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After Terzo had been appointed Papa he almost immediately left for what he called his ‘papal pilgrimage’ and he was supposed to be in North America for all the fall and winter. Mary asked, more curious now, what ‘papal pilgrimage’ actually meant.
“Oh, you know,” Terzo said, nonchalant as ever, the morning after their intense ‘congrats on becoming satanic pope and apparently goodbye for half a year’ sex date. “The usual, visiting our churches in different cities, conducting the rituals, spreading the good news of Lucifer into the world. Or, like our old man used to say, sex, drugs and rock’n’roll.”
So yeah, more strange satanic shit they kept at arm’s length from him in fear for his fragile, laic soul or something like that.
Copia stayed in the Ministry but he was more busy than ever, basically running everything from the office and planning on joining Terzo for the second leg of his pilgrimage in spring. Which also meant he didn’t have much time for dates with Mary although they still messaged each other every day, sending memes and mostly complaining about their everyday lives: Copia about paperwork and Mary about shitty clubs and venues without a decent sound system. Mary was also traveling with his bands, trying to make a name for himself, and their schedules were painfully incompatible.
Terzo’s phone was turned off. Copia said his brother couldn’t stand distractions on the tour.
Before he even noticed the whole month passed when Mary hadn’t seen any of them and barely talked with Copia.
He tried to convince himself it was better this way. It was fine. He liked them both enough, Hell, he was falling for both of them, but could he really build something with them? Their lives were so different, there was a rather big age gap between them, Copia was ten years older than him, Terzo even more, they were deeply religious, he was an agnostic (if he wanted to be generous with description, saying he was an atheist was more correct anyway), and yeah, they had fun, a lot of it, but it wasn’t a relationship. So maybe it was an easy way out, to let it fade naturally due to rapid life changes.
The truth was, Mary was moping. He felt heartbroken and he didn’t really know why. It wasn’t like they broke up with him. But he felt left out, abandoned in a way. Maybe because he understood that if his crazy, sexy Satanists were forced to choose between him and Satan, they would pick Satan and their Church every time. Mary wasn’t against satanism per se, especially not the version Terzo and Copia prescribed to, the one that fought Christianity’s hypocrisy and preached freedom of choice and love. He was relieved to find out early in their relationship that they both despised cat-murdering backyard satanism so popular amongst stupid edgy teenagers. Their theology was deep and mature and interesting in itself. It just wasn’t for him.
So he was moping a bit. A lot actually. He was missing them. Not only sex, even though his dick did get used to regular pampering and was opposed to his sudden change of habits. He missed their banter, the way they made him laugh, their discussions about morality and sin and freedom, and their music. It was cold and gray outside, the world was dying and decaying for the winter season and something in him was rotting alongside it. The only moments when he felt alive were when he was singing so he threw himself in his work, which led to even less time for Copia. Traveling from city to city, from one underground music scene to another, he wondered. Did they miss him too? Did they think of him as often as he thought about them? Did they talk with each other about him? He hoped that after a month it would hurt less, to see a black lipstick smeared on someone in the club and think about Copia, but it didn’t subside. It was a constant throbbing pain in his heart, like something there was missing, like he was split in half and sewed back wrong.
For fuck sake, he was pathetic.
He thought about sleeping with someone, rebound style, just to get it out of his system but every time a cute girl or a handsome fella tried to make their move on him, he found himself unable to reciprocate their interest. He wanted to slide his fingers through Copia’s auburn hair, to kiss Terzo’s lips, see his smirk, when he made Mary come, to feel Copia’s arms around his waist, when he was holding him through the aftershocks of another earth-shuttering orgasm.
Apparently he was destined to feel miserable the whole winter. Like his puppy crush was some kind of sickness, like a stubborn cold or flu that didn’t want to let go of him.
And then the letters started to arrive.
Mary was surprised to find two envelopes in his mail box after a week of touring (if you could call it that), stuck between bills and advertisements. His heart stopped beating for a few seconds and then started rapidly dancing in his chest when he saw it was an airmail from the States. Even as he didn’t know Terzo’s handwriting and there was no returning address, he knew immediately it was from him.
His fingers were stiff from cold and shaking from emotions, when he ripped the first one open, as he stood in the hall of his apartment building, he was so impatient to read it.
“What the actual fuck” he said after a few minutes of staring at it.
It was five pages, written down with neat cursive in the deep, red ink that looked like blood.
And it was in Italian, as far as he could recognize the language.
The fucker, Mary thought, amused and angry and desperate.
He ran up to his apartment, threw his jacket on the ground right beside the door and turned on his laptop.
Reading the cursive was a nightmare on its own, reading with the language he didn’t know — what a whole new level of torture. But Mary was a determined motherfucker too, a trait of all musicians, and he sat there, writing it slowly and patiently into a text document and then translating it online until it all made more or less sense. It became dark in the apartment, the only light coming from his monitor, and he didn’t eat anything the whole day, just smoking one ciggy after another to the point of nausea, his throat was raw from singing and chuckling down tears that were trying to spill from his eyes because Terzo sent him a fucking love letters.
Mary, Mary, my little nightingale, how I miss the sound of your voice, your sweet little moans and harsh screams, your whispers, the way you called me ‘Papa’, the way you say my name, like you mean something by it… Your singing is a scream against the night and sometimes, when I lay in my bed at the bus, the constant roar of engines and hum of the wheels reminds me of the melody of your songs, of your anger and hurt. Did we hurt you Mary? I’m constantly afraid that we did, Copia and I. It never was intentional but the path to Hell is paved with good intentions after all. We shouldn’t bother you after our first night but we didn’t want to abandon you, didn’t want you to feel used and exploited by us. The truth is, we were also very selfish, wanting more of you, more from you. Maybe more than we should. What is the source of your anger, Mary, I wonder. You never show it when you are with us, you are sweet, so sweet, such a good counterpoint for my own bitterness, for Copia’s sourness. Although Copia is also sweet with us, only I’m lacking it, unable to show you anything else of me than the armor I built through years. It’s so much easier to be bitter and cynical, don’t you think? I always loved how genuine Copia was, tried to protect him so he could remain like that, no ugly Church’s politics around him and he always surprised me with how cunning he could be if necessary. I need him far more than he needs me, I’m afraid. I’m very afraid, all of the time, I’m afraid to lose him, I’m afraid to keep you, to tear you out from the normal world just to throw you among angels and demons…
Five pages of this stream of consciousness, of sweet words, of confessions: I miss you, I need you, I’m lost without you. It was like reading a diary, Mary’s cheeks burning with a blush, a sudden embarrassment of invading someone’s privacy, seeing something that wasn’t meant for his eyes. But it was addressed to him, Terzo was writing to him. And yes, it didn’t sound like Terzo normally would talk with him. When he saw the letters he expected… He didn’t know what he expected. Some teasing maybe, a little bit of dirty talk, the general description of weather and maybe some surprising ‘I think about you’. Not that. Not the… vulnerability.
Mary sat there for a long time, in the darkness, wave upon wave of crushing emotions overflowing through him. His longing finally sated, at least partially. His love, blooming all over again, like a plant that finally was watered. And the pain of parting was so much sharper now, like its teeth had grown with every word Terzo wrote.
Il mio piccolo usignolo… Il tuo canti è urli contro la notte… Ti abbiamo fatto del male, Mary?
He wanted to write back, better, to call Terzo in that moment, didn’t care for the time zones, he wanted to hear his voice, to tell him he loved every word he wrote, that he needed more, not only more letters, but more Terzo, all of him, that he needed him too, his witty remarks, his sharpness he loathed so much about himself, his strength. He wanted to tell them – both of them – how lost he felt without them.
Deciphering and translating the second letter was easier, now that he could read Terzo’s handwriting quite well. It was the same rambling, no mentions of his previous letter.
Virgin Mary with an untainted soul, how I long to protect you the same I always protected my little brother. You inspired me to write a song, did I ever tell you that? It’s about my fear of hurting you more than anything else, of how easily it would be to break your boundaries. To be honest, I’m also afraid I did it with Copia, pushing him too hard and too fast, making him too dependent on me, but maybe I’m just projecting, because it’s me who is addicted to him to the point of insanity. I’m sorry I write so much about Copia when I think about you, but I miss you both dearly and in my mind you are becoming one, my little brother and my little ward, my protégé if you will. I cannot help but fantasize about you becoming neophyte in our Church, so I could baptize you, teach you, protect you, hide you from the world. I would keep you in a golden cage if you let me, you would lack for nothing if only you will never leave my sight. Can you hear the rumble? Can you hear the rumble that's calling? How can you hear the thunder that's breaking? You see, Mary, I’m dangerous with my love, it’s too much, I know. And yet there is no fear in your eyes when you look at me, Mary. We see eye to eye…
It was the middle of the night when he finished reading it, over and over, both letters, the stream of indirect confessions and made him melt and tense at the same time. He was tired but barely registered it, the painful dryness of the eyes, the sore muscles from hunching over laptop for long hours. His heart was full, fed by Terzo’s words. And yet, there was fear inside of him, caused by the vastness of what he still didn’t know about Terzo and Copia, their lives, their relationship, of what made Terzo so afraid, what forced him to hide his feelings from everyone but Copia. Did he even really know them? What was his love worthy if there was still so much to discover about them? Was it even love or just a stupid crush? What Terzo wrote about – that was love. Overconsuming and terrifying.
Mary felt like he was standing at the edge of a deep abyss and something was pulling him to step over it. His own fear was holding him back.
The fear of being loved like that.
He wanted what Terzo and Copia had but at the same time, he was afraid of it. Of belonging to someone, with someone.
It would be terrifying even if the objects of his affection didn’t claim to walk besides demons. Either they were crazy or delusional at best, or he didn’t know that much of the world as he thought he did.
***
The letters kept coming. Always by airmail, with stamps from different cities: Detroit, Denver, Salt Lake City (they had a Satanic Church in Salt Lake City, Mary noted which made him laugh), Seattle, Portland, Los Angeles, Sacramento, Phoenix. Every few days, for the entire October. Every single one full of crazy ramblings about longing, for him, for Copia, full of Terzo’s anxieties and hopes. Mi aspetterai Mary? Ci sarai quando tornerò? Ti ricorderai di me? Per favore, aspettami, Mary.
At the beginning of December he couldn’t stand it anymore, he missed them both too much. And maybe Satan took pity on him because miraculously Copia proposed a meeting, to go together to the museum for the exhibition of French art. Mary almost broke his phone from how forcefully he was typing that yes, he would love to go and see some old French paintings, culture me up, Copia.
It was snowing that day and Copia texted him he would be waiting inside, in the lobby, and maybe they could grab something to eat after that? Mary had only time to send him a thumb up emoji before he was squeezed in the crowded bus. His heart was pounding when he went through the massive door into the lobby, immediately scanning the place for Copia.
There weren’t a lot of people and even if there were, he would spot Copia in the crowd. He was standing there, wearing another cassock, black this time, exactly the same type as when they saw each other last time, cape and biretta and the whole shebang. Mary felt his throat getting dry or maybe the opposite, he was salivating, because he had to keep swallowing, his hands became sweaty and shaky and he felt like a teenager on a first date ever.
“Hi” Copia waved to him.
No turning back now.
“H-hi” Mary said, feeling the blush that could be blamed on the change of temperature between outside and the lobby. “Good to see you.”
It was so fucking awkward. They hadn’t seen each other in person for more than two months and Mary realized he didn’t know how to behave around Copia anymore. Should they hug? Kiss? But he was wearing a cassock, looking like a fucking Catholic priest and there were people around them, some of them with children, it was a Sunday and he was on a date with someone who looked like priest.
He felt so hot and horny all out sudden.
He really liked the cassock look.
Copia noticed him staring because he started to fidget a little.
“Yeah, sorry about that, we had an emergency Clergy meeting about the merch sales and I didn’t have time to change so I’m basically in my work uniform, sorry…”
“You look great” Mary choked out, barely hearing what he had said, and Copia chuckled.
“And you look awful” he said though, with concern in his voice. “You lost weight, I think.”
That was true, Mary’s cheeks were even more hollow, the circle under his eyes deeper. He lost his appetite and he hadn't been sleeping well, his bed too big, too cold and too lonely.
“Life on the tour” he explained, because what else could he say? ‘I miss you both so much it made me sick’? He was pathetic but he didn’t have to advertise it to the entire world.
And Copia… Under his makeup, black eyes and lipstick, he looked the same as Mary: too thin, too pale, too miserable. He misses Terzo, Mary thought, and probably overworking himself because of it.
“I’m glad we finally could meet,” Copia said, looking down. “I missed you, Mary.”
“I missed you too, Copia” he said softly, his throat tight. “It had been a crazy fall, I know, but, well, it’s getting calmer in the business now. There is little demand for death metal around Christmas. Shocking, right?”
“Yeah, one could think it’s the time people would need it the most, as the remedy for ever present jingle bells” Copia smiled. It was easier now, talking with him, the awkwardness slowly but surely disappearing between them.
“Tell me about it. And they started even before Halloween! How am I supposed to get into the Christmas spirit as early as October for the fake sake?” Mary said. “Like they couldn’t decide if you should pumpkin spice everything or eat little chocolate Santas. I love chocolate Santas though, I always start with chomping their heads off.”
“Are you celebrating Christmas?” Copia asked, while Mary was getting off his jacket, already sweating in the warm room.
“Not really, not since childhood” Mary answered. “There is a dinner at my mom's place and we exchange little gifts but it’s mostly an excuse for overeating and watching cheesy movies together.”
“That sounds lovely. You don’t visit your father?”
“Nah, his wife is taking the whole thing too seriously and it became a chore, you know? Prayers before eating, singing, the endless masses for two days… If they want to subject themselves to this regime it’s their choice, but I will pass. Do you celebrate something like anti-Christmas? Or is it just a period of endless despair for you guys?” Mary asked, standing next to Copia, feeling under-dressed because he was wearing just jeans and black turtleneck.
“We celebrate the winter solstice,” Copia explained. “There are bonfires, we eat too much, sing and dance around fires, it’s generally really festive, with a mass on the longest night of the year and worship of Lucifer’s Light and Their radiant darkness.”
“See, that seems like fun. No orgies though?”
“Bit too cold for that. The summer solstice on the other hand…” Copia winked at him and Mary smiled.
Copia already bought their tickets and they went upstairs, to the main exhibitions, talking a little bit about everything, beside Terzo, even if Mary was dying to ask: did you two talk? Did he say something about me? How is he?
People were staring a bit at them, mostly because of Copia and probably making their assumptions about gay priest on a date, a pair of wicked sinners exposing themselves to the public. If Copia noticed the glares he didn’t say anything about it but there was a little mischievous smile under his mustache, as he took Mary’s hand to pull him towards some paintings. The theme of the exhibition was French religious art in Romanticism and it was far more interesting than Mary would expect, especially with Copia as a guide. He spent a good twenty minutes in front of Delacroix’s painting talking about Dante’s influence on the concept of Hell in western culture, and then another twenty about Gothic revival when they saw Géricault’s Three Skulls. Apparently Copia had strong opinions about memento mori motif in art which Mary found irresistibly cute.
Finally they stood in front of what was – at least for Copia – the main attraction of the exhibition: Cabanel’s Fallen Angel.
“There Them are” Copia whispered, adoration in his voice. “My Lord Satan, in all Their beauty, and rightful anger, and despair.”
Mary knew that image, of course, Lucifer’s beautiful face, half-covered with his arm, fiery lock and redden eyes full of tears, even though his expression was determined, not of someone beaten and casted out but of someone ready to fight back, again and again. He had never seen it live and he was surprised how monumental it was, the life-size body of a fallen angel, as he was ready to slip from between frames and walk among them, probably smiting the unworthy apes that dared to look at him in his moment of weakness. And yet, the painting itself was a work of one of those apes. And it was…
“…magnificent” Mary said the last part out loud. Copia nodded.
Small sofas were placed in the middle of the room, right in front of the Cabanel’s painting and they sat there, still watching it.
“I have always liked this one,” Mary admitted. “He looks so stubborn here. Like he is thinking ‘we’ll show them, we will show them all’. It speaks about preservation.”
“I feel the same way” Copia said, taking off his biretta, as if he was in Church, in the presence of something sacred. “I love the contradiction it presents, the sadness and anger, wrath even, the loss and the promise of victory, a reminder that the fight isn’t over. It speaks to the soul of a suffering man. I like to think it really looked like that, the Fall I mean. Even with the pain of ripped out grace They didn’t surrender, not to pain, not to hopelessness and misery.” He sighed. “I wish we could afford to buy it for the Church, put it on an altar and worship it as it was supposed to be.”
“We can always steal it,” Mary suggested. “I always wanted to rob the museum.”
Copia laughed at that.
“You would make an excellent partner in crime, Mary.”
Oh, how he missed the sound of laughter. He took it like a plant takes the sunlight. Even the vast room seemed brighter and warmer with it. Mary couldn’t help himself, he leaned down and kissed him, deep and greedy, teeth and tongue, tasting the laughter straight from his mouth. Copia hummed, content, kissing him back. Someone gasped in the back, probably clutching their metaphorical pearls in disdain, but Mary didn’t care, because finally he felt good, for the first time in two months he just felt good, the constant ache in his heart stopped, the sense of wrongness disappeared. He was himself again.
The kiss became heated and indecent in a matter of minutes and Copia finally pulled off, not wanting to be reprimanded by the museum staff.
“Wanna come to my place?” Mary asked fast, before he would stop thinking with his dick and therefore lost his courage. Nor Copia nor Terzo had visited him yet in his shitty studio apartment he had rented a few months after his eighteen birthday. Their suits in the Ministry always seemed like a better option but right now he knew he needed Copia’s presence in his life, in his bed, with him.
Copia nodded. They almost ran out of the museum and to his car, holding hands and giggling all the way.
***
The drive to his place was short, or at least it passed quickly, Mary curled on the side at the spacious passenger seat, shamelessly ogling Copia as he was driving, his fingertips running on the smooth fabric of the cassock on Copia’s shoulder.
“What is the proper title for the Cardinal in your Church?” He asked.
“Your Eminence” Copia answered with a little smirk.
“Your Eminence” Mary repeated, enjoying the little shudder under his fingers and a bit of a blush that bloomed on Copia’s cheeks at that. “It suits you. The position of power, I mean.”
“You think so?” Copia looked at him, heat in his eyes.
“Very much. And what do you actually do as a Cardinal?”
“The same as the rest of the Clergy. A lot of planning and management of Church’s properties and organizations, a bit of theology studies and teachings, running the masses and fulfilling religious duties.”
“Such as…?”
“Giving sermons, hearing confessions, conducting the various rituals and rites.”
“You have confessions?” Mary raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, two versions of it, the private ones which are more like consideration on the matter of faith and conduct within the Church and the more common, public one, during the masses, which are more like bragging about the various sins the congregation has committed since the last ritual. We celebrate sins as a way of liberation and self-knowledge. You masturbate? Good for you, that self-care. You have sex? Enjoy your pleasure and bring pleasure to others. You hate someone who hurt you? Good, demand justice.”
“Okay, but what about people who are actually assholes? Or if one wants to murder someone or something like that?”
“Well, assholes are everywhere. We advise them to work on themselves if they want to remain a part of our community. And murder is a crime so if someone would confess it, we would inform the authorities, same like with any other crime.”
Mary bit his lower lip, thinking about something. He never told them that yet about himself but…
“I was an altar boy when I was, dunno, eleven or twelve? Something like that. For a few months. My stepmother insisted on it, it was her idea. I hated it.”
“Did… Uhm… did something happen to you?” Copia asked slowly.
“No, I wasn’t molested, but yeah, I get why you thinking that” Mary laughed bitterly. “No, the priest wasn’t a pervert, I think, he was just very strict. And it was confusing for me, at that age, because no one in our family was religious before my father re-married, and well, I have the talk with mum about bees and birds and how my body is going to change, and it’s completely natural, and masturbation is a healthy outlet and so on. And then I went into the church and they said a very opposite of it, how bodies are vessels of sin, how everything sex-related is dangerous, and the Hell talk was really messing up with me. Not to mention I was constantly shamed for not knowing some basic facts from catechism, because I wasn’t raised within the church. You know, kids are stupid, I was stupid, I couldn’t compartmentalize it properly and I became really depressed. My mother noticed it and she threatened my father with challenging the custody agreement if they didn’t stop forcing me to go to church on the weekends I was with them. They didn’t want to go to court so I haven't stepped into church since then. I think my stepmother has resented me for it since then too. I once heard her calling me ‘that little devil of yours’ in a conversation with my father. Seeing me now, with you, all Satanic and glorious, she would be so happy for being right about me.”
“Little devil, huh? I like that. Thank you for telling me this, Mary” Copia said softly.
Mary shrugged.
“It’s not a big deal, really. I wasn’t traumatized or anything.”
Copia parked the car in front of Mary's building but didn’t move to get out of the car.
“In my experience” he started slowly “people who went through something traumatic very often don’t recognize it as such. Trauma is unconscious. So maybe it hurt you deeper than you think. And, well, I understand your aversion to religious organizations. The more I’m grateful you didn’t run screaming when we first met.”
“Well, I really enjoyed the blasphemy we committed back then,” Mary chuckled. “I think it was a healing process for me. Thank you for hearing my confession, Your Eminence,” he winked at Copia.
Copia looked stunned for a moment.
“Now you are just being naughty” he said eventually.
“Not yet. But I’m planning to be. Come on, Your Eminence, let’s go upstairs so I can suck your cock.”
“Mary!”
He laughed, going out from the car, because of how easy it was to make Copia flustered and how he loved it.
In Mary’s apartment Copia barely had the time to take off his coat before Mary shoved him on the wall and sank to his knees in front of the Cardinal. Copia gasped and Mary put his hands under the cassock, lifting it up above Copia’s waist.
“Please, Eminence, hold it for me” he asked, not wasting any time and already unzipping his pants. He hesitated for a second though. “Do we need condoms?” Which was a way to ask if Copia had sex with anyone since their last night together.
Copia shook his head.
“There is no one else,” he assured Mary. “Only you and Terzo.”
“Perrrfect” Mary purred, hungry for his cock. And Copia was getting hard already, his cock, long, thick and gorgeous already reaching for Mary’s mouth. “Bless me, Eminency, for I am about to sin” he said, only half-joking, before he swallowed the head, moaning around it and swirling his tongue to get as much taste as possible.
Copia cursed, his fingers – wearing those damn black leather gloves – gripped the hem of the cassock tightly.
“Our father, who art in Hell” Copia started to chant, his hips bucking into wet heat of Mary’s mouth, fucking it to his lover content. “Unhallowed, be Thy name, cursed be the sons and daughters of Thine nemesis who are to blame, Thy kingdom come, Nema!”
Mary tried to add to every word with another caress of his tongue, a suck, a hand sliding over the balls, swallowing Copia’s cock to the root and bobbing his head up and down on it with a vicious rhythm. He missed his satanic priest so very much, even his strange prayers and customs, and damn if the cassock didn’t do weird things to him, making him feel all ashamed and horny at the same time.
“Thy Will be done, on Earth as it is Below,” Copia continued the prayer, moaning and gasping. “Stay not thine hand from our oppressors, yea, smite them hip and thigh! And give wealth and carnal pleasures to them who show kindness and generosity to us. Lead us to the tastiest of temptations, that we may have all our sinful gratifications! Satan, Lucifer! Thine is the Kingdom, O Dark Lord, and Thy Black Flame Burneth Forever!... Mary!” He warned his lover a split second before coming, Mary still sucking and licking him through it, swallowing frantically everything Copia gave him and letting him soften in his mouth. He would gladly stay there, cockwarming him like that for longer but his knees started to hurt badly from the bare floor.
He let go of Copia, who hummed, eyes closed, and needed Mary’s hands on his hips to stay up, his body pliant after orgasm.
Mary hummed, letting Copia slide down the wall, on his knees, as he was standing up. He put two fingers under Copia’s chin, lifting his face up, to look at his relaxed expression, soft and blissful. With one hand he took out his own cock, stroking himself.
“I want to come on your face” he said and Copia nodded, eyes still closed, opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue. The cassock fell around him like a veil, the biretta was askew on his head and his lipstick was smeared.
He was so beautiful. Mary couldn’t stop looking at him. The little wrinkles around his eyes and on his forehead, the sharp chin and cheekbones, the thin mustache, the fucking sideburns, everything that made him Copia, the man he loved. His cock throbbed violently as he stroked himself faster and faster, with no fineness, just wanting to come, to paint his face, cassock and Cardinal’s insignia with his come. He spat on his hand although he was leaking enough to make it sufficient, even if the friction was almost painful but he welcomed that pain, it kept him grounded. The orgasm was building fast in him, the sight of Copia, his heavy breathing when he was inhaling deeply the scent of Mary’s arousal, the eagerness present in the deep blush on his cheeks – it was enough for Mary, along with the salty aftertaste of Copia’s cum on his tongue.
Copia licked the head that almost poked at his face and Mary came with a shout. He slurred out a string of curse words, hips jerking with every spurt of release that landed on Copia’s face and cape, his cassock, the white-y, translucent liquid visible on black fabric, staining it. The sense of deep satisfaction bloomed in Mary’s chest as he marked Copia with his release, watched as Copia licked his lips from it. He couldn’t help but to kneel next to him and kiss him deeply, sharing their tastes and desire, still not sated, and their longing, still not healed.
I love you, I love you, I love you, his heart was beating into the kiss, but he couldn’t say it, not yet, not without Terzo there, with them, but he was sure Copia could taste it on his lips because the same unspoken confession was beating in his chest, under Mary’s hands.
***
They cleaned themselves and ordered some takeout. Copia looked good at Mary’s couch, bought in a goodwill shop, uneven and not really comfy anymore, wearing just his shirt and pants, all black of course, with Mary’s legs sprawled on his lap.
“I was meaning to ask you something” Mary started. “You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”
“Okay” Copia nodded, looking from above his dim sum.
“How long are you and Terzo together?”
Copia hummed, playing with his food for a moment.
“We listen and we don’t judge?” Mary offered encouragement.
“No, it’s fine, I’m just thinking, because it’s not so simple… It would be easy to say forever and it would be true in some way, but I don’t really know what you are asking about exactly. How long have we been in love? Since when we are fucking?”
“Both, actually.”
“I have always loved Terzo. He was my favorite person and best friend when we were children. It was easy to fall for him when I became a teenager. Terzo always was very talented and charismatic, the very opposite of me, really. I wanted him and I wanted to be like him. And I wanted him all to myself. So yeah, I was in love with him ever since and I think it's the same with him, although maybe it started a little bit later or at least he waited for me to mature a bit before he even considered doing anything non-platonic with me. We kissed for the first time when I was fifteen, shotgunning a joint on the rooftop of the Ministry, very romantic when you think about it” he laughed a little. “I came in my pants under him. Then he first touched my dick when I was sixteen. And we had penetrative sex for the first time more than a year later. We never had the official talk about being a couple but it was given. Why do you ask?”
Fucking great question.
“The way Terzo talks about you two, sometimes, as a dirty talk… Yeah, I know, I should take it with a grain of salt, it’s dirty talk after all… But also how he writes about you in his letters, like he is blaming himself about, dunno, corrupting you or something and how he is afraid to do this with me too…”
“Terzo writes to you?” Copia asked, food entirely forgotten.
“Yeah, in fucking Italian, letter after letter. It’s like a crash course in foreign language, you know…”
“That fucking bastard” Copia said and Mary got worried. Was Copia jealous? Was it because Terzo hadn't written to him? Was it a mistake, telling him about the letters?
“I’m sorry” Copia said, seeing Mary’s face, raw and vulnerable at the moment. “I’m not angry, well, not at you. It’s just…” He put his plate on the table and gestured for Mary to move closer, to sit on his lap. He kissed the top of Mary’s head when he was safely nested in his arms. “I’m sorry” he repeated. “Terzo almost convinced me to let go of you. He said we should leave you a way out of this mess that we are and his pilgrimage is a great opportunity for that. I tried to tell him that you are a consenting adult and if you want us and we want you, there is nothing wrong with it. I think Terzo believes a little too much in his own fantasy here.”
“Wait, you were actually ghosting me?” Mary was getting pissed.
“Not really. He is out in the world, his phone is off for the time, and I’m really fucking busy but, uhm, maybe I should have to try harder to find time for you than I actually did. I’m so sorry, Mary. I missed you so much, I was so empty without you, both of you, and I was stupid. I can’t stay far from you, you know? I needed to see you today, I was dying inside from loneliness…”
Against his own anger Mary clang to Copia, arms around his neck, face pressed into his chest.
“You are not a mess and I don’t want a way out” he breathed into the fabric. Copia was kissing him now, his hair, forehead, cheeks, anything he could reach and Mary let him, anger bubbling in him but not enough to win against the longing. “I will fucking kill Terzo. With my dick.”
“What? Why would he get a reward like that for being stupid?” Copia protested.
“Don’t you worry, I will practice on you first. Oh, you know what? Let’s fuck, take a few tasty pictures while we at it, and send it to Terzo, let him known what he is missing here.”
“Yeah, I like that plan, totally doable,” Copia laughed. “See, I told you, you are a great partner in crime. A true evil mastermind.”
“What did you mean when you said that Terzo believes too much in his own fantasy?” Mary asked.
Copia sighed.
“You heard him. In his mind he is the one who seduced me, shaped me in some way and yeah, he did, his friendship and affection made me who I am. But it’s not how he sees it. Maybe I should have a talk with him about it, let him know that he isn’t some sort of evil corruptor of innocent ones but a dense motherfucker who wasted years ignoring my not-so-subtle clues. I was ready to fuck him or get fuck by him a way sooner than he actually tried to do it. You wouldn’t believe the stupid shit I said to him trying to get his hand on my dick as an awkward teenager. ‘Oh, but fratello, it hurts when I touch myself, maybe you should show me how to do it properly, pretty, pretty please’. Like I was some kind of moron who doesn’t know how dick works” Copia flinched at cringy memory. Mary couldn’t help but laughed. “If anything I was feeling like a pervert trying to fuck a nun and got through the whole inner turmoil of ‘oh, damn, he really doesn’t want me, he couldn’t be so stupid to not understand what I’m telling him, he just doesn’t know how to say nicely to me to fuck off’ and ‘motherfucker, I fell for an idiot’ because of him. Maybe it’s time to bust his ego a little, he thinks now that he can play a kazoo and people would lose their panties in a wild fit of lust.”
“And the incest thing, you never had problem with that part?” Mary asked, because he was wondering about it for some time now.
“We are Emerituses” Copia said like it was supposed to explain anything. Mary just looked at him. “Okay, look, Terzo is a main line Emeritus, meaning he is the son of Papa and some unfortunate woman also from the main line, which makes him a rightful heir to the title. You can say the main line has a long history of keeping things in the family. But beside the main line there are a lot of Emeritus offspring running around the Ministry. For a long time we assumed I’m just that, a water-down blood, some distant cousin who got lucky with a rare family trait but then the cat was out of the bag when I was…. hm, ten, I think… It became widely known that I’m Nihil’s bastard and me and Terzo are actually half-brothers. Which no, it never was a problem. Our Church doesn’t care what consenting people are doing in bed and we are close enough in age for it to not be inappropriate. And… Well, we grew up in a cult-like setting. For centuries satanism was a rather private party so our ancestors wouldn’t end up burned on stakes or hung. This experience shaped our institution even to this day. We are an elitist, closed environment, suspicious of outsiders. Growing up as a child of the Clergy leaves you with a very distinct experience that no one from the outside can fully understand. And, as I said, a lot of us are related. We, the Church, are incestuous out of necessity, I’m afraid. And me and Terzo? To be honest, I like that we are brothers. Makes me feel like I have some rights to him, like he is mine on a deeper level. I know it’s just another fantasy but I like that feeling anyway.”
“What about me then?” Mary asked. “I’m an outsider to your faith.”
“Yes, but you are very patient with us, no torches and forks so far, I appreciate it” Copia smiled. “I like that you are so different and yet so similar to us at the same time. Terzo was right, you would make an excellent Satanist but I respect your lack of faith as much as you respect my faith.”
“Your faith is easy to respect, Copia. You let me make a kink out of it.”
“Even better for me, I can practice my daily prayers and get an orgasm out of you, perfect. Our Lord Satan rejoices in that.”
They cuddled for a very long time, sharing chest kisses and confessions about how they missed each other and how they both miss Terzo.
“Don’t mention to him what I said about the letters, okay?” Mary asked. “I’m afraid he will stop writing them and I, well, I need them. It’s a very different side of him, he writes things he would never say to me face to face…”
“Never say never,” Copia said. “Maybe he misses you enough to realize something about us, all three of us.”
“Which is what, Eminence?”
“That we fit together, you, me and him. And maybe we can work it out together.”
Copia stayed the night at Mary’s place and they made plans for the next weekend together. And maybe Mary agreed to spend part of the Yule celebration with them in the Ministry. In two weeks Terzo was coming home and they all needed to have a serious talk about commitment and relationships. Meanwhile the sun was shining over the snow and Mary was happy again, warm and content in Copia’s arm.