Chapter Text
The heavy wooden doors creak when Jeongin pushes them open.
The church is quiet. Only a gust of wind greets him, no flickering candles, no choirs singing. Still air that smells a bit stale, compared to the fresh night outside.
Jeongin always thought his church to be beautiful. The swung ceiling that towers in heights that seem unreachable for those without wings. Colorful windows everywhere usually glow like embers when the sun falls through them during the sermon.
As Jeongin’s wet shoes rapidly clack over the cold stone tonight, only the quiet, silvery moonlight reaches towards him. The air inside the church is damp, every step vibrating with the echo around him, the smell of mud and rotting wood more penetrant than usual.
In the middle of the moon’s silent light stands a shadow. The shape of a young man leans against the altar, facing him. Casual. Familiar. And yet every inch of him looks jagged.
Jeongin’s fingers clench harder around the cold, biting metal in his hand. A sun, delicately crafted from pure gold, the tiniest of rubies in its middle.
The cloak restricts Jeongin’s movements, heavy and thick around his shoulders. He keeps one hand on his collar to loosen it, should he need to, as he walks down the aisle. The heavy door falls shut behind him, and the thump rumbles over the ground, stirs up dust.
“How dare you!”, Jeongin grits out once he is close enough to be heard. He passes the wooden praying banks, rows upon rows for the believers that regularly fill his sermons, as he closes in on the altar. The shadow that leans against it smiles. A stark contrast of white teeth against the darkness, as if they would shine from within.
Jeongin’s breath condenses in a damp cloud on his cold face, but the rage inside of him burns hot enough to keep him warm.
He stops at the hem of the stone stairs. The ones that lead up to the altar, and thereby, to the shadow. With every blink Jeongin makes, its features seem to become a little less blurry, a little more focused.
A little more human.
There’s a nose, slim, then the eyes of a cat. The most beautiful lips pulled into a smirk around a mouth full of perfect teeth. Black hair falls around a face that could have been crafted by the God himself, his most wonderful creation.
Beautiful.
And yet, all of it is wrong. The creature before him is not human. And it certainly has not been crafted by Jeongin’s God.
The heavy fabric of the coat seems to pull down Jeongin’s shoulders, as if it wanted to make him smaller. Force him to his knees in front of… In front of the altar. Not in front of the creature before him.
A creature that lifts its chin as its narrow eyes fixate on Jeongin. Like a cat that has set sight on a toy, a predator that wants to play with its food. Heart pounding, Jeongin suppresses the shiver of fear that tries to run through him.
He’s dealt with more than enough of them to know they are dangerous.
The creature stands inhumanly still. Only its tongue darts out, red like wine, and licks over its lips as if it couldn’t wait to devour Jeongin. Its eyes glow. “Hello, little priest.” The voice is too soft and melodic for a being so horrible.
Jeongin scoffs. His teeth clench on their own, as his hand finally unties the knot of his coat and lets it drop onto the rough church floor. Beneath it, he reveals naked, muscular arms, the symbol of the sun inked into each of them with various prayers lining the prongs.
“I give you five seconds to get out of his body before this gets ugly.”
The creature whistles through its teeth. Then, a cackle vibrates around the large church hall that makes the hairs in Jeongin’s neck stand up.
He works his jaw as he takes a deep breath to steady himself. He’s not playing games tonight. “Five.”
With a dramatic sigh, the creature pushes itself off the altar, and Jeongin tenses in anticipation of an attack. But all it does is rise to its full height, towering before the altar, against the moonlit stained windows in the back like it was the God Himself.
“I did not take a body”, it says, flexing its hand in front of its face as if to confirm it. “This is all mine.”
“You’re lying.” The golden sun firmly in his hand, Jeongin reaches out with the other, palm facing the creature. “You’re a demon. Give him back! Now!”
Jeongin knows it is lying.
Because the body the creature is using is painfully familiar to him.
Hwang Hyunjin.
A single year older than him, new to the church but devotedly visiting every sermon the last year. The most beautiful human Jeongin has ever seen. Ever blessed.
He stayed behind every single time to talk to Jeongin while he cleaned up after the sermon. They talked not just about the church, about everything. Life, dreams, hopes…
And Jeongin had wondered, without fault, if this was his God’s way of rewarding him for his works. That someone so kind, and funny, and creative as Hyunjin would take interest in him.
“Oh”, Hyunjin says, cocking his head as he flicks a strand of hair out of the way. “Because demons cannot have their own bodies?”
“Only if…” Jeongin’s blood runs cold.
His arm shakes. Every muscle feels suddenly instable as another, gruesome possibility runs through his mind.
No.
Jeongin breathes shakily. If what he fears is true, then that would mean that Hyunjin is not possessed. He would have been someone – something – unspeakably horrible all this time. He would have lied to Jeongin for a year. Every single one of their interactions would have been… nothing more than a try to gain his trust.
It would mean that Hyunjin never, not once, actually cared for him.
No matter how much Jeongin tries to keep his voice steady, he cannot. Not when he is suddenly confronted with a truth that makes cruel sense. That reveals why Hyunjin had seemed so interested in him, why his eyes had raked over Jeongin’s body in a way they were not supposed to.
The puzzle pieces fall into place with a quiet click that might as well be his heart falling apart.
The air around Jeongin is thin when he speaks. “You’re an incubus?”
Hyunjin crosses his arms with the most devious, devastating smirk as Jeongin feels his stomach revolt. His mind is running a mile a minute in denial, because how could he not have noticed? He should have felt it, it doesn’t make sense, Hyunjin should have burnt when Jeongin blessed him during the sermon, so why-!
Why…
Jeongin cannot quite feel his face. There’s a thick lump in his throat as his words echo through the church. Only wood creaks in the background as if to express a tiny bit of sympathy.
Closing his eyes for a moment, Jeongin shakes his head. It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter. “Your five seconds are up”, he croaks, and plans to pulverize Hyunjin so thoroughly that he’ll never be able to tell anyone how pathetic he acts just now.
With a deep breath, Jeongin opens his mouth and recites his prayer.
His lips move around practiced words, the language of God, taught to him meticulously in years of training. Jeongin had excelled his classes. He was the youngest in his year to kill a demon, and has read every book about the holy language he could get his hands on.
The words flow out of his mouth like a never-ending waterfall.
The sun in his hand rattles with a metallic clang as it rapidly heats against his palm. Power flows through him. The tattoos on Jeongin’s arms glow in the dark church as they channel the divine energy of his words. It’s weaker in the night, but that has never stopped him before.
It certainly won’t stop him now.
More divine power thrums through Jeongin’s body, loud like a rising tide inside his ears. The wooden benches around him start to rattle one by one in time with his chants.
All of Jeongin’s body heats up. It’s a powerful spell, the one he has chosen. Maybe more powerful than it needs to be, but he’s petty like that. He’ll blow Hyunjin into tiny bits, just the way his heart feels now that he knows the truth.
And since Hyunjin somehow managed to sneak under his radar, it might be necessary. Jeongin has never met a demon able to do so, able to escape his wards, and even his blessings.
That means Hyunjin might be much more powerful than he seems.
Jeongin’s eyes never leave Hyunjin’s, usually a dark brown, but here, in the darkness of the church, they almost glow silver. Everything about him suddenly looks otherworldly, and Jeongin thinks, he should have known.
Tense, Jeongin is prepared for the demon to start running, to attack, to do anything, body ready to react to even the slightest flinch.
But Hyunjin just sighs dramatically, as he lets his whole weight rest against the altar of Jeongin’s God. A blasphemy in and on itself! How dare he, a demon, touch the holy altar?
Gut boiling, Jeongin channels more energy into the spell. Gathers it up until he can barely breathe, until his outstretched hand starts to glow with the Godly power. It hurts, like a weight pressing onto his whole body, but that’s a necessary evil.
The glow of it lights up the darkness of the church, surrounds Jeongin’s body in a protective layer, a cautious measure Jeongin has learnt the hard way to be necessary. Never attack without protecting yourself. Just in case the demon suddenly moves.
Hyunjin still calmly stares down on him. He is either crazy – or truly much more powerful than he seems, Jeongin thinks. No demon ever remained this calm in the face of a certain wipe from existence. They fight, they scream, some have even begged.
Scowling, Jeongin wonders just how strong Hyunjin is. Something about this just irks him. Has his heart pounding. As if he instinctively knew that he would do better to run.
Jeongin interrupts his spell for a moment of hesitation. The light swirls around him leisurely, as if it was staring at him in question. Waiting for him to continue, for him to give it some sort of command.
And Jeongin changes the spell. He adds new words, improvises what he chants, speaks new words that he has studied tightly just for a moment like this, and a swirling storm takes hold of the church.
Wind blows into his face. It tugs on his hair like a wild animal, almost taking his breath away. Noise rises, an erratic rush that pounds against Jeongin’s ears.
The wooden benches creak as they shift over the floor, before they loudly crash into one another.
It is with great satisfaction that Jeongin watches Hyunjin’s face drop, eyes wide. They glow with something ominous, and Jeongin’s heart pounds even faster. Screams at him to run. But the triumph in Jeongin’s blood is stronger.
There is the fear Jeongin wanted to see. The surprise in Hyunjin’s eyes, the doubt if he can make it out of this. Jeongin knows he won’t. He can’t. But surely he must fight now. There is no escape.
The tension between them stretches endlessly, and Jeongin anticipates something any moment now. His heart beats even louder than the storm, pounds against his ribcage. Watches Hyunjin, who stands still, so very still, as his black clothes sway wildly around his body.
Surely something will happen. Something must-
Hyunjin pounces.
One blink he’s at the altar, the next he’s gone. Too fast.
Alarmed, Jeongin’s head whips around as he keeps chanting, voice loud and even against the storm that swallows his words and feeds them right into the power of his prayer.
Jeongin’s eyes flick over the benches, forced by the wind against the wall, the windows, the ceiling. Search the shadows behind the sturdy large pillars.
Not to the left. Heart pounding, Jeongin’s head turns to the other side.
Not to the right.
Where-?
Mouth dry, Jeongin grabs the sun harder, even as it nicks his skin. He must not lose it. It is the only thing that protects him from this demon, the only way to fight it!
There’s only one spot where Hyunjin can be now. And that is behind him. Jeongin can feel it. Can feel the eyes of a predator watching him. A deep feeling of dread settles in his bones, cold, freezing him, warning him not to turn. Not to look.
If he looks, it will get him.
Jeongin’s hand trembles.
But if he doesn’t look, Hyunjin will get him, too. He’s an exorcist. He has to do this. He has to face this demon, even if he might die doing so.
Jeongin whirls around.
The storm follows him, throws the wooden benches and unlit candelabras across the hall with the loudest crash, and Jeongin only has time to catch a glimpse at Hyunjin’s devious expression right behind him before he’s gone again.
Almost done. The spell is almost ready to be released. Jeongin desperately tries to keep calm when he cannot find Hyunjin again. Again and again, he tells himself that he has the upper hand. Here, he is more powerful than any demon ever recorded.
Because Hyunjin made a fatal mistake coming into the church: As soon as a priest like him enters, it is a protected space. A sealed space. The divine power here is strong enough that any demon will be trapped inside its net.
Hyunjin cannot escape.
So Jeongin just has to make sure his spell is powerful enough to reach into every nook and corner of the church to blast him to bits. To burn everything that has no right to be in these holy halls, even when it tries to hide in the shadows.
He can do this. He can do this!
And so Jeongin closes his eyes.
It leaves him vulnerable to surprise. But if Hyunjin is powerful enough to reach him even through the thick wall of protection he has by now summoned, that is his fate. Then he will die fighting for his God.
For this, however, for what he has to do now, seeing would only distract him.
Eyes closed, Jeongin focuses down into the hot sun in his hand. He follows the path of its power up through his arm, into his neck, down his spine. All the way, until it connects to the floor through his feet. The threads of divine power that simmer under the ground of the church answer him.
Their net woven into every chamber and tower. Jeongin sees it like a large set of golden strings that run around everywhere, intertwined, surrounding the whole church.
There is no way to escape it. Every line thrums in time with the pulses of Jeongin’s energy that he sends out anticipating the release of his spell. They answer him, tell him they will fight for him.
Before his inner eye, Jeongin sees everything. He sees the attic of the church, where the old ceremonial gown of the last high-priest waits for someone to pick it up. He sees the giant metal pipes of the organ, overseeing the hall he stands in as if waiting to blast their sound.
He even sees down into the crypta, where the skeletons of those before him rot away, only the gold they were buried with remaining between the dust. Powerful trinkets with symbols that serve as pools of the divine energy, and make Jeongin’s feet feel heavier. As if the dead wanted to pull him down towards them.
Instead, Jeongin borrows their power. All of the church is pulsating with it, the storm tearing at his body like a pack of hungry wolves, and it is with a deep satisfaction that Jeongin knows, absolutely certain, that Hyunjin is completely and utterly trapped inside it with him.
His eyes open, but now he still sees the glowing threads that weave through the ground of the church, up the columns, through the paintings on the walls and ceiling. They glow like a golden net, like blood vessels in perfect rows, every knot beating loudly in time with Jeongin’s heart.
The room spins around Jeongin, stops when he blinks, and spins again.
It’s hard to keep on his feet. He’s at his limits. Inwardly, Jeongin curses. He doesn’t think he’s ever used a spell as powerful as this one, and begs his God for grace. To keep him conscious, and to allow him to refill the energy once this is over.
It is in His name that Jeongin takes a deep, desperate breath, fights to catch the air from the storm that roars past his mouth him, and slams his hand onto the trembling ground. Directly onto one of the golden knots.
A powerful pulse rumbles through the whole building. Dust shakes from crevices in the pillars, fills the air with an earthy smell and momentarily blocks every window. Jeongin keeps staring at the net, sees through it with his inner eye, follows the path of his energy that expands like ripples in a lake throughout the veins of the church.
And suddenly, it becomes too much. Jeongin doubles over with a scream as his body starts burning. Every vein fills with lava, that flows slow and cruel through his body.
He’s engulfed in the heat that flares into the hall. Fire eats at Jeongin’s skin, his eyes, his nostrils. He can’t breathe, and yet he tries. Keeps calm the way he has learnt to, lets the power flow through him even as tears run from his eyes, in and back out, quick enough so it won’t harm him permanently.
Every second feels like one too long. The agonizing heat hurts more than anything else. He’s burnt alive, insides charred red. And yet, Jeongin allows it to continue. He’s strong. He grits his teeth. In his exorcism classes, Jeongin was the strongest of his whole year, hell, in his whole generation. He can bear it. He can!
The amplitude between the pulses that ripple through the energy net rises higher. They become louder, go almost silent, then push against Jeongin’s eardrums again.
Again.
Again.
Almost done.
The heat starts to diffuse so very slowly, and Jeongin grits his teeth as he holds onto his consciousness through it.
Come on. Almost done.
One last, giant pulse rattles through the church and Jeongin’s bones, fills the hall with noise and shakes the earth, and then – silence.
It feels too loud in Jeongin’s ears. They rush with the sudden nothingness and for a moment, he feels like he’ll fall into the darkness that surrounds him.
But his vision returns. The dust settles on the ground like silent snowflakes, like ashes after a city burnt.
Everything is still. Jeongin releases the pressure of his hand against the floor. He’s a little out of breath, but his prayers must have been heard. He’s tired, but not fully exhausted. Surely, the grace of his God.
Jeongin lets out a shaky breath. Slowly, he rises in the middle of the destruction he caused.
Two of the benches he can see have shattered against the stone walls. The wood is cracked straight down the middle, and will need repair or replacement. The rest lies every which way over one another. Candelabras and broken candles are scattered all over the floor, some paintings askew, but it’s nothing Jeongin cannot fix.
Focusing inward, he tries to sense Hyunjin’s presence. Searches for that familiar ringing in his head when a demon is near. For that sound of alert when his wards are triggered. He doesn’t hear it.
Did it work?
Jeongin looks around, towards the entrance of the church and the two stone gargoyles that silently watch over it. They are still intact, and still filled with his energy. Licking his lips, Jeongin figures they would tell him if Hyunjin was still here.
The presence of a demon in his church, within his wards, was what woke him up in the first place during this calm night. Like an inkling in the back of his head, an insistent noise that refused to go away, an itch – accompanied by what unmistakably felt like the light, fresh breeze that always surrounds Hyunjin like an aura.
Now, there is nothing.
Jeongin chews on his lip. It still does not make sense, though. If Hyunjin truly is a demon… why has he never sensed it before? How did he slip under his radar? How was he able to pass the wards, how could he receive Jeongin’s blessing without bursting into flames?
Maybe he lied. It is what demons do. Maybe he really just possessed Hyunjin, the poor boy, who must lie somewhere within these halls now. Confused, probably, but hopefully unharmed. If he is human, he will not have been hurt.
Jeongin tells himself it still is a possibility. Even when deep inside him, he already knows the truth. He’s sensed it the second he saw Hyunjin lean against that altar, he just tried too hard to deny it.
The alternative is just too heavy to bear: That Hyunjin is not just a demon, but an incubus. A being made to seduce people into unspeakable sin and steer them away from God. That he is able to conceal his presence to the point of going utterly unnoticed not just by the wards, but also Jeongin himself.
That he might still be here, even though Jeongin cannot feel him, no matter how hard he concentrates. Jeongin’s heartrate speeds up at the thought. A demon that powerful… what would he do against it?
Craning his head around, Jeongin tensely looks for any sign of movement. A shadow that does not look right, or a gust of wind where none should be. His fingers are still closed around the sun, now cool like regular metal against his palm.
His eyes trace over the paintings on the wall, depictions of his God blessing the crops with the sun so they may grow. Next to it, a painting of demons, banished into the eternal shadows of His light.
No signs of Hyunjin.
He’s gone.
Pain tugs deeply on Jeongin’s stomach, and it has nothing to do with the power he used. Resignation spills from it, the permanent question why he seems to be damned to loneliness on repeat in Jeongin’s head.
He swallows the lump in his throat.
Silently, Jeongin uses his free hand to draw a circle into the air before his chest, before he presses his palm to his heart. Once more, the two suns that were inked into his biceps glow. Just a quick, light flare.
A healing spell.
It doesn’t quite lift all the pain that has burnt through his body. It never does. But it allows him to breathe a little lighter, allows the cold air inside the church to smell like long forgotten ashes instead of fresh, acrid smoke.
Then, Jeongin turns towards the altar, shoes scratching over the ground. A large stone table lies before him, used during sermons to portray the plentiful food they sacrifice to their God. Nobody but the priests and their students know what the shackles on the sides are for.
They are made of gold, short, sturdy, and used to tie down demons for practice exorcisms.
It feels so long ago that Jeongin has been taught with the other apprentices. The way the demon screamed when Jeongin killed him, or the way it had begged and bargained before.
Jeongin will have to start teaching soon, he knows. The church has been nagging him about it for a couple of months now, even though Jeongin insists he is too young, and too useful on the field.
Both of which is correct. He is merely twenty-five, and yet, he has already banished enough demons to become the youngest high-priest ever next year.
Behind the altar, the moonlight still flows into the church like a quiet consolation. It doesn’t quite paint the altar in the vibrant colors the sun does, but Jeongin still finds comfort in it. No shadow taints it, this time, allowing it to unfurl undisturbed through the tall arches and long hall of the church.
Once more, Jeongin tries to feel for a demonic presence – but he doesn’t find one. His eyes close.
Hyunjin is gone.
The life of a priest is important, but it is also a lonely one. They are not allowed to marry, but Jeongin never wanted a wife anyways. He knew he would never find a woman to love, so becoming a priest allowed him to avoid the questions.
Many priests die in the fight against demons, if they are not quick or strong or smart enough. Too often has Jeongin opened a blue letter, knowing that another one of theirs has fallen.
It happens so quickly, and it can happen to the best of them, if one just isn’t careful.
Which is why Jeongin won’t let go of the sun in his hand, no matter how impossible the chances are that Hyunjin might have survived. Part of him feels broken, though. Tonight, he has lost the most important person in his life. And it’s the second time this happened to him.
He grabs the sun harder as he climbs the steps to the altar on shaky legs, kneels, folds his hands on his chest, and prays again to his God. For forgiveness. For guidance.
So Jeongin will never fall for the schemes of a demon again.
The church remains quiet, the air cold. It is only him and his God. The one who listens, but never answers. Jeongin’s quiet breathing is the only sound that echoes through these empty halls.
Jeongin stays down for a long time. He doesn’t ask for something selfish like a person in his life that will love him. He just asks for the strength to move on. To face the sermon this week without searching the very first row for Hyunjin’s face.
He asks for forgiveness for his stupidity, again and again, because he cannot breathe whenever he thinks about what a fool he was. How blind his feelings have made him for Hyunjin’s true nature.
Only once his racing thoughts have somewhat dulled down, does Jeongin feel strong enough to stand on his feet.
Once he finishes his prayer, Jeongin straightens and pats off his clothes, eyes still on the silent moon he can make out behind the colorful window. The air around him is cold enough to shiver in only his sleeveless top and the thick pants of his uniform.
Maybe it is also the lump in his throat as he thinks about searching for Hyunjin. He has to look, in case Hyunjin actually was human, and is now somewhere unconscious wherever the demon dropped his body off when it was destroyed.
He just cannot bear searching and not finding anything. Wants to bask in the quiet consolation of the church just a moment longer.
The air gets even colder. Jeongin sighs. He should look for his coat. His hair sways gently, almost as if in a breeze, almost as if-
He screams when a hand slams over his mouth, pulled against a firm body behind his own, hard and unforgiving like a stone wall. Someone breathes into his neck with a chuckle. All hairs on Jeongin’s neck stand up. “You impressed me, little priest.”
Quick-witted, Jeongin slams the sun in his palm against the back of the hand covering his mouth. His heart pounds as he presses the metal down, tries with hisses and grunts to twist his body out of the grip.
A lesser demon would burst into flames immediately upon contact with the sun. A higher-ranking would survive, but at least it would make his skin boil, melt through the bones painfully.
Jeongin doesn’t care which one Hyunjin is. He just needs to get his hand off his mouth to chant a spell. The sun in his hand heats rapidly. Jeongin expects screaming, steam and smoke biting his nose, Hyunjin stumbling backwards down the stairs to the altar.
But Hyunjin behind him just sighs quietly. His grip does not lessen in the slightest.
Alarmed, Jeongin thrashes faster.
It’s hard to breathe. Every breath is reflected off Hyunjin’s fingers back into his face, and Jeongin screams in panic as nothing happens. He will die. If he doesn’t find a way to throw Hyunjin off, he will die.
Jeongin presses down harder, keening through his nose as he prays, and prays, begging his God for help and tries to channel more energy into the sun.
Just what is Hyunjin? Why is nothing working? The spell Jeongin used would have vaporized a normal demon three times over, and yet, Hyunjin bears the direct power of Jeongin’s God without even flinching.
Desperate, Jeongin tries to put more energy into it, but his reserves are emptied. There is nothing left inside his body, no power, no divine, golden energy that he could use to burn Hyunjin’s body off him. It presses into his back, hard and ungiving, as Hyunjin pulls his head back against his shoulder.
“Come on, Jeongin-ah”, Hyunjin hums, soft and sly like a snake. His words creep over Jeongin’s skin like a thousand insect legs. “Just let me play with you, hm? It won’t hurt, I promise.”
Eyes widening, Jeongin’s pulse slams upwards. An incubus. Hyunjin is an incubus. The world slows down around him as he freezes. They can look into a mind, and seduce anyone to give in to their most guilty, buried desires. They feed off of tainted pleasure, and take delight in breaking the minds of their victims until they are sullied with frivolous behaviors.
No. No, that cannot happen, Jeongin cannot allow it!
His God would never accept him back.
Desperately, he thrashes his body around, elbows into Hyunjin’s ribs, but the demon just laughs. The sound echoes through the empty church, and Jeongin’s heart sinks when he realizes how truly alone he is. Nobody will come to save him.
He stares up at the moon, and prays, silently, for help, for more power, for anything.
But his God never answers.
And maybe, Jeongin thinks, his God knows what is about to happen. Maybe that’s why he left him. Shame rushes through Jeongin, a cold devastation that sinks into every single bone.
Hyunjin’s smooth, cool hand covers his forehead, the other still on his mouth, pulling his head firmly back against his chest. The touch runs like a waterfall down Jeongin’s spine, trickling, and wet, and uncomfortable, and he nears hyperventilation as he tries to fight the impending invasion of his mind.
He feels Hyunjin pushing. Feels it like a headache without the pain, a pressure that rises inside his brain as images threaten to surface like they are pulled forcefully from the back of his mind. From deep down where Jeongin buries them, tries to ignore them, cries burning tears in the nights when he can’t and begs for forgiveness for his sins in the quiet darkness of his room.
“Sh, Jeongin-ah”, Hyunjin sings into his ear. “Just let me in. Don’t fight it. That’ll only hurt you, my pretty little priest.”
Heat rises throughout Jeongin’s body. For a brief, stupid moment, he thinks it might be the power of his God returning to him. Undiluted raw heat of the sun that can ward of any demon. Mortification settles over him when he realizes it is not. It is the sinful kind of heat that pools in his middle, that has him panting as he struggles to focus. His guts tingle with something he tries so hard to push down.
He speaks against the hand in front of his mouth, begs pathetically for mercy, but no words form.
He has no idea what Hyunjin has already seen. How deep he has managed to invade Jeongin’s mind, how much he knows. But he can feel the presence. Feel somebody else inside his head, with no way to force him out.
“Lift your hand away”, Hyunjin orders calmly. The words echo through Jeongin’s mind, enticing.
Immediately, Jeongin’s hand twitches as if his body reacted to the command. Every muscle inside Jeongin locks into place, fighting harder, pushing Hyunjin out, out, out of his head. He can’t allow this! He can’t lose the sun!
The moon is Jeongin’s focal point. He keeps staring at it as he begs for the light to fill him, to give him the strength to fight. Its light seems to become stronger, fills the room, illuminates the altar in front of him.
Power hums in the air gently. It is not the sun, but Jeongin feels its power fill him regardless. Cool and soothing, as if it was gracing him with soft hands instead of tearing at him with burning force.
The light diffuses the longer Jeongin looks at it. As if it was creeping up around his body, lulling him in, making him drowsy.
It’s too late when Jeongin realizes the moon has betrayed him.
“Lift your hand away, Jeongin.”
Jeongin’s mind is empty. He still fights. He fights purely on a survival instinct, even as the question why he is still fighting echoes unanswered inside his quiet brain.
But his body moves without his consent. The hand that has held the sun lifts from Hyunjin’s, just a single inch before Jeongin can stop it, but it’s enough. Jeongin’s arm shakes as he desperately tries to push it back.
He can’t.
“Good boy”, Hyunjin murmurs with an audible smile in his voice. As if the way Jeongin was bending to his powers was a great feast and Hyunjin starving. “Now hold still for me.”
Suddenly, the hands are gone. The fog in Jeongin’s mind clears. His mouth is free, and his pulse hammers against his ribs.
He can chant something. He needs to fight, he needs to buy himself enough time to flee.
His lips don’t move. Jeongin’s whole body fills with panic when he realizes.
His throat works uselessly around sounds that come out choked, aborted, all of his body trapped in position. Every muscle is locked. Every tendon straining, like ropes of a puppet, like a stone statue. He stands stock-still, one of his own hands hovering just above his mouth, bathed in the moonlight, as Jeongin stares at the window behind the altar.
With calm, echoing steps, Hyunjin vanishes from his back. In his place, cold air licks over Jeongin’s back, forcing goosebumps all over his skin. The altar towers intimidatingly right before Jeongin, as if threatening him not to give in.
The acrid smell of burnt flesh and mud fills Jeongin’s nostrils, as Hyunjin rounds him. He puts himself between Jeongin and the altar, the way a high-priest would stand in front of a lower ranking one.
Black strands of hair glint like silk in the silver night where they fall into his face. They sway softly, even though no breeze graces the room. Hyunjin is beautiful and dangerous alike, with his sharp features, and the smile that shows too many teeth.
The only thing Jeongin can move are his eyes. Even blinking is exhausting, and yet, Jeongin’s gaze jitters around the church trying to find a way to escape.
Colored windows. Soft moonlight. The towering altar. Hyunjin.
Cold white stone surrounds him that used to be his refuge and is now his cage. Jeongin trembles.
“Stretch your hand out to the side”, Hyunjin orders. His gaze has softened into something akin to curiosity, something excited and undisturbed, now that he has the upper hand.
Jeongin struggles against the way his hand, still clinging tightly to the sun, wants to move. His arm shakes, sweat beading all over his body with the exertion, with this unfair fight.
He won’t give in!
Hyunjin just watches him with that exhilarated, detached smile as Jeongin shakes more.
Horrified, Jeongin has to watch himself move. No!
Jeongin grits his teeth harder. Tears bead his eyes. From exhaustion, but most of all despair.
His heart pounds so loud it’s all he can hear, body so tense that he can hardly breathe.
But if he loses the sun, he will be defenseless. Helpless, powerless in the face of a demon.
Hyunjin knows it as well. It shows in the way he almost vibrates with sadistic pleasure as he watches Jeongin struggle for his life. The second he loses the sun it is over for him. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t!
Hyunjin’s voice goes deeper, a little breathless, when he orders, “Good. Now drop it.”
Jeongin fights. Screams internally at his arm to stay locked, at his fingers not to loosen. Grunts push through his nose, helpless attempts to force his body to obey him. His eyes stare at his hand unblinking, repeating Don’t you fucking dare like a mantra, again, again, again.
“Drop it”, Hyunjin repeats.
Jeongin keeps fighting. Muscles aching and stinging, the pain running through his body. But Jeongin is used to pain. He can do this! He has a chance if he can hold out until morning! Until sunrise. Which is-
Which is not until six more hours.
Six.
Tears prick Jeongin’s eyes, lips trembling. He can’t hold out six more hours, he can barely hold out another minute. What should he do? How can he fight back?
He chokes on nothing but air, panic filling every crevice of his body.
Cold, slender fingers curl around his chin, soft and careful, barely even holding it. Hyunjin is right in front of him, the familiar breeze wafting around him and luring Jeongin into a false sense of security. The touch scatters Jeongin’s focus, just for a moment.
Just long enough for Hyunjin to whisper a sweet, targeted, “Drop it, my little priest.”
Jeongin’s fingers open.
Nauseous, Jeongin watches the glint of the golden sun as it falls to the ground. He wants to dive after it, but his body is locked in place. The quiet clatter as it meets the stone echoes absolutely deafening through the church.
On the next blink, Jeongin cries. Hot tears run down his face.
He will die.
The incubus will have its fill, will force him to do unspeakable things.
And then, he will die.
Jeongin sobs as the hopelessness of his situation truly sinks into him.
Even if he wouldn’t die by the hands of this demon, then by those of other priests. He will be tainted. He will not be worthy of the love of his God anymore. He will not even be with Him in death.
Hyunjin’s thumb gently caresses Jeongin’s cheek, too warm and fond for a demon, and Jeongin’s breath quivers with a choked sound. The fingers card through his hair, stroke it out of his face, a touch so loving that Jeongin trembles. “Good boy”, Hyunjin murmurs, “no more of those annoying little chants, hm?”
Every heartbeat feels like a knife driving into Jeongin’s ribs.
Jeongin put all his power into a spell that Hyunjin thinks was annoying. As Jeongin stares at the demon through blurry eyes, he realizes how foolish he has been. Whatever Hyunjin is, it is incomparable to any other demon Jeongin has faced. Anybody else would have died a couple of times over.
But Hyunjin? Jeongin’s prayer might have been an itch under his skin, but he looks absolutely unscathed.
Except for the back of his hand, that now carries the imprint of a sun in red on it, burnt into the skin.
Hyunjin bites his perfect lip, as he lets his eyes rake over Jeongin’s body. Down his naked arms, that feel even more exposed with the attentive gaze on them. Over his heaving chest, down his abdomen.
Lower.
His eyes hang right on Jeongin’s middle, and Jeongin’s face burns.
“Pretty little priest”, Hyunjin hums, gaze firmly on his crotch. Jeongin’s thighs shake, stomach revolting, hot tears running down his cheeks.
“Now come here”, Hyunjin purrs, slowly walking to the side of the altar. By some spell, Jeongin has no choice but to follow him. His feet move on their own, closer to the altar. Now that he has lost the sun, he is helpless. He cannot resist, all his powers gone in the blink of an eye.
It’s utterly horrifying.
The moonlight falls onto the side of Hyunjin’s face as he waits for Jeongin to come closer. His eyes reflect a silver glint, eager, excited, as he pats the cold stone of the altar with a toothy smile.
“That’s it... Get up.”
Eyes widening, Jeongin’s breath catches in his throat, as his body turns on its own.
No.
No, no, no!
Not here. Not like this. He cannot be defiled on the very altar he prays at.
Jeongin goes nauseous with how hard he tries to fight, but his muscles don’t listen to him.
No!
His hands meet the cold stone, as he heaves himself upwards onto the polished altar. He sits with his legs dangling, staring into the church towards the destroyed hall and the wooden door that would lead outside, so very far away. Forgotten on the ground, Jeongin sees his golden sun, mourns it, wants to reach for it. But his body won’t listen.
It’s just a small trinket now lying in the dirt, unable to lend Jeongin its power.
Hyunjin’s hand lands on his thigh, too heavy, too warm through the thick fabric of his pants. His expression is triumphant, a wicked pleasure pulling his smile wider.
“There we go. Lie down, Jeongin-ah. It’s time you get worshipped the way you were made to be.”
Worshipped. Filthy pictures run through Jeongin’s hand of whatever that might mean.
His stomach crunches with shame, as he stares into the hall, feels the stone of the altar under his fingers. A sacred place, one that should never be defiled.
The mere words make heat thrum above Jeongin’s cheekbones, blasphemy repeating a chorus inside his head. He doesn’t want this! He doesn’t want to disrespect his God like this!
And yet, terribly, his body obeys. Beds his head on the cold stone, that strangely warms under him, settles his shoulders and his legs on the smooth surface like an agreeable toy. Until he lies on his back on the altar stretched to his full length.
Not tied down, and yet immobile. Trapped in his own body.
Above him, the ceiling domes. Paintings of the sun and the stars around it stretch towards the walls in large arches. They always looked beautiful to Jeongin. Comforting, protecting. Now they look down on him as if they were watching and judging him. Because he wasn’t strong enough to defeat the demon.
Because he would do something as outrageous as lie down on the altar. Because he will be ruined right here in the most sacred place.
Soft fingers close around his wrist, and Jeongin sobs silently into the cold night air, when his tense hand is guided towards one of the shackles on the side. The golden metal clicks shut quietly, and Jeongin’s muscles tense with a last try to escape.
His body doesn’t move.
Hyunjin hums a soft melody to himself as he rounds Jeongin on the altar, cuffing down his trembling ankles, and lastly, his other wrist. Then, the demon takes a step back, deeper into the moonlight that falls through the window behind the altar. As if to admire his work.
Jeongin lies still as a statue on the stone surface, tied down like an offering.