced with something new that Harry was scared to identify, something akin to anger.

Harry had never seen anyone exhibit anger before; he had learned about it in his history lessons, but it was a forbidden emotion in the Community. Now that he was experiencing it secondhand through the smack to his arse and the hardened stare from Louis’ eyes, Harry understood why.

“Answer me!” Louis demanded, his upper lip practically curled in a snarl.

“I don’t know!” Harry squawked as he instinctively tried to scramble backwards, but Louis caught him by the ankle. Harry was unsure what had even caused his Leader to suddenly become so livid. Harry curled his hand into a shaking fist, the wetness on his palm suddenly reminding him. “Just wanted to ease the pressure between my legs or something, I don’t know! Please, I’m sorry, Father! I didn’t mean to make you mad, I’m sorry!”

Louis’ Adam’s Apple bobbed in his throat, his lower jaw shifting. He lifted his free hand, and Harry flinched, automatically shutting his eyes and trying to tuck his head into his chest. Even though only moments earlier he had been craving another smack to his arse, he didn’t want to feel the pain of his Leader’s wrath on his cheek.

He wondered if maybe he should just take what his Leader was to give him, as Louis had told him to do earlier. Harry knew he deserved it, but he couldn’t bring himself to lift his head and face the consequences of his actions.

He jumped and let out a noise of fear when he felt his Leader’s hand on his face, though he quickly realized it wasn’t a smack. Louis’ was running his knuckles over Harry’s cheek, up and down in a touch so gentle that it made Harry’s chest hurt.

He carefully opened his eyes and found his Leader’s face again. There it was, what Harry had been searching for, the feeling of warmth and kindness that Louis had been wearing all evening. It was now settled among his features and on Harry’s skin like it had never left, like Harry had only been hallucinating his Leader’s rage moments earlier.

“Sweet darling cherub,” Louis whispered, the words dancing in Harry’s stomach like moths. “Favor and fury are heads and tails of gold, for God to spend as he pleases. Loyal disciples advance to treasurers, guarding his coinage in their chests.”

Harry’s eyes fluttered as the intoxicating voice swirled around him; why did hearing his Leader recite scripture always make Harry feel so delirious? The meaning of the verses could be completely lost on him, and yet they still seemed to touch him deeply when they came from his Leader’s mouth.

“Do you still want this?” Louis asked seriously.

Harry nodded, the motion feeling slow and sluggish. “Yes, Father.” He heard himself saying the words more than he felt them leaving his throat, but he knew with fierce certainty that it was the right answer. The ends of his hair ached at the thought of his Leader not making him pure after dangling the hope in front of Harry like cheese before a mouse.

Louis hummed, sliding his hands up Harry’s thighs and gently spreading them apart. “Of course you do.” Louis’ eyes landed on Harry’s cock, which was now leaking fluid against his lower stomach. “No more touching yourself, little lamb,” Louis said, one hand coming to grip Harry’s dick at the base. “You don’t want to get yourself in trouble.”

Harry chewed on his lip, unsure if he should nod or shake his head. He watched as his cock was pulled away from his stomach, leaving a trail of fluid in its path.

“You ready to give God what he wants?” his Leader asked.

Harry nodded immediately. “Yes, Sir,” he breathed.

Louis gave a quick nod, taking the hand that wasn’t holding Harry’s dick and removing it from the man’s thigh. “Good lamb.” He brought his fingers to the head of Harry’s cock and gave it a sharp flick.

Harry cried out, trying to curl up in pain—or perhaps buck up into it—but Louis’ hands were immediately on Harry’s legs, spreading them further and holding them in place.

“Just like that,” Louis groaned lowly, a sound that Harry almost couldn’t hear over his own heavy breathing.

Harry blinked up through blurry eyes at his Leader, unsure of why his cock had just been the victim of a seemingly meaningless and cruel act. He looked down at it, seeing a throbbing red welt beginning to form at the head, and a shiver rippled through his limbs as he watched the mark become glazed in a flow of fluid dripping from his slit. He let out a noisy breath, fascinated by the sight. It was like his dick had tears from the pain, or maybe the pleasure, or maybe a strange combination of both that Harry still couldn’t comprehend.

Suddenly, Louis slid his own dick back inside of Harry with a rough thrust that had Harry tossing his head backwards and letting out a strangled wail once more.

The discomfort was back, and Louis didn’t pause to give Harry any time to adjust. His Leader had picked up his movements like they hadn’t ever ceased, forcing whines from Harry’s throat like steady drips from a faucet.

“Pain,” Louis mumbled, hiking Harry’s legs up until the crooks of his knees were slung over Louis’ arms.

Harry wasn’t sure if he’d heard his Leader correctly. Maybe he’d said ‘pray,’ and was commanding Harry to say a prayer. Or maybe he’d said ‘plain,’ a word that Harry had been described with all his life. Was his Leader saying that Harry was too plain to be made pure?

“Pain,” Louis repeated, more clearly this time. “Pain for God, pain for greatness, pain for gratitude, pain for gold.”

Harry bit back a whimper, the soreness in his hole seemingly getting exacerbated every time Louis spoke the repeated word. He tried to focus on the meaning behind his Leader’s statements, the reasons he needed to fight through it. Harry had to do it for God, for the being that he had devoted his entire life to. He had to do it to show that he was grateful for all that God had given him, the blessings and the opportunities, his wonderful life and his promising future. He needed to do this in order to receive God’s greatest gift, ultimate purity, and to become a Son of the Seraphim. And of course, he knew that he had to do it for Louis, his Leader, his God on earth.

Harry had known for a long time that he would do anything for Louis. It’s what he had been taught since he was a young child, to do anything and everything for his Leader. But when the Community’s original Leader had passed on many years ago, and Louis, someone Harry hadn’t even known, took his place, something within Harry had changed. He would wake up each day with a new passion for life, striving to fulfil his duty to his Leader even deeper. Maybe Harry hadn’t realized it at first, what it meant or where it came from, but now, lying in his Leader’s bed and taking every last thrust of pain, Harry knew it to be true. He knew it more than he knew his own name, his own heart, his own soul—he would do anything for Louis.

“Father,” Harry breathed, feeling tears well in his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was from the fullness between his hips or the fullness between his lungs.

Louis shushed him with a stern look, lifting only his eyes from where his head was slightly bowed. “In the absolute presence of our Lord, only the most imperative of declarations may be uttered.”

Harry sucked in a breath—the Lord’s absolute presence. This phrase was included in many verses that Harry had learned over the years. He had never paid it much attention, but hearing his Leader say it now, the words struck Harry with new meaning. It was as if he’d only ever heard them with cotton balls in his ears, and now he could finally hear clearly. Was Louis summoning God? Was God in the room with them at that exact moment?

“Father,” Harry murmured for the second time. The word came out airy, like the ethereality of its new intended receiver physically changed the way the title left Harry’s body. He hoped God knew it was for him, that he could feel Harry’s eagerness and the way that he was spread open and ready to be sanctified in every way. He wanted it so badly that he swore the pain he was feeling was no longer from his Leader’s actions but from his desire to be purified and initiated into God’s kingdom. “Lord, I submit my soul to thee, take me for all that I am.”

“Be quiet,” Louis muttered firmly as he paused his thrusts. He leaned forward and placed his palm over Harry’s mouth, pressing his fingertips into the skin on Harry’s cheek. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

Harry yelped in surprise, though the noise disappeared into his Leader’s hand.

Louis was right—Harry couldn’t be pulling away Louis’ focus by speaking out of turn. He would hate for something to go wrong and for the purification process to not be successful because of him. He decided that he would have to pray internally, so as to not interrupt his Leader.

Harry let his eyes close, breathing deeply through his nose as he tried to let God’s presence wash over him, like he was standing beneath desert storm clouds waiting for a thirst-quenching rainshower.

Oh Heavenly Father, come to me now and evermore, for I am ready for all blessings you have to offer me.

Harry wasn’t sure if it was working, if God was really there and could actually hear his prayer. Still, he put his whole soul into the words, truly feeling them like he was tracing the letters over his heart and not just in his head.

“Oi!” came his Leader’s voice, punctuated with a simultaneous jolt of his hips and a strong cuff to Harry’s jaw.

Harry’s eyes opened as he took in a gasping breath. He hadn’t realized that he’d stopped breathing, clearly having been so enthralled with speaking to his Lord. The thrust to his hole and the smack to his face had him feeling alert again, the latter of which making his nerve endings sing in a way that he hadn’t expected. The fear that he had previously felt at the prospect of catching a slap to the cheek was long gone. Instead, it had been replaced with a stinging bewilderment that tasted thrilling on his skin.

Harry blinked up at Louis, mouth agape, waiting for his Leader to speak.

Louis’ eyes were narrowed, hardened, as he spoke with a tight jaw. “It is to be a fool to have one’s eyes wide shut in the face of God.”

“I-I was praying, I wanted to worship him!” Harry stammered, unsure why his act of devotion was making his Leader so irritated.

Louis’ hand found Harry’s neck and curled around it as he leaned his face towards Harry’s. “Listen very closely,” Louis murmured darkly as he gave a rough thrust, making Harry’s eyes roll.

Harry quickly forced his stare back to his Leader’s face, as he did not want to get in further trouble.

“I’ll tell you how this is going to go,” Louis said as he began rocking his hips and dragging his dick in and out of Harry once again. “No more praying to ‘God.’ Your focus needs to be on me. I answer to God, you answer to me. God speaks to me, I speak to you, you speak to no one unless you’re told.” Louis’ eyes narrowed until all Harry could see was two black slits staring down at him. “You worship me, you got that, little lamb?”

Harry shuddered, biting his lip with a nod. It wasn’t until he tried to take in a breath that he realized that Louis was choking him again, fingers tight on the sides of his neck and the weight of his hand leaning on Harry’s windpipe. Harry let out a muted whimper, but it barely made a sound.

“Who’s your Leader?” Louis asked lowly, leaning in even closer and forcing Harry’s legs to bend uncomfortably.

“You are, Sir,” Harry rasped, the words nearly just movements of his lips.

“I’m your Leader,” Louis repeated. His fingers twitched around Harry’s throat, his grip tightening as his hips picked up speed. “Who’s your God?”

Harry hesitated. His mind was slowly beginning to feel foggy, like all of his nerves and arteries had been snipped, leaving his brain to float freely inside of his skull. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t process, couldn’t form an answer to whatever Louis had just asked him.

“Answer me, Harry,” Louis growled in Harry’s ear. “Who is your God?”

Just when Harry’s vision was starting to fade, Louis released Harry’s neck, the pressure being replaced by a gasp of air. “You!” Harry choked, coughing on the word and the breaths that felt like shards of glass in his throat.

“Say it,” Louis hissed, the command barely audible over Harry’s hacking.

“You’re my God!” Harry cried. Tears were suddenly on his cheeks, though he hadn’t felt them forming in his eyes. They had snuck up on him, seemingly in a split second, and were framing his face like a parted sea. He quickly brought the backs of his hands to his eyes, but he was stopped by his Leader grabbing his wrists.

“Oh, sweet, sweet cherub,” Louis crooned, his tone immediately shifting to one that was soft and smooth, like hot caramel sliding down Harry’s throat that only moments ago had been burning his mouth. Louis placed Harry’s hands gently to his sides. “Don’t hide your tears, baby. God wants to see you weep for him.”

Harry sobbed at this, feeling more tears roll down his face.

“Oh, Harry.” Louis swiped his index finger along Harry’s wet cheekbone before bringing it to his own mouth. “You're so wonderfully obedient, pet,” he announced softly, before giving his fingertip a slow lick.

Harry held back a whine, fighting the urge to close his eyes to all that was around him. It was getting to be too much, everything weighing heavy in his chest, like his heart was full of steel pellets. Every beat felt like a struggle, pumping the weighted beads sluggishly through his veins until they filled his whole body. Once they reached his brain, he knew he’d be done for. How disappointed his Leader would be to learn that this supposed Son of the Seraphim had rocks rattling around in his skull instead of pure thoughts and scripture verses.

“Father,” Harry whimpered, trying to find other words. He needed to say more, needed to convey what he was feeling, but before he could do that, he needed to remember how to feel in the first place.

“What is it, darling?” Louis asked, smoothing hair off of Harry's forehead. “Are you in pain?”

Harry considered this, the question rolling through his body like it was a scanner searching for discomfort. He was coming up blank, as if his body hadn’t even shown up on the radar. He gave a weak shrug. He was unsure of how else to answer.

Louis hummed. “I’ll fix that, baby,” he said.

The words felt funny in Harry’s ears as they left Louis’ lips, almost like Harry was submerged underwater when he heard them. His eyelids drooped shut, but a slap to his cheek had them shooting open once more. Harry gasped, jaw dropping as if to catch Louis’ next words on his tongue.

“Stay with me, doll,” his Leader said sweetly. “We’re nearly there now. You’re going to make God so proud.”

“Proud,” Harry mumbled, wondering if Louis was referring to their Heavenly Father or to himself. Harry wasn’t even sure if it mattered anymore. All he knew was that the opportunity to be good was being dropped in his lap, and he was going to make the most of it. He would make his God so proud of him, whoever that was.

“Yes, sweeting, God will be so proud of you,” Louis spoke, his tone lulling Harry into a feeling of security, like he was wrapped in a protective blanket. “Just take it like a good little lamb, and you’ll be pure before you know it.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, Sir,” he murmured, the words feeling right as they left him.

Louis hummed with a smile, pushing himself upright and sliding his hands over Harry’s chest.

Harry swore he saw something change in his Leader’s eyes, like the blues of them had suddenly frozen over with an iciness that had Harry wondering if Louis’ eyelashes would develop a frost.

Harry only had a moment to ponder this thought before his own eyes slammed shut at the stabbing pain that was suddenly searing through his nipples. The feeling was unlike anything he’d ever felt, as if two long screws were being drilled through his pecs, down between his ribs until they impaled his lungs. He let out a wail that hurt his throat, his back arching as his Leader pinched and twisted hard.

“Hear us, O Lord,” Louis said over Harry’s tortured cry, starting up the thrusts of his hips again.

Harry gasped at the renewed sensation, coughing as he tried to breathe through the scalding hot touch of his Leader’s fingertips. “Father!” he choked out, hands coming up aimlessly as he grasped at the air.

Louis finally released Harry’s nipples, instead grabbing Harry’s wrists and pinning them above his head. “Grace me, dear God,” Louis muttered, his face now much closer to Harry’s. “For I come to you here, in your bed and in your glory, to present you with a virginal offering.”

Harry let out a whimper, somehow knowing that this strange declaration was referencing him.

“He’s a proper daisy, this one,” his Leader went on, his hips moving in tiny little jolts that sent zips of pleasure through Harry’s core. “Plucked straight from your garden.”

A tune suddenly rang through Harry’s mind, a little rhyme he remembered learning as a child in the schoolyard.

‘Daisy daisy, let us praise thee.

White as light yet blight displays he.

“Pick me, prick me, quickly,” prays he.

Rust to dust, combust in crazy.’

He’d thought that it was just a silly song, until he’d gotten in trouble for singing it at home. When he’d inquired about the meaning and asked why he had to stop singing it, he’d been sent to his room without supper. He’d learned not to repeat any more childish chants after that.

He wondered now if being called a daisy by his Leader held the same connotation as the daisy from the rhyme. Harry wished now more than ever that he had pressed for the meaning back when he’d first heard it.

Louis’ nails suddenly dug into the skin at the backs of Harry’s wrists, snapping Harry’s attention back to his Leader. “He’s the one,” Louis breathed softly, eyes closed and unable to see the way the words made Harry’s breath hitch. Louis swallowed hard and then licked his lips. “And he’s ready to submit and sacrifice.”

Louis removed one hand from Harry’s wrists and wove his finger’s through Harry’s hair, giving a quick pull backwards so that his neck was bared to the ceiling.

Harry let out a stifled breath, eyes rolling as a sting formed in his scalp. He barely had time to process the feeling before Louis leaned in and sank his teeth into Harry’s throat.

Harry gave a strangled gasp, eyes widening at the shock and pain of his Leader’s actions. He let out a choked sounding groan, struck with the urge to cough or gag, though no further sounds left his mouth.

Louis’ mouth was gone from Harry’s flesh almost as soon as it had landed there. He gave Harry no time to process before Louis was speaking again, his words immediately hitting Harry’s ears. “I proffer, to you, his pain and suffering, as per your requisition, Father,” Louis murmured, pulling Harry’s hair harder.

Harry’s lips parted in a moan, the roots of his hair burning like hundreds of tiny embers, as if his hair was just a field full of buzzing fireflies. The glow of it seemed to radiate into his scalp and skull, tingling and filling his brain with a fuzzy warmth. He wanted more of this sensation, wanted to feel it melt through his neck and shoulders, drizzling down into his arms and upper back. His fingers twitched at his sides with the craving for it, and he found himself lifting his head away from Louis’ hand in search for more of the fire.

He sighed when he felt it, the white heat that he couldn’t describe or process the meaning of. He swore he felt it in the synapses of his brain, interrupting every neuron connection until all he sensed was sharp needles tattooing serenity into his flesh.

He moved again, looking to intensify the feeling, but suddenly his Leader’s hand was gone. Harry blinked open his eyes just in time to see Louis’ hand coming towards him, planting a firm smack against Harry’s cheek. Harry gasped, instinctively trying to turn his head away, but his Leader caught his jaw and held it tightly.

“Stay. Still,” Louis all but growled. He slid his hand down to Harry’s throat, pressing against it as he spoke again, louder this time. “He who moveth away from his Lord shall be shackled in place before him.”

Harry shivered as his breath was clamped off, and he felt his dick give a twitch from where it was trapped between his body and Louis’, like it was attempting to breathe for him. The bite mark he had received sent a dull ache through his throat at the pressure that was being placed on it, and he swallowed painfully. He tried to whine but made no sound, letting himself be pressed into the pillow.

His Leader sat up, bringing the hand that wasn’t around Harry’s throat to Harry’s nipple and giving a hard pinch. Harry took in an airless gasp, the heat that he’d been feeling from his hair only moments ago now flooding to a single point in his chest.

“Pain of the untainted, brought forth in its entirety, displayed before you, O Lord, in thanks for all that you have given me.”

Louis removed his hand from Harry’s throat, and brought it to Harry’s other nipple, pinching just as fiercely as the first.

Harry felt the air enter his lungs so quickly that for a moment he thought that it was being suctioned in through his nipples, as if his Leader’s fingertips had punctured holes through his flesh. Harry let out an enraptured moan, chest pushing into Louis’ fingers, as if he could will Louis to pinch them harder.

It was so good—how was it so good? How could he be experiencing what he could only describe as torture, and yet his body, his mind, his soul, only lusted for it with increasing need? It was as if the pain was being poured into him from a chalice, and he was guzzling it down in large swallows, letting it spill from the corners of his mouth and drip down his chin as he breathed hard between each gulp. He would never get enough of it; the thirst for this pain from his Leader would never be quenched, no matter how much Harry drank. It burned as it went down his throat, settling heavily in the pit of his gut with a stomachache unlike any sickness. He didn’t ache in agony—he ached for more.

“Fa—ather,” he choked out, the word getting chased with a whine. His plea was met with a twist of his nipples that had Harry’s cock drooling onto his stomach.

Louis shifted, and Harry was suddenly reminded that his Leader’s dick was still buried deep inside of him. He’d nearly forgotten, as Louis had stopped the motions of his hips at some point in favor of focusing on Harry’s chest. Harry clenched around his Leader, trying to draw him in further and encourage Louis to restart his thrusts, but Louis remained still.

Harry tried not to wriggle impatiently, though he felt the slippery fluid smear from his skin to Louis’.

Louis put space between their stomachs before suddenly scratching his nails down Harry’s nipples.

Harry cried out, nearly missing what Louis said next.

“Let the tears of God be the only liquid to wash you clean, for it is most pure, and all others will only soil you.”

Harry couldn’t think enough to process what his Leader was saying, though he did cling to one word as he breathed hard—pure.

He was meant to be focusing on becoming purified. How could Harry have forgotten the intention behind everything that they were doing? He’d gotten himself too wrapped up in the pain and the pleasure of it all that he’d lost sight of the goal, the purpose, of his purpose. He was never going to become ultimately purified—would never get to call himself a Son of the Seraphim—if he didn’t force his brain to shift gears and bring his attention back to the matter at hand.

Louis slinked his hand between their bodies, and Harry soon felt his Leader’s touch on his cock. Harry sucked in a breath, bracing for the pleasure to come from Louis wrapping his hand around it.

What came instead was a sharp pinch of his nails into Harry’s foreskin.

Harry threw his head back with a moaned shout, hands flying into the air in blind search of his Leader. Harry didn’t know what he would do if he managed to catch Louis against his palms. Would he pull his Leader closer? Push him away? Or perhaps hold him in place so that he couldn’t move, for fear that the pain would intensify… or even worse—stop all together.

Louis began thrusting again, fingers still holding tightly to the sensitive skin as he began muttering under his breath—prayer or scripture, Harry assumed, from the rhythmic way the muted words leave Louis’ lips. Harry could only make out a few words, one of them being ‘Devil.’

He blinked his eyes several times, suddenly remembering once more what his Leader had said earlier, how pain was the Devil, and the ache and burn Harry felt was the grasp of evil trying to cling to his insides.

It had started out as pure torture, but as the ritual continued, Harry found himself wanting even more and more of the pain he was receiving. What did it mean, Harry wondered, that he was craving the manifestation of evil, that he seemed to long for the claws of the Devil to tear him to shreds so that he could savor the state of pain it would leave him in? Did wanting the pain mean that he wanted the Devil? Or—even worse—did it mean he was the Devil?

Harry’s stomach lurched, heart pounding at this intrusive thought that had suddenly pierced its way into his brain. How could he crave the Devil, with all the hard work he’d put into his studies, all the time he had devoted to his Lord and his Leader, all the words of worship he’d whispered into the wind in the hope that they would find the ears of God? Instead they had been snatched and twisted and thrown back in his face in the form of lust and sin and fingers that had ceased pinching at his foreskin and instead were currently wrapped around his dick beneath the head.

Harry felt a sigh of relief slither through his chest as Louis began sliding his hand up and down along Harry’s shaft. Maybe Louis was finally done torturing him and Harry could just forget about everything that had been racing through his brain moments ago—all of the pain on his dick and nipples and scalp, and the way it somehow felt so bloody heavenly to have his Leader sinking zaps of fire into his body and soul. If Louis was done causing him pain, Harry could let go of the knowledge that he longed for the touch of the Devil with every cell of his being when he was supposed to be on his way to purification.

A gasp stuttered its way up his throat as Louis suddenly squeezed Harry’s shaft hard. Harry arched his back, his choked inhale being chased by a loud moan. The slam of Louis’ hips into Harry seemed to only intensify the suffocating hold on his cock, each thrust like a spark of poison pulsing in his veins. The pain was so good that he swore he could taste it, sour and sweet on the back of his tongue and smooth as it slid down his throat and filled him up.

No way this was evil, he thought, as Louis tightened his grip. Evil tasted like sour milk when Harry had forgotten to check the expiration date, or like soap in his mouth when he’d said a curse word as a kid before he knew what it meant. Pain from his Leader—from Louis—tasted exquisite, the way he imagined a sunset might taste—like strawberry ice cream and orange hard candies and lemon meringue pie, all swirled together and eaten with a cerulean spoon.

Something so delicious couldn’t possibly be of the Devil, Harry decided as he breathed hard through the death grip Louis had on his cock. God created the sun, and every subsequent sunset, splattering its rays across the sky each evening. He created Louis, and every touch that left Louis’ fingertips. It was clear to Harry now—God had to be the one behind everything Louis was giving him—the pleasure, the pain, the gift of purity. It was all God—God and Louis, Louis and God. They were practically one and the same.

Louis suddenly stopped his hips, pulling his hands away and sitting up.

Harry let out a protesting whine, reaching for his Leader to come back.

“It’s not working,” Louis muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose before sliding his fingers over his closed eyelids.

Harry felt his heart leap into his throat. Not working? What did Louis mean, it wasn’t working? Was Harry doing something wrong? Was he not being good enough?

“Wha—what do you mean?” he asked, trying to catch his breath. He swallowed hard, searching for the words to ask if it was his fault. “Is it… did I—”

“Shut up,” Louis snapped, his tone harsh as he waved his free hand in Harry’s direction. “I can’t think with your stupid mouth yammering on.”

Harry felt as if he’d been smacked in the face all over again, only this time it didn’t hurt solely on the surface—the pain sunk deeper down and made his teeth and heart ache. And unlike the slaps he’d received from his Leader earlier, Harry didn’t wish for this pain to be repeated.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said shakily, blinking back tears that were quickly lining his eyes. He felt his pulse racing beneath his skin, as if urging him to run, to get away and abandon the mess he’d created. But he knew he couldn’t do that. He needed to become pure, to fulfill his duty and his destiny. How could he disregard that? And his Leader, all of the hard work Louis had been putting in, it would all be for nought. They had come so far together, and Louis would be so disappointed in him if Harry just quit—he couldn’t turn back now.

But did it even matter? Louis had said that the process wasn’t working, and Harry only seemed to be making his Leader more irritated with each passing moment. Harry hated seeing his Leader feel anything but joy and pleasure, and he hated being the cause of anything to the contrary.

Louis tipped his head upwards, eyes closed. Harry watched Louis’ throat bob before his lips parted in a breath.

There had to be a way to fix things.

Harry looked around helplessly, as if the answer was somewhere in Louis’ room. “Maybe we can—”

“I said shut up!” Louis barked, coming to grab ahold of Harry’s chin and nearly shouting in his face. “God, can’t you fucking listen.” He shoved Harry away by his jaw with an exasperated scoff.

Harry fell backwards, his head bumping into the wall with a thud. “Ow,” he whimpered quietly, scared of what Louis might do if he expressed his pain any louder.

“What do you want from me?” Louis said next, his voice rough.

“Nothing!” Harry cried. “Father please, I-I…” He blinked up at his Leader in confusion.

“What do you fucking want from me?” Louis gritted, throwing a hand over his eyes. “God.”

Harry bit his lip, too scared to answer. Besides, Harry wasn’t entirely sure if he was the one that his Leader was talking to.

“I’m doing everything right,” Louis went on. “I always do everything right, and you—” He cut himself off with a noise of frustration.

The sound hit Harry right in the chest. He watched as Louis pulled his hand from his eyes and looked around the bed. In an instant, the abandoned bottle of holy water was clutched in his fist, and in the next, Louis chucked it at the wall to the far side of the room.

Harry jumped at the sound, wincing as he tensed and was reminded again that his Leader was still inside of him. He could feel his chest tightening, like he couldn’t breathe, like his Leader’s anger was attempting to suffocate him.

“I’m sorry!” Harry burst out before he could stop himself. His voice sounded wet, like tears had drained into his throat instead of leaking down his cheeks.

Louis appeared startled as he looked up, like he’d forgotten that Harry was even there, even though they were still physically connected. He was breathing heavily, eyes darkening as he raked them over Harry’s body before settling on his face.

Harry choked back a cry. He wanted it to stop, he wanted the whole thing to just stop—Louis’ anger that Harry didn’t understand; the pain that Harry had hated and then longed for; even the prospect of becoming pure, the one thing that seemed to continually move further out of reach with every step forward.

Harry couldn’t handle it anymore. Being God’s favorite was too much, and he no longer wanted it. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, exactly, other than for his Leader to stop looking at him as if Harry had set his scripture book aflame.

“Please,” Harry mumbled, trying and failing to keep his lower lip from trembling. “I can’t.” He swallowed roughly, blinking back tears. “I just can’t, I-I… I’m sorry.” The words left his lips in what was barely a whisper, though they had been spoken all the same. They pained him to say, filled him with immense guilt and shame, but he couldn’t hold them in anymore.

Harry had never given up on anything before. He’d struggled through the frustration of trying to memorize countless scripture verses, even when he didn’t understand what they meant. He completed every task assigned to him in the Manor, regardless of how physically demanding they could be. There had been times when he wanted to quit, like when he’d been given a passage of 28 lines to repeat from memory, or when he’d spilled dirty water all over the floors that he’d just spent an hour cleaning. Still, he made sure that he could always say that he persevered, even when it became difficult.

This though—this wasn’t a long page of scripture or a puddle of filth. This wasn’t something that he could get through with deep breaths and mental reminders that he was capable. This was his life, this was himself, an obstacle that he didn’t know if he could overcome. He had retained holy texts before. He had decontaminated the floors before. But never had he conquered his inner evil and decontaminated his soul, a task that he hadn’t ever come close to attempting. He’d thought that he could do it, together with his Leader, but it had proven to be too arduous. This was one task he could not complete.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, an apology that didn’t feel like enough. “I’m so bloody sorry.”

He wanted to look away, to close his eyes in shame and embarrassment, but what stopped him was the half grin that twitched at the corner of Louis’ mouth.

Louis stared silently for what felt like an entire lifetime.

Harry couldn’t read the emotion behind his Leader’s expression. Was he still angry? Disappointed? In disbelief? Harry swore he felt himself melting under the heat of Louis’ gaze, another layer of his existence turning to nothingness with every passing moment.

“Little lamb,” Louis chuckled, like he was remembering a joke that Harry was not privy to. He extended a hand towards Harry’s face, and Harry might have flinched if he didn’t feel so physically and mentally exhausted.

Louis thumbed over Harry’s bottom lip, forcing it free from between Harry’s teeth. “You’re going to bite your lip raw,” he said. Something about his tone was eerily soothing, like a cursed lullaby sung to a broken doll. Was that all Harry was? A broken doll that had fallen from the shelf, fallen from grace, and landed on the hardwood of hell? And now he had a cracked porcelain face with a spirit to match, and any moment now, Louis would throw him away.

Harry held his breath as Louis leaned in close until their lips were nearly touching. He could feel his Leader’s warm breath feathering out between their faces, still smelling like smoke and savagery.

“May the crimson rivers within sheep keep their hearts beating, while purity and light may keep them from bleeding.”

Louis closed the space between their mouths, and Harry let his eyes flutter closed as he instinctively pursed his lips for a kiss.

Harry was suddenly drawn back to the memory of the first time he’d felt his Leader’s lips on his own, how the kiss had started out gentle and delicate, catching Harry by surprise. He had never been kissed before, as he’d been far too young to be married, though he had heard rumors of the Leader kissing followers during their acts of service.

Their first kiss had gradually turned deeper, with Louis licking his way into Harry’s mouth almost possessively as groans poured onto Harry’s tongue. Harry’d found the action a bit strange, but he’d continued pulling at Louis’ cock, as was expected of him. He’d let his mouth be used as Louis panted into it wetly, eventually crying out and spilling down Harry’s fingers.

They had shared dozens of kisses since then, and Harry had never thought twice about them. Now though, he found that he wanted it, craved the taste of his Leader’s moans and the feeling of hot gasps against his lips. Harry couldn’t even remember the last time his Leader had kissed him on the mouth, and Harry was eager to feel him again, to experience the warmth and security that he so badly needed in a moment that was so overwhelming to his system. He just knew that somehow, a kiss from his Leader would make everything better.

Harry’s eyes flew open at the sudden sting of Louis’ teeth, clamping down on his bottom lip like a mouse trap snapping shut. Harry shrieked in pain and instinctively tried to pull away, but that only made the pain worse.

With a sound that Harry could only describe as a growl, Louis’ mouth was gone, leaving behind the taste of copper on the tip of Harry’s tongue.

Blood.

Harry blinked rapidly, hands coming to the bed on either side of him in an attempt to push himself to sit up. Why had Louis bitten him? It felt too intentional to be an accident, but he didn’t understand what the purpose of it was.

Louis’ hands were instantly on Harry’s chest, pushing him back down again.

Harry cried out when he felt a second bite, this time on the meaty flesh above his collarbone. The pain was so intense that it blacked out Harry’s vision, the world rapidly blurring at the corners until it had melted away completely, like a piece of parchment set on fire at the edges. Every piece of Harry’s surroundings were crumbling to ash as the scalding heat inched towards his center.

Louis let out a deep groan, beginning to grind his hips into Harry’s, where their bodies were still anchored together.

Harry gasped, clenching around Louis’ cock. He found his hands suddenly on his Leader’s biceps, though Harry couldn’t tell if he was pulling Louis closer or pushing him away.

Louis released Harry’s skin from between his teeth and swiped over it with his tongue, only to sink them back in closer to Harry’s neck.

Harry opened his mouth to scream, but instead he choked on the sound as Louis dragged his nails harshly down Harry’s chest.

Louis’ breaths were coming faster, a gasp spilling from his lips as he sat up. He ran his thumb roughly over the bite marks in Harry’s flesh, ripping a wail from Harry’s throat.

Harry swore he heard a moan coming from above him, though he couldn’t be sure.

“Is this what you wanted?” Louis asked darkly, giving one of the bites a sharp pinch with his fingers.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but all that came out was a tortured cry.

“Is this what you fucking wanted?!”

“No!” Harry wailed, the room spinning wildly like the earth had fallen off of its axis. He didn’t want this. Even though he’d asked for it, practically begged his Leader to make him pure and guide him to righteousness, he didn’t know it was going to be like… this. Even with Louis’ warning—about the pain and how scary it was to be made pure—Harry could have never imagined the hell he would be put through to get there. Maybe if he’d known, he would have said no.

Louis’ nails dug into the skin below Harry’s collar bones, clawing their way through Harry’s flesh forcefully. Louis did it again, and again, each motion punctuated with a strained grunt from Louis.

Harry had tears streaming down his cheeks, breathing hard as he kept his lips pressed together to silence the screams bubbling on his tongue. Each scratch was more painful than the last, as if his skin was sharpening Louis’ nails on every pass.

“I made him bleed for you,” Louis gasped out suddenly, smearing his hand across the painful scratches he’d just created. “Is that what you fucking wanted?” Louis’ hand felt wet, and the marks on Harry’s skin were starting to feel cool.

Harry blearily forced himself to lift his head and looked down at his chest.

Crimson rivers.

He watched as they began to rise and fall with his quickened breaths, as if the red seas of his blood were ebbing and flowing like the tide—although, instead of being under the control of the moon, he was powerless to the pull of his Leader.

Harry could hear it too, rushing waters in his ears as he let his head fall back to the pillow. He was reminded once more of when he’d been baptized, of the sound the water made as it had flooded into his ears. That was the sound of becoming one of God’s children. Perhaps now it held similar meaning, and Harry was finally being purified. He was becoming one of God’s children again, only this time, it was much more than that—he was becoming a Son of the Seraphim, baptized in a new form. His ears and face even felt wet too.

That’s when he realized that he was crying again, the tears having slid down his temples. His heavy breaths had somehow turned to sobs without his realizing, and now that he could feel them wracking through his chest and throat, he couldn’t stop.

“He’s bleeding and crying for you,” Harry heard Louis say, though his voice felt far off. “What more could you want, he’s perfect, he’s perfect, dammit.”

Harry had never felt farther from ‘perfect’ in his entire life. He was torn and broken, ‘bleeding and crying,’ damaged inside and out. The only reason he knew he was still alive was the way his lungs continued to take in gasping breaths, but other than that, he wasn’t even sure if he could feel anything anymore.

Was this what Louis had been aiming for? Tearing Harry to shreds until he felt like he was nothing? ‘Nothing is perfect,’ he remembered his mother saying once, ‘but our God and our Leader.’

Harry found it funny how things seemed to be working out now. He was there alone with his God and his Leader—the pure and the perfect—and Harry was the nothing. ‘Nothing is perfect…’

A jolt zipped up his spine, his next breath coming out instead as a moan as his back arched at the sudden sensation. Louis had begun thrusting his hips again, his cock moving in and out of Harry at a rapid speed. Each motion felt rough, dry, like his insides were lined with gauze, soaking up the last bits of evil left in Harry’s system. It probably should have hurt, but he was growing numb, like he’d been left out in the cold, or like his soul was slowly being disconnected from his body. Was this what it felt like to die?

His cock, however, gave an interested twitch from between his legs, clearly lucky enough to have been spared from the icy derealized state that the rest of his being was hardening into. It seemed that it didn’t matter what agony he was being put through—his dick still continued to pulse for his Leader, as if it was being controlled by Louis and some sort of dark magic.

That’s what it was, Harry decided. Louis had him under a spell. Harry didn’t even care that this thought logically didn’t make sense. It didn’t need to. All this time, Harry had been searching for the answers to why his body had been reacting in such mystifying ways, when it was simply due to the fact that Louis was a magical being. Either that, or Louis truly was God.

Louis leaned in, his panted breaths feeling both hot and cold on the wounds littered down Harry’s chest. Suddenly Louis’ tongue was on Harry’s skin, licking a long stripe up the length of one of the scratches and yanking Harry from his hazy thoughts.

Harry let out a wailed scream as his body contorted in a poor attempt to make it stop. It burned like nothing he had ever felt, the way he imagined the flaming whips of hell might feel being flogged against his chest.

Louis pulled his tongue away and let out a breathless laugh. “Yes,” he breathed, jerking his hips harder into Harry’s. “Yes, fuck, yes yes.” He did it again, pressing his tongue into Harry’s wounds with greater force.

Harry screamed again as his hands found Louis’ shoulders, nails biting ten curved frowns into the skin beneath them.

A giggle burst from Louis’ throat, followed by a low, “So fucking beautiful.”

Harry was sure Louis couldn’t be talking about him. What was beautiful about blood and tears and the mess that Harry had been reduced to? Then again, Harry considered, he wasn’t sure if he could trust his own judgment anymore, what with the way his brain felt like a knot of barbed wire being rattled around inside his skull, carving marks into the bone with every thrust of Louis’ hips.

“The heart of the chosen shall taste like heaven, and his cries shall sound like salvation,” Louis murmured.

A hand was suddenly around Harry’s neglected cock, pulling at it with firm tugs. Harry whined loudly, his stomach dropping into his toes as he felt his Leader’s hand get wetter. After everything he’d been through, he wasn’t even sure how his dick had more fluid left to give.

“God of the sky shall descend before God of the earth,” Louis breathed, his hips and hand catching a rhythm that had Harry feeling like a match being burnt at both ends. “When flesh meeteth spirit… the gaps shall be naught… And hereupon, they shall be… one.”

Harry felt a heat simmering between his hips, like the burning smoke of friction and filth emanating from deep within him. His Leader’s words were only adding to it, like droplets of petrol shapeshifting into sparks the second they hit Harry’s core. He wondered for a moment if he’d burst into flames, and if he’d drag Louis down with him into a pit of cinders.

Louis increased the speed of his hand around Harry’s shaft, mumbling more words that Harry couldn’t make out.

Harry’s heart was beating so fast that he thought it might give out from exhaustion, and his sobbing had somehow turned to high pitched wailed moans. He swore he was going to crack down the middle, rip right at the seam of the centermost cut on his chest. He only hoped that when he came to, Louis would be there with lacquer and gold to repair Harry’s cracks, restoring his utility and transforming him into something beautiful.

He couldn’t shake the sensation that, while he felt like he was going to burst apart, he simultaneously felt like something was building inside of him, an energy that he had never felt before, stemming from somewhere he couldn’t place. He could feel it buzz deep in his tightened muscles, threatening to erupt into a full out tremble, as if his body had become the flesh of the earth on the brink of an earthquake. Was this it? Was his purification finally about to come to fruition? Louis had reduced him to nothing, and now Harry was being rebuilt from the ground up. Soon he would emerge through the soil like a blooming flower, like a daisy from God’s garden, finally ultimately pure.

He couldn’t wait to finally be free—free from sin, free from suffering, from struggle and shortcomings, from his shell and his skin and himself.

A wave of inexplicable panic suddenly rolled over Harry’s body. He needed something—he could feel it buried in between the discs of his spine, from the base of his skull all the way down to his tailbone—but he didn’t know what it was. It was like a danger he couldn’t run from, an itch he couldn’t scratch, as if there was a bee sting or a mosquito bite in the deepest part of himself, prickling with poison that threatened to disperse throughout his entire body.

“Father,” he spoke, struggling to blink his eyes open and find the face of his Leader. Harry’s eyes felt heavy, and he just barely had a grasp on the strength needed to keep them from rolling all the way into his head. His chest was heaving, like he couldn’t seem to capture enough air to fill his lungs. His muscles seized up, tightening like they were desperately trying to hold onto what little oxygen Harry was managing to take in. Was this the beginning of death? “Father!”

All Harry received in response was a snarl, and suddenly a heavy hand was around his neck.

“So close,” Louis panted out, snapping his hips into Harry’s sharply. “So close, so fucking close.”

Harry barely heard the words as he felt the weight against his windpipe. He tried to push Louis away, but somehow Harry’s legs had wrapped around his Leader’s waist and were instinctively pulling him closer in a way that he could not stop. Harry’s hole seemed to be doing the same, clenching hard around Louis’ cock and drawing him further inside. Harry’s hips bucked upwards, a whine clawing at his throat behind Louis’ hand.

“This is it,” Louis breathed, his voice cracking with a groan. “Oh, God, God.” He tightened his hand around Harry’s throat. “Save me God, take me God, please, dear God.”

Louis’ voice wisped through Harry’s ears, fluttering in his head and getting lost in the storm clouds that had replaced the coherence of his thoughts. Harry swore that he could actually feel it wrapping around his body like a warm hug, anchoring him to Louis and to the moment. It was the only thing keeping him grounded amongst the hysteria—the sound of his Leader speaking, in words that had now turned into scripture that Harry had never heard before.

“They shall come,” Louis gasped out. “Into one another… with body and soul… With all that they have… and all that they are… they shall come for their God… and God shall come… for the one true Son.”

These last words slithered into Harry’s brain as his vision turned dark. His God was coming for him, to take him away and save him from the evils that had plagued him on earth. He’d be gone, he’d no longer exist in this form, but at least he’d be pure at last.

And how lovely, Harry thought, that the last words he would ever hear before meeting his Lord were those from his Leader…

Louis slammed his hips hard into Harry with one last thrust, finally hitting the spot inside of Harry that had felt so out of reach for so long.

Harry’s jaw dropped as a scream was lost in the tight grip around his neck. His back curved off of the bed sharply, and he dug his ankles into the dimples of Louis’ back. Harry’s cock was pulsing harder than it had been all night, contracting rhythmically in Louis’ hand in a way that felt like volts of pleasure were being electrocuted through him. Somewhere in the fog of Harry’s awareness, he registered that fluid was shooting from the head of his dick, up his stomach and chest, and landing on his cuts in stinging pinpricks. His limbs were trembling like after a hard workout, but this felt different, like his whole body was being strangled by hands made of white light, alternating between squeezing the life out of him and massaging his sore muscles.

He couldn’t remember when he had last breathed. His lungs were beginning to forget the taste of air, and his brain was forgetting how to think. He didn’t care though. He had Louis inside of him. That was all he needed—not oxygen or thoughts or even life—just Louis, Louis, Louis.

“Louis…” he murmured with rolled eyes.

Harry had wondered on several occasions what it would feel like to die. He assumed it might hurt, or maybe it would feel like nothing at all. He had heard something about a white light, although he was pretty sure he was meant to be seeing it, not feeling it. He wasn’t complaining though. If he had known that this is what it felt like to die, he probably wouldn’t have been secretly scared of it for all those years. It felt euphoric, like an otherworldly glowing radiating throughout him, starting in his toes and spreading all the way up his body.

It was God, he realized foggily. His Lord had come, just like his Leader had said he would, and now he was taking Harry into his arms to carry the man off to heaven. No wonder he was feeling floaty, with a dizziness prickling at his skin. It was God, it was all God, and Harry was finally free.

Harry took in a gasp, air crashing through his lungs painfully as his back hit the bed. He laid there panting hard, eyes still closed, as he felt life and feeling gradually returning to his body. He couldn’t move, the only motion of his body being the heavy rise and fall of his chest, like he had just run a marathon.

He didn’t know how long he’d been lying there, before he realized—he wasn’t dead.

He was very much alive, he registered, as he scanned his awareness down his body. The floating sensation was gone, as was the white light of God’s arms wrapped around him. His own arms and legs had stopped shaking, and his dick had stopped spurting and pulsing. He realized that his chest was smeared with fluid and blood, but as his breathing calmed down, he found himself feeling too relaxed to care. The tension he’d been feeling all evening was gone, the anxiety and fear and strange cravings that had had him feeling so restless and distraught—all of it had dissipated, out of his system like it never had existed. He couldn’t feel any of it anymore.

Harry’s eyes burst open with another gasp when he noticed—he also couldn’t feel Louis.

Louis was no longer inside of Harry, body no longer on top of him, hands no longer grasping him. Harry had gone from feeling Louis everywhere all at once to feeling none of him, anywhere, and the shock of it was like an icy slap on every point of his flesh where they had once been touching. He turned his head with a light whimper, trying to blink the scratchiness from his eyes and bring his Leader back into view.

But Louis wasn’t on the bed beside him.

Harry pushed himself up on his elbows, eyes darting around the room frantically. His head felt heavy, and it felt like there was fluid flowing from his hole, but he ignored both sensations—the need for his Leader was too strong to hold him down.

Harry wrinkled his nose as a strange smell suddenly assaulted his nostrils. It reminded him of the time a skunk had gotten into the Community and sprayed near the schoolyard. Harry had sworn he could still smell it weeks later, even after the skunk had been captured and destroyed, and the schoolyard had been decontaminated.

A long exhale came at the far end of the room, and Harry whipped his head towards the sound.

He was met with the image of his Leader perched in the windowsill, holding something small and thin between his fingers. It was lit like a cigarette, but the color and shape were different compared to the ones Harry had seen before. Louis brought it to his lips and inhaled, confirming to Harry that it was indeed meant to be smoked. As Louis exhaled again, Harry realized that the cigarette was the source of the strange smell.

Harry tried not to breathe in too deeply as he took in the sight that laid before him.

The curtain was pulled back, and Louis was gazing out into the night. His robe was back on, with only his bare legs visible, the rest of him as covered as when Harry had first laid eyes on him. Something about Louis looked different, though Harry couldn’t place what it was. It wasn’t the shininess of sweat on Louis’ forehead, or the way his hair was standing every which way. It was something else—if Harry hadn’t known any better, he’d have sworn that Louis looked smaller.

It was quiet, with Harry staring at Louis, and Louis staring at the thick blanket of blackness that cloaked the Community. Harry didn’t know when it had gotten so dark—he wasn’t even sure what time it was, how long he had been in the Manor.

“You should go,” Louis said, finally breaking the silence. His voice sounded off, gravelly and broken in a way that sounded much too human to be coming from the Leader.

This was not what Harry had been expecting his Leader to say. Harry had thought that after it was all over and he was finally pure, perhaps they would say a prayer together to seal the deal. He’d hoped that maybe his Leader would tell him how well he had done. At the very least, he’d figured that Louis would have given him some sort of instructions for what to do next.

But Louis had simply told him to go.

Harry couldn’t leave. He had so many questions racing through his mind—was he officially a Son of the Seraphim now? Was he allowed to tell people? Would anything change with his daily life? Was he to continue on with his studies as normal? Harry didn’t understand why his Leader wasn’t giving him any information. Unless…

Harry cleared his throat, trying to push through the discomfort he was feeling within it. “Did it not work?” he asked, his voice raspy. He winced at both the feeling and sound of it, as well as the memory of the screams that had caused it to become so hoarse.

“Did what work?” Louis asked. He was still looking out the window, facing away from Harry.

“The…” Harry swallowed. “The purification?”

“Oh, that,” Louis said with a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. He was silent again. Harry didn’t know what that meant.

“I don’t… feel different,” Harry went on. This was only partially true. Physically, he felt terrible. His head was throbbing, his chest was stinging, his hole felt like he’d been split open on a metal spike… but on a spiritual level, he felt the same as he did when he’d entered the Manor, the same as he did everyday—ordinary and plain. He’d thought that being pure would bring about a noticeable change within him—maybe his soul would feel lighter, or his mind would feel clearer. But Harry felt exactly the same.

Perhaps, Harry considered, the change within him was manifesting physically. Maybe the color in his cheeks had turned golden, or maybe his eyes were now the same mesmerizing medley of blues that Louis had been blessed with. Harry had to remember to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror before leaving the Manor.

Louis lifted his cigarette to his lips again, and Harry noticed the blood on his fingertips—Harry’s blood.

Maybe that was it. While Harry didn’t feel different, perhaps it was his blood that held evidence of the change. It must have been clean now, rid of all evil. He wondered if he’d have to go to the infirmary at some point for a blood test.

He decided to let this thought go for now and move on to his next question. “Are you going to become my new lessons instructor?“

Louis snorted. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

Harry winced. Without the white noise of pain and passion droning in his ears, hearing the Leader curse felt much more jarring. “So that you can teach me to be a proper Son.”

“You’re not going to be a Son.”

Harry frowned. He must have misheard. “What do you mean?”

Louis said nothing.

“B-but… you said I was ready,” Harry said. “The purification…”

Louis’ continued silence was all the clarification that Harry needed—it hadn’t worked.

“Can… can we try again?” Harry winced as the words left him. The thought of repeating the excruciating act—of withstanding all of the emotional and physical agony for a second time—felt extremely overwhelming and made him want to cry. But when he remembered the reward, he knew it would be worth it. He would be able to handle it if it meant he’d become pure. He could do it for his God.

“Not now,” Harry quickly added, recognizing that his Leader probably needed time to recover, as did Harry. “But… another time?” He bit his lip and waited with hope held tightly in his lungs.

“There’s nothing to try,” Louis said.

“No,” Harry disagreed, shaking his head, “We can try again. I want to, I’ll do better next time, I-I promise. I’ll study harder between then and now, and I’ll pray more, and…” Harry stopped, taking a breath. “I want to be pure, Father.”

“You’re not going to be pure, Harry,” Louis said, his tone overbrim with annoyance. “It isn’t possible. You can’t be purified.”

“Yes, I can,” Harry insisted, nodding enthusiastically. “I can be pure, I know I can. You said God chose me, and God’s never wrong. We’ll prove him right. You can make me pure, and then you can teach me to be a Son of the Seraphim!”

“No, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, you can, I trust you. You said to trust you, and I do, I trust you!”

Harry saw Louis’ jaw shift. “You need to leave.”

Harry ignored this as he climbed out of bed, feeling shaky on his legs, but he pushed through until he was standing. He registered that it suddenly felt like there was fluid running down the backs of his thighs, but he ignored it and made his way over to the window.

“Trust in your Leader, unreservedly and with your whole being,” he spoke once he was in front of Louis. “For he is your way to purity and righteousness.”

Harry felt his heart clench as the words left him, like the squeeze in his chest was emphasizing their meaning. He thought that he had understood them before, the many times that he had heard them, said them. He thought that he had believed them when Liam had first said the verse before Harry had entered the Leader Suite that evening.

Now though, Harry knew that he truly felt it deep in his flesh, every scripted letter strung together like beads along his veins in a necklace worn by his bones. He loved his Leader, more fiercely than he’d ever loved another being, and Harry trusted him with everything that he had. Even through the stinging within his hole and along the scratches on his chest, he felt a burn of passion rather than pain.

Harry swallowed before speaking again. “You’re my way.” His voice shook on the emphasis of the last word. “To purity and righteousness and so much more.”

The next line of the verse echoed in his ears, how the Leader’s compass always pointed towards certitude, and his word was ultimate. Could this mean that the words his Leader had been saying now were true—that Harry couldn’t be purified?

No. He refused to believe it.

Harry extended a hand, resting it gently on the compass inked into his Leader’s arm. He was anxious to feel him again, to connect their touches and bring back the heat that had been between them all evening.

Louis flinched away like Harry’s hand was on fire. “Don’t.”

Harry jumped back, feeling as though he had been smacked in the face again. He immediately felt tears springing to his eyes at the phantom pain along his skin, or maybe the pain that was suddenly forming between his ribs.

He knew better than to touch his Leader without permission, but after everything that they had shared, Harry somehow thought that it wouldn’t matter. It felt silly now, as he realized he’d been wrong, and was met with a rejection that stung worse than the attempt to make him pure.

Louis leaned over, reaching to push a button on a speaker beside the window. “Liam,” he spoke clearly into the speaker. To Harry, he uttered a low, “Get dressed.”

Harry shook his head, closing his eyes and ignoring both the command and that Louis had just called for the Manor worker. “You said I could be a Son of the Seraphim,” Harry recounted, as if maybe Louis had forgotten. He could hear himself talking too fast, words tumbling from his mouth in a desperate attempt to get Louis to change his mind. “You said God had chosen me, that God wanted me. You said I was like you!”

Louis grunted. “I say a lot of things,” he replied before inhaling hard against his cigarette.

This answer felt like a knife in Harry’s gut, right at the base of the cuts from Louis’ nails. Harry blinked several times, as if he was rapidly clicking through grainy slides on an old projector. Instead of watching moments from a distant past, he was instead reviewing everything he’d been told by his Leader that evening.

Words like ‘special’ and ‘favorite’ and ‘best’ pinged around in Harry’s mind like a pinball. They felt icy now, hard, like tiny bits of hail that bounced off of his heart before falling to the ground and melting away.

I can call my best follower perfect if I so choose...

You’re more incredible than you know…

God wants you to be a Son of the Seraphim. He wants you to be ultimately purified…

Harry swallowed hard, debating if he should ask the question that was biting at the back of his throat. “Was… was any of it true?” he whispered shakily.

Louis didn’t respond, didn’t react, and for a moment, Harry wondered if Louis had even heard him. He considered asking again, but before he could, Louis spoke first. “Get dressed,” he repeated firmly.

Harry’s throat burned with a cry that he couldn’t release. He had bared everything for his Leader, stripped his spirit down to nothing, and here all Louis wanted was for him to cover up.

His eyes fell to the floor where his clothes had been discarded, seeing torn bits of pink silk that used to be his shirt. “I-I… I don’t have a shirt,” he stuttered, wincing at the memory of ripping fabric that echoed between his ears. “You… it’s… ripped.”

Louis huffed, pressing the speaker button again. “Liam, bring a shirt,” he instructed, before releasing the button and leaning back against the window.

This second page is what had Harry realizing that soon Liam would be in the room, and Harry was still very much indecent. He hurried over to his bottoms in a daze and began putting them on, trying to ignore the pain that seemed to thrum from all over. His trousers smeared the fluid over the backs of his legs as he pulled them up, the sensation making him want to gag. He tried to act with haste, but his movements felt slowed down, like time was coming to a stop and threatening to leave him exposed.

Harry somehow managed to get both his pants and trousers all the way up by the time he heard the sound of the door. He tried to ignore the way that his pants felt cool and damp around his dick, a sickening contrast to the warm hand of his Leader that he had felt only minutes earlier.

He quickly fastened the buttons on his trousers as he heard footsteps approaching. He turned when the curtain opened, though it wasn’t Liam who stood before them.

“Zayn,” Harry said softly, surprised to see him again.

Louis whipped his head around at this. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, voice rough with irritation. “Where’s Liam?”

“Busy,” was all Zayn stated as an explanation. He kept his eyes locked straight ahead, not looking at Harry—though it appeared, to Harry, that Zayn wasn’t looking at Louis either.

Louis grunted, turning to the window and bringing his cigarette to his lips. “Get him dressed,” he said before sucking in a breath of smoke.

Harry watched as Zayn swallowed hard, eyes flitting briefly to Harry’s bare chest before looking away again. He didn’t ask about Harry’s disheveled appearance or the fact that his chest had been christened with blood and fluid. Zayn didn’t even seem startled by it.

Harry folded his arms around himself, suddenly overcome with the urge to cover up. After being nude with his Leader for so long, he had almost forgotten that Community members weren’t supposed to see each other shirtless. This fact came flooding back the moment Zayn’s eyes landed on Harry, and now he wanted to hide his torso and everything that covered it—the scabbing marks, the smeared blood, the fluid that had shot from his dick... It was evidence of the evening he’d spent with his Leader, of what had happened, what he’d almost become. He couldn’t even imagine what Zayn was thinking after seeing it all.

“There aren’t any clean shirts in the linens cupboard,” Zayn said. His voice sounded different, Harry realized—apprehensive, almost timid. The contrast of it compared to how Zayn normally spoke—the way that he had snapped at Harry only hours before—was striking in a way that made Harry feel like his lungs were filling with sand.

“I don’t fucking care,” Louis gritted through his teeth, glaring at Zayn. “Give him yours then. Just cover him up so that you can get him out of here.”

“Wait, no!” Harry spoke, dropping his arms from where they had been wrapped around himself. He felt panic in his chest again, raking its way up his throat and adding to the way his vocal cords felt raw, as he realized that his window with the Leader was rapidly closing. “Father, please!”

“Now,” Louis added to his command. Even with Louis’ head turned, Harry could tell that his jaw was clenched.

Harry let out a strangled wail, everything around him feeling like it was simultaneously closing in on him and crumbling to the ground.

“Harry,” Zayn said softly as he came up beside him.

“No! I can be good, please!” Harry cried out to Louis. Desperation flooded his veins, and he was hit with the urge to claw his own skin off to let it all free. Instead, he curled his fingers into fists and held them tightly at his sides, forcing his nails into the flesh of his palms in an attempt to feel something other than the anguish that filled him.

Harry could see out of the corner of his eye that Zayn was unbuttoning his shirt, but Harry kept his eyes locked on Louis, determined to get him to listen.

“Please, I can do better, let me prove it to you!” There had to be a way—a way to get his Leader to give him another chance, a way to become pure, a way to be everything that Louis had said he would be.

“Harry don’t,” Zayn murmured, pulling his shirt down over his shoulders and off his arms. He held it out to Harry, but Harry ignored it, shaking his head with his eyes squeezed shut.

“No, no, no, no—”

“Shut him up, Zayn!” Louis growled as he banged his fist against the window, causing both Zayn and Harry to jump at the sound.

Zayn came to stand in front of Harry, mumbling a hurried, “Harry, you need to be quiet—please.”

Harry released a forceful breath that he nearly choked on, reluctant to listen but having run out of words. While snippets of protest kept flashing through his mind, he knew they would come out all wrong if he continued to let them leave his lips. He was slowly realizing that the final unspoken line of the scripture verse he’d recited only minutes ago was true—his Leader’s word was ultimate, and there was no use fighting against it. Harry didn’t want to believe the reality of the situation, but he wasn’t powerful enough—wasn’t good enough—to get Louis to change his mind. It simply was what it was, and Harry was nothing, just as he always had been.

He dropped his chin with the weight of every dizzying thought that was spinning between his ears, closing his eyes and trying to breathe through them. He felt as though he was taking breaths through a pinched straw, every inhale hurting with the strength it took to force air into his lungs. It reminded him of when his Leader’s hand had been tightly curled around Harry’s throat, and he wanted to scream at this realization.

Soon his arms were being gently guided into the silk shirt. It felt like heaven against his skin, even though he knew he looked like hell. This only brought more tears to his eyes.

Harry quickly wiped them away and blinked several times as Zayn began doing up the buttons, seeing that the man was now wearing only a black sleeveless undershirt. Even through his overwhelmed state, Harry was struck by the peculiarity of the color. He had seen the undershirts of other Manor workers before, and they had always been white.

Harry winced as Zayn accidentally brushed his fingers along one of the wounds on Harry’s chest that had now crusted over with dried blood.

“Sorry,” Zayn said lowly before blinking hard and continuing.

He noticed that Zayn’s hands were shaking, fumbling with the buttons as they slipped through his fingers. Harry swore he could feel Zayn’s heart pounding just as fast as his, though he knew he was probably imagining it, his brain conjuring up the phantom sensation in an attempt to be sure that something outside of himself was real. Still, Zayn’s nerves almost felt palpable, as if Harry was holding them in his chest like a jar of buzzing bees, humming anxiously and ready to sting at any moment.

Zayn finished buttoning the shirt and then met Harry’s eyes with an empathetic kindness that felt unrecognizable, foreign in the aftermath of the evening Harry had been through. “I’m sorry,” Zayn whispered, a statement that Harry didn’t understand. What did Zayn have to be sorry for?

Zayn reached up and brushed Harry’s fringe off of his forehead delicately, his undershirt shifting with the movement.

Harry’s eyes fell to the top of Zayn’s chest, catching a glimpse of several thin scars crawling their way down Zayn’s torso. It looked like he had once been clawed at by an animal.

Or a person.

Harry felt sick, realization swelling inside his throat as he tried to breathe past the nauseating pit in his stomach.

Zayn walked over to Louis, responding to a command that didn’t reach Harry’s ears. He returned with a closed fist and a pointed look that Harry couldn’t discern the meaning of. Zayn opened his palm once he was standing in front of Harry, revealing a capsule, just like the one he had expected to take that morning. His stomach fell when he saw it, its presence hitting him like the final period of a sentence that confirmed what he had been afraid to admit—he was exactly the same as he had been when he’d woken up that morning, and the evil still lingered inside of him.

Zayn cleared his throat, turning his back to the Leader. “Open,” he said, the same way Harry had heard the Manor staff say thousands of times in his life. This time though, as Harry dropped his jaw obediently, Zayn mouthed two more words: “Fake it.”

Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion as Zayn’s pinched fingers entered Harry’s mouth, though no pill was deposited onto his tongue.

Zayn’s hand quickly left Harry’s mouth and came to the underside of Harry’s chin, closing his mouth before Harry had a chance to react to the lack of capsule inside. Zayn gave Harry a fierce gaze before whispering, “Pretend to swallow.”

Harry didn’t understand why Zayn didn’t want him to take the capsule, but Harry was too dazed to protest. He obeyed Zayn’s instructions, forcing his throat to swallow nothing and nearly choking at the action. Even though he knew there was nothing there, the lump in his throat felt larger than any time he had ever actually taken his capsule.

Zayn’s hands fell to his front, where he quickly tucked the pill into his trouser pocket.

Harry’s cheeks felt aflame, like he held a secret that was written all over his face. Never had he not taken his capsule while putting forth the illusion that he’d actually done it. Would the Leader be able to tell? Would Harry get in trouble? Did it even matter anymore?

Zayn nodded at Harry before turning back to the Leader. “Is there anything else?” he asked, his voice tense.

“No,” Louis said evenly around an exhale of smoke. “Go find Liam and send him in when you’ve finished with this one.”

This one. The words repeated hollowly in Harry’s head as he realized that Louis had been referring to him. All of the sweet things that the Leader had called him that evening had been ripped away and replaced with two words that felt dehumanizing in a way that made the scabs on Harry’s chest hurt, from the surface all the way down to his core.

Harry blinked through the tears in his eyes and stared at the Leader. He somehow looked so different now, less like the God Harry had seen him as for so long and more like a man who had simultaneously given Harry so much and taken so much away in just a single evening.

Harry’s gaze fell again to Louis’ bloodied fingertips pinched around his cigarette, and Harry suddenly remembered a scripture verse that he hadn’t heard in ages—Hands can holdeth a thousand prayers or commit a thousand sins. The difference lies in who hath bled in the end, for the scarlet stains remain and remember.

It was himself, Harry realized as he swallowed the coppery taste that the verse left on his tongue. He was the one to have bled, and the echo of his blood would remain on Louis’ fingers long after they’d been washed clean. Every subsequent anointment and baptism and prayer Louis performed would be tainted with the ghost of evil from Harry’s blood.

Harry recalled how at the beginning of their evening, he hadn’t wanted his blood to come in contact with the Leader, worried that it might expose him to the evil that Harry carried. Yet here Louis was now, stained in scarlet that he had drawn himself from Harry’s body, almost like Louis had wanted it. He hadn’t seemed worried about becoming poisoned, not when he made Harry bleed, and not now that the blood remained on his fingers.

Maybe, Harry considered, his blood didn’t hold nearly as much evil as he’d previously been taught.

Or perhaps Louis couldn't be infected by it, for he already had evil swimming in his own veins.

Harry sighed, swallowing painfully. “I’m sorry, Louis,” he murmured, as he felt every last verity he held slowly beginning to thaw.

Louis whipped his head around, finally looking at Harry for the first time since they had been in bed together. “Don’t call me that,” Louis snarled, startling Harry. Louis’ eyes were narrow, his jaw was tight, and his voice was steely in a way that made Harry’s heart sting. “Have some damn respect for your Leader.” Louis was silent for several moments before he turned back to the window, taking another breath of smoke. “Clean him up and set him straight,” he said to Zayn.

Harry’s mind and vision were suddenly blurry, muddled with hurt and confusion and a smudged view of his Leader. He tasted bile burning in the back of his throat, and swallowing hard seemed to only intensify the sensation. He couldn’t think anymore. He couldn’t feel anymore. He barely even felt like he existed as more than a bloody, fluid-smeared mess, in the wrong colored shirt on the wrong side of heaven.

He vaguely registered a hand being placed on his arm.

“Come on, love,” Zayn said softly, pulling Harry back with a gentle touch.

Harry let Zayn lead him away. He had no choice. However, unlike throughout the rest of the evening and even only minutes before, he didn’t feel the need to fight to stay this time. He was too numb, too broken, too removed to remain in Louis’ presence for even one moment longer.

Harry could hear Louis speaking lowly to himself as Harry and Zayn walked away, the tail end of a scripture verse catching Harry’s ear.

“To fail is to fall, to fall is to die. A pawn shall not rule, and a ruler shall not lie.”