The organ music and the choir voices alternate and come together, slowly morphing from more traditional sounds to something more contemporary and fast paced. A drum beat came in and the organ faded out and the voices turned to chant with the new drum line.

"We're dripping fire tonight!" A man dressed as a priest entered the sanctuary, his voice moving without direction. Dark shadows mask him from immediate sight. The flickering candlelight catches on his long black robe and the white scarf as they sway gently with every step he took, arms outstretched and fingers grazing any audience members that happened to be close enough to touch. A silver chain dangled from his clenched fist, a crucifix nestled in his palm. Facets of colored light peeking through the stained glass light up his face, his body. He reached up to move the fingers of his free hand through his dirty blond hair to mess up the neatly combed strands. A darkness flickered in his eyes, devouring the whites of his eyes only to vanish with a quick blink, returning his piercing stare as he stopped alongside the kneeling man. He leaned forward, the edge of light on his face creeps up his skin, his parted hair, the ridged flesh that lined the base of two, long horns protruding from his forehead. The priest dipped his fingers under the man's chin and guided him up to his feet. "I'm a miracle... " His hand slipped around the back of the man's neck and pulled their faces together. "I wanna make you go..." The priest's nose pressed into the man's cheek and their lips nearly touched. "Ah," the priest's hands slipped down from the man's neck, and using both, he grabbed the many by the collar and pulled their bodies together. "Ah," he unbuttoned the first couple of buttons at the top of the man's shirt, "Ah...!" He dropped his hands to the man's belt and yanked their hips together, but only for a moment before he pushed the man back down onto the bench. He swayed his hips and timed his steps with the sound of the music, stepping from the pew into the aisle where Pylar stood. Their eyes were the first things to meet and they stayed locked as Gage moved down the aisle toward him. The priest placed his a hand on Pylar's chest and curled his fingers into his shirt. A feeling of electricity went through his body; a tingle that felt good and caused him to hold his breath. "I wanna make you go..." The priest muttered while pulling Pylar into him. "Ah, ah... ah...!" The priest's used his hold on Pylar's shirt to pull their bodies together. Their lips nearly touched and the man's breath tickled Pylar's cheek.

Over the priest's shoulder, the man the priest had been with previously had pulled himself out of his pants and held his desire in his hands, slowly stroking as he watched the two of them.

"Where do we go from here?" The priest sang softly into his ear. "Whisper what you want in my ear..." His finger tips dragged down Pylar's chest.

Pylar's sucked in a sharp breath. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. His throat was dry and in that moment, he couldn't think of what to say back; he couldn't think of a single word. Yes, no, more, where are your hands going — everything was gone. He couldn't even think to move. He couldn't pull away, despite feeling heat pressing into his leg and a tightness in his own pants that was... uncharacteristic for him. He swallowed and his lips and throat became dryer than before.

The priest released his shirt, though his hand pressed into his chest for a moment longer. The chanting came in and alternated with the continual beat. Pylar realized his heart was drumming along at a similar pace. The priest glanced over his shoulder as he walked down the aisle. His hips swung side to side, and from underneath the hem of his robe, a slim, red, tail with arrowhead tip moved in opposition.

A hooded figure clad in a white choir robe knelt in front of the podium. Pylar thought it might've been the man in white from before, but something was different. The figure remains bent forward as his hood is pulled back. Tufts of soft, white hair tickle his face as a set of pointed, furry cat-like ears flick up from beneath the hood. Behind Pylar, the double doors groaned quietly followed by a soft rush of air. Pylar turned just in time to see the man in white walking away through the slit in the doors, just before they click shut. Pylar's chest tightened. If he wanted answers, this was his chance. He looked to the front of the room, the podium, the kneeling choirboy and the demon prince now standing before him. His feet, heavy, scraped along the floor as he took a seat at the end of the nearest pew. His eyes weren't sure where to focus. The horns, the robe, the tails, the stained-glass at the front, the guests around him shrouded in lust and desire. The lights in the church may have been low, but they weren't so low nothing was visible. In fact, the shadows hid nothing from sight. A lump formed in Pylar's throat, his body felt like it was on fire, and goosebumps dotted his arms.

The priest slipped his hand beneath the young man's chin and urged him to his feet. He led the catboy up the steps and onto the stage with him. The priest pressed his hand into the catboy's chest and Pylar felt those fingers pressing into his own skin, through his shirt, nails digging into his skin. He held his breath again. The priest's fingers moved up the zipper until he reached the collar. He sternly took hold of the zipper and pulled it down, immediately revealing the catboy's pale, delicate chest. A mischievous smile sat plainly on his lips. The priest leaned in so his lips only brushed over the catboy's his hand kept pressed steady to his chest, and he peered out toward the audience. "Say 'amen.'" His smooth voice reverberated through the church hall. "You know what it means, don't you?" The priest pulled the zipper down as far as it would go then gently urged the fabric over the catboy's shoulders. The catboy caught the fabric in the crux of his elbow, but revealed the top half of his back. "It means, "'Please, God, Let it be.' So if you want to see a show, I'm going to need to hear you say it." The spiked tail whipped behind the priest. "You want to see this pretty singer in pleasure?" His tail whipped the other way. "You want to feel the heat inside you?" His tail whipped again. He took the white scarf from around his neck and set it on the wooden podium. He ran a hand back through his muddy blond hair and grinned, sharp teeth pressed together and he leaned in toward the cat boy. "Let me hear you say, 'Amen'."

"Amen," a couple scattered voices said lacking coordination.

"Can I get it again?"

"Amen!" the voices said together, a little more assured this time, though weakened by a breathy pant.

"Tell the Lord what you really want. Say it loud. "

"Amen!" the voices became a mixture of soft, breathy moans and powerful, excited commands.

The catboy lowered his arms and the choir robe dropped to his feet. He immediately brought his hands to his chest as though to hide his bare skin, but slowly they fell back to his side and graze the snug shorts that hugged his hips. Furry thighs and knees melted into dainty paws, with a thin, white tail to match the ears atop his head. The priest's hand went around the back of the catboy's neck and another went to his hip to pull him in closer. Their lips mashed together passionate and immediate. His fingers curl into the catboy's white hair. The priest pulls the catboy's head back, exposing his neck to the room. Their lips break apart and the priest sends a trail of adoring kisses and nips down his jaw, his neck, into the nook of his shoulder. His teeth pull at the pale skin, not maliciously, but enough that the red is immediately noticeable against the clear, pale skin. His hand moves up the catboy's body and then back down, stroking his bare stomach, stopping only to press against his groin. The priest slides his hand up the back of the catboy's neck to the top of his head and urges him down onto his knees. The catboy drags his fingers along the priests body as he lowers in compliance.

The catboy pushed back the priests robe and grabbed his belt. One yank, then two, then a third and it was open. He unbuttoned and unzipped the fly, soon drawing out the man's heat. Watching, the priest grabbed onto the nearby podium and licked his lips. The catboy slowly took the priests heat into his mouth and the temperature of the room rose.

Pylar felt so many things at that moment, so many feelings he couldn't think about what he was looking at, where he was, or what he had been doing up until that moment. Everything under his skin was abuzz. The moaning couldn't have been coming from this room, but he heard it and he felt the vibrations from heat and desire, coming from the stage, coming from the pews in front of him, coming from himself. His skin almost felt like it was burning. He ran his fingertips over his arms, putting pressure against his arm through his clothing. He sunk back and groaned softly; his own voice surprised him. He straightened and put his hands at his sides. His pants felt tighter than they had when he'd come in and without anything touching his skin anymore, the electricity started to burn softly again. It wasn't necessarily painful, but he had to touch it. There wasn't a better description. He had to touch his skin, he had to touch himself. He ran his left hand over his right arm then switched sides, his right hand over his left arm. He did it again and again. Closing his eyes, he leaned back and did it again. From the stage came a soft moan, a heated gasp, and soft, sweet praise. What the priest actually said became lost in the white noise of the feeling of pleasure.

Pylar's hands rubbed down his thighs then came back up. He sharply gasped and did it again, pressing his hands down harder. He moves inward, getting closer to the inner thigh and the tent that had grown between his legs. Seeping through his pants, moisture soaks through the dark fabric. His eyes immediately open and he draws his hands back to his knees. He looked up toward the stage; the catboy continued to service the priest with his mouth, the demon's fingers knotted in his hair, guiding the tempo, faster, slower, pause, holding the batboy flush to his hips. Pylar's gaze lifted and his stare connected with the priests as he let out a strangled moan, his body tense and hips writhing.

Pylar rose to his feet, abrupt, noisy, and stumbled from the pew as his heart rate spiked. "Sorry — I'm sorry. I didn't — I never — " He said and huffed as he ran for the sanctuary doors. He pushed through them in one quick motion and they shut behind him with a rush of air, a hushed whisper telling him to quiet down. The hall was mostly empty, the open doors on all the rooms now closed. A few people stood around. One of them was the man in white. Despite all the questions Pylar had at that moment, he didn't stop to talk to anyone, but made a b-line for the elevator with his hands firmly covering his crotch. "Thanks for the invite—that was something—goodnight," he said quickly as he passed the man in white and the person he spoke to. Pylar pushed the already lit button repeatedly until the elevator rang and the doors parted. He went inside, keeping his head down to avoid eye contact with anyone that may have been watching him. His face burned, he didn't know what color it actually was and he hoped the low lights in the hall helped hide his shame at least a little bit. He hit the ground floor and didn't stop until he was out the front door.

The cool night are hit his face, his hot skin, and it was like being dunked under water. The haze he'd felt on the inside quickly disappeared and he remembered everything that had happened prior to going into the building. The shame replaced with guilty as he frantically walked down the sidewalk. "Mad?" Pylar said. He looked down at his pants as he went down the front steps. "Maddox?" he said again. "You here?"

"Py?" Maddox came behind one of the pillars. He must've been sitting on the steps. "Are you okay?"

Pylar grabbed Maddox's arm and dragged him down the steps. "Yeah, yeah—I'm fine," he said quickly.

"Hey—Are you okay?"

"Hm?" Pylar pulled Maddox back toward his car.

"You're kind of ... almost running. And what's with the mask?"

Pylar released Maddox's arm and touched his face. Feeling the mask, he quickly took it off and glanced back down the street toward the hotel, though they couldn't see it anymore. The last thing he wanted was for anyone from inside to come chasing after him for the mask. He checked the back of his hand for the symbol, but nothing showed against his pale skin. Pylar glanced back down the street as he unlocked the car doors and yanked the driver's door open. "I'll tell you later."