Work Text:
There is something spiritual about self-denial. In Sunday School, you learned about the saints and how they suffered, how they found holiness in finding the root of their want and never having it. Jesus spent forty days and forty nights in the desert, he convened with angels, he faced temptation and he won over the forces of evil.
It is from that we have the time of Lent, a time of sacrifice, a time to make up for your sins.
You have many sins.
It’s a dark clear night as you stand outside the church on Easter Vigil and it has been forty days since you gave up thinking about Dennis Reynolds.
Pancake Tuesday is a tradition, it’s remembering breakfasts with Charlie when Dad was still around and Mom spoke in multiple syllables. It’s before the guilt and the shame started when God was a friend who you could talk to without fear.
Wash me of my iniquity and cleanse me of my sin, wash me of my iniquity and cleanse me of my sin, wash me of my iniquity and cleanse me of my sin.
You’re sitting there, plate of pancakes on your lap, watching one of Dennis’s sex tapes when he walks in and stares at you with a look of utter contempt.
“Dude, you realize that’s incredibly gay.”
“It’s straight porn! It’s the straightest thing I could watch. Den, you’re my favourite porn star!”
“Straight men don’t have favourite male porn stars.”
You look at him as he stands over you. He thinks he is a God and you should not worship false idols, but there is nothing false about Dennis Reynolds. He is self-denial, he is control, he is the sun and for better or worse you all orbit around him. You would martyr yourself for him if he ever asked, and some days you’re not sure he would even have to ask.
You’re lying in bed, a little drunk, tired but sleepless and you think about jerking off to bring yourself to sleep but the first thing that comes to your mind is the way Dennis grabbed that girls hair and what his hands would feel like in yours.
Wash me of my iniquity and cleanse me of my sin, wash me of my iniquity and cleanse me of my sin, wash me of my iniquity and cleanse me of my sin.
You lie awake until sunrise, the first day dawns and you have found what you are going to give up for Lent.
You are not a man of control, excess is where you find comfort and so you find solace in the excess of want the way every glance and touch leaves you burning, the way you refuse every temptation. You begin to understand the power of hunger and how when it becomes constant, it’s like it’s not there at all.
It is midnight now, the Church is lit by candlelight, the warm light reflects off the stained glass and it’s as if you’re outside your body. You hear your voice, strong against the chorus of elderly voices and your mother's own smoky rasp. You are sure this is it, the revelation that has come from these days of denial, you are reaching for the voice of God and yet nothing comes.
So you fall to your knees, close your eyes and pray, beg God for a sign, any sign that tells you where to go next.
All you can see is his face.
So you rise from your prone position and run out of the church, knees still burning from the hard pews, you find yourself at the front door of the apartment, breathing hard, feeling for your keys. Panicked you give up and start pounding at the door until he answers, sleepy-eyed and twice as beautiful as you remembered.
You kiss him because there is no reason not to anymore, kiss him like it hurts, like you want him to ache the way you’ve been aching since the first day of high school. Kiss him like you’re drunk even though you haven’t felt this sober in who knows how long.
Let him kiss you back.